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moonstruckme · 2 months

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Hey lovely, how are you?

I’m not sure if I should be answering this through here, but here we go

I had already read that lil’ drabble and it’s perfect!!! Please don’t get me wrong, I really love it, but I was thinking of something a little different.

Maybe reader has to get a vaccine (because she was stalling to do it) and when the boys find out they were like “you need to get it, it’s for your health” and reader goes like “fine”. Well, it wasn’t fine. When reader finally realizes what’s happening she turns into this sobbing mess and it just breaks the boys hearts 💔

I know this is kinda specific, sorry. It’s what always happens to me when I go get vaccinated and I always end up crying more than I thought I would.

It’s totally fine if you don’t want to do it, though! Also, sorry if some terms were wrong, english is not my first language lol

Anyways, love you and love your work!! 🫶

Thanks for explaining babe, and for requesting <3

cw: needle, also I have once again written myself into an inaccurate emt situation and am once again asking for your feigned oversight of the erroneousness. Thank you mwah!

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You’re being quiet. James keeps trying to pick up conversation, but you won’t engage for more than a few words and a terse smile before falling silent again. They’ve all picked up on it. From the driver’s seat, Remus keeps casting scrutinous glances at you in the rear view mirror. James has given up on trying to get you to talk and is just grateful you’re letting him be near you, his hand on your leg while you stare out the window.

It’s obvious you’re upset. You like being told what to do as much as the next person, and when they’d found out you’d been avoiding going to get your vaccine they’d been more than a little bossy. Though he’d been as insistent as the other two that it was important to get done, James had honestly felt a bit sorry for you; Remus had decided you were going the next morning before you could get a word in, which would have been next to impossible anyways with the tirade Sirius had embarked on.

James feels a bit sorry for you now, too, when he and Remus are trying to go along with your wishes and keep quiet and Sirius is, quite naturally, goading you.

“You don’t have to be mad at us, baby,” he says, fully turned around in the passenger seat to give you his poutiest look. “We’re all on the same team here, yeah?”

“I’m not mad,” you say to the window.

“I get that you’re not needles’ number one fan, but you know how important this is. We just want you to be healthy.”

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs so James’ hand falls away from you. It stings a little. “Can we not talk about it?”

“Sure, dove.” Remus’ eyes are on you in the rear view mirror again, his hand reaching across the console to cover Sirius’ knee warningly. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

You’re quiet the rest of the drive. James is used to being around people that are stewing (years of friendship with Remus and Sirius will accustom one to that), but it makes him fidgety to think you’re angry with him. He really wants to reach for your hand. You’re too stiff to make him confident you’ll take it.

But when you enter the curtained-off room and don’t go to hop up on the table, you don’t reject the helping hand he offers you to get up. You don’t let go.

Remus leaves to prepare your vaccine, and you don’t seem any more inclined to talk than you had been in the car. James decides to hop up on the table beside you, putting an arm around your shoulders when you seem amenable to it, and Sirius leans against the desk, thwacking a pen in a lazy rhythm. You feel tense under his arm.

James is beginning to suspect you’re not actually angry.

“You okay, angel?” he asks gently.

“Fine,” you say, clipped. It’s the same response you’d given when they’d strong-armed you into this appointment. He’s not sure if he believes you anymore.

James is suddenly glad he came. Though Remus and Sirius had to come in for their shift and will be staying after, he only tagged along because he wanted (as always) to be wherever the three of you are. Now that he has an inkling of how you’re feeling, James is glad he’ll be with you to drive you home, look after you in case you have any side effects, and generally help you relax after this is done. Right now, you seem to be winding tighter by the minute.

Remus comes back in, and James looks over to find your bottom lip trapped cruelly between your teeth. Your expression looks almost pained.

“Honey…” he murmurs.

Remus and Sirius look up in alarm as your eyes line with silver.

“Hey, baby, it’s okay.” Sirius pushes off from the desk, sitting on your other side and winding an arm around your waist. “You’re fine, this’ll only take a second.”

You give a little sob, reality setting in. James sees the surprise and anguish he’s feeling reflected on Sirius’ face as the other boy kisses above your eyebrow.

Remus’ expression is carefully calm as he approaches, holding up an antiseptic wipe like a symbol of peace. “Just breathe,” he says, voice soft and slow as he pushes up your sleeve. You watch his every move, every one of the muscles beneath James’ hand tense. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. In just a little bit we’ll be sending you home with Jamie, yeah?”

He picks up the vaccine, and you suck in a breath, pressing into James’ side to get away from it. “Wait wait wait,” you say in a rush, voice tipping up with panic as tears spill over your waterline. James' heart veritably shatters. He feels it happening in his chest, but they’ve all dealt with patients like this before. Waiting doesn’t help anything.

“You’re fine,” Sirius promises you, helping Remus to hold your arm still while James shields your vision with his hand. “Don’t look, you’re okay.”

James doesn’t watch the needle go in, but he hears your reaction, a wet inhale that catches in your throat followed by a torturous whimpering sound.

He presses a kiss to your hair, whispering a quick, “You’re good, lovie.”

Remus hums in quiet agreement. A moment later he’s setting the syringe back down on his tray, replacing the spot with a plaster. James lets his hand drop, and Sirius cheers as Remus rubs small, sympathetic circles over the spot with his thumb.

“You did it, gorgeous!” He pecks you on the cheek, mindless of its dampness. “You’re done.”

Another tiny sob breaks out of you, and Remus’ brow creases pityingly. He touches his lips gently over the plaster on your arm. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t realize quite how nervous you were.”

You sniffle. “It’s okay,” you say. Your voice comes out a bit frayed, and both James and Sirius coo in sympathy.

“My poor girl,” the former whines. He tugs you away from James’ hold, clearly fed up with not doing his fair share for your physical comfort. “I thought you were just peeved with us. I didn’t know they made you that freaked, sweetness. You did amazing.”

“You really did so well.” James thumbs under your lashes, collecting water on his thumbnail. “You were so brave.”

“Don’t patronize me,” you mumble, growing sullen again.

“We’re not, dovey, we’re not.” Remus rubs up and down on your arm placatingly. At this rate, James thinks, you won’t have any muscle pain at all. “This is more difficult for some people than others. It’s really difficult for you, and I’m proud of you for getting through it. Alright?”

He’s looking at you intently, waiting for you to confirm you understand. You go a bit shy under his gaze. “Okay,” you acquiesce softly.

“Good.” Remus kisses your forehead. “You’re all done here, so you two can head home. If you start to feel ill or odd at all say something to Jamie, alright?”

“I’ve got her,” James reassures them both, hopping down from the table. Sirius holds you still a moment longer, kissing the same spot Remus had before letting you go. You slot under James arm like you always do, like it’s where you’re meant to be. “We’ll text you pictures of all the ice cream we eat and films we watch while you’re working.”

“Fuck off,” Sirius laughs. It catches, and you chuckle softly, the sound making all three of them breathe a sigh of relief.

James squeezes you with his arm around your shoulders as he walks you out.

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wriothesleybear · 10 months

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~warnings: pornstars, mentions of different type of porn genres, squirting, fem!reader, MDNI!

~a/n: i may have lost myself in writing this..enjoy😈 (ngl i sorta wanna write porn plot for Wrio..i got some ideas👀..)

Pornstar!Wriothesley who usually does genres like dom, bdsm, rough play, somewhat hardcore porn, threesome, roleplay, etc. while you do softcore and the more vanilla types of genres. He has never done softcore porn before because it didn't really interest him and he thought he was better at the other more spicy genres. When he was given the offer to do a softcore porn video, he was going to immediately turn it down, but when he saw that you would be his co-star, he reconsidered his decision. Due to the different types of genres you two did, neither of you knew that much of the other, except for hearing little details from previous coworkers.

Pornstar!Wriothesley who tries doing his first softcore porn video and its with you as his co-star. When he saw you, he changed his mindset about softcore porn and was willing to try it only if it was with you. Those type of videos are meant for couples who are deeply in love with one another and they show it through the passionate sex they have. When you two do it, you two have the most intense passion on camera, even though it's acting, it's hard to tell with you two. He felt different when performing with you. It didn't feel like acting and he didn't have to fake it with you. He was never one to be soft and slow when fucking someone but with you, he didn't mind taking his time. You two didn't need a script or directions from the director on what to do, somehow you guys already knew. It starts with short, sweet kisses that gradually turn into a slow make out as you begin to undress each other. He eats you out first to prep you for his cock and when he gets a taste, fuck, is he addicted. He was planning to only make you cum on his tongue once. He really wanted to do more than once because the view of you coming undone, the pleasurable expressions you made, your sweet nectar filling his mouth, the sound of your moans filling his ears, he wanted to experience it again. But he held himself back, wanting to have you come on his cock next. Before that, you returned the favor by having him lie on his back as you sucked his cock. The view of you taking his large length in your mouth was one of the most beautiful views he's ever seen. It beat the other views of the other female pornstars who's had his cock in their mouths. The way you sucked his cock, taking it down your throat like a pro, your tongue swirling around it, he swear he would've came right there down your throat, but he stopped you before he did. He wanted to feel your pussy first before he came.

Pornstar!Wriothesley who gently pulls you off of his dick and turns you over on your back. He litters kisses all over your body then moves up to your lips and pulls you into another deep make out session, arms wrapped around one another as he slowly rubs the head of his cock on your clit, making you moan and your thighs twitch. You break the kiss for a second to look into his eyes, begging him for more. He couldn't tell for sure if you were just acting for the camera or if it was your true feelings. But deep down, he felt that you weren't acting and his thoughts were proved correct as he felt you tighten around his cock as he whispered lewd things in your ear, telling you how nice your pussy feels squeezing his cock, how beautiful you looked as he cupped your cheek and looked into your eyes. It made your heart thump and pussy clench which he felt. He smirked and continued praising you. Your nails scratch his back as he thrusts into you, pace quickening as you both get close. "Come for me. That's it," he'd say as he kisses and nibbles your neck. You finally come, having one of the most mind-breaking orgasms you've ever had while performing a porn video. He fucks you through your orgasm, thrusts becoming sloppy until he pulls out and vigorously jerks his cock, head falling back as he moans aloud, cumming on your stomach. You watched, eyes widening at the most glorious view you've ever seen. Your eyes meet as you both breathe heavily, trying to catch your breath. He bends down and kisses you once again, not specifically doing it for show for the cameras but because he got caught up in the moment, but he won't admit that, not now at least.

Pornstar!Wriothesley who notices that he has the most compatibility with you that he requests to do more vids with you as his co-star. When you ask him why, he says with a teasing smile and flirty eyes, "I think we work well together." You can't help the blush that covers your cheeks and the tingles in your body when he said that, but you take it as a compliment and accept his business proposal. You also agree that you two work well together as seen from that last porn video you did. You were acting at first in the beginning of the video but if you were being honest, throughout the rest of the video, you don't think either of you were acting. You could see the passion as well, but you didn't give it much thought. Just thinking that it was good teamwork.

Pornstar!Wriothesley who starts doing more softcore porn videos with you because thats one of your specialties, but he soon introduces you to his type of videos that he specializes in, getting you to do some with him. He understood that you were new to this type of genre so he started with little things like easy doming and simple bdsm to ease you into it, before going into the more hardcore stuff. You would only do these types of genres with him because you two have a deep connection and trust with one another. There's no one else you would want to do it with and the same goes for him as well.

Pornstar!Wriothesley whose videos that you two make together get the most views compared to the others vids you've done with other popular pornstars. They also can see how well you two work with one another, noticing the passion and chemistry you two have and how it doesn't look fake to them. You know how some pornstars fake their moans when they come and it's obviously fake, neither of you do that when performing together. You never have to exaggerate your moans with Wrio and he's actually more vocal with you compared with other pornstars he's worked with. When directors and managers come to you two with video proposals, you two always bring up the idea of having each other as the co-star, which usually goes your way.

Pornstar!Wriothesley who gives you his number one day after finishing a video so you can talk outside of work and hang out. 'A way for coworkers to bond' as he said when he asked you out to dinner. Plus, he offered to help you practice for future porn videos, testing out different genres you were curious in trying. After all, practice makes perfect. One of the genres he helped you with that you were curious about was squirting. Let's just say, he couldn't get you to stop and helped you become a pro at it fairly quickly. Ever since he tasted you for the first time, he has been wanting to make you squirt on his tongue, among other things.. So it makes him happy that you are wanting to try out different things with him outside of work. Once you get a hang of it after practicing with Wrio, you ask to do it again with him but in front of a camera this time.

Pornstar!Wriothesley who calls you late at night when he can't sleep because he can't stop thinking about you and your warm, tight pussy that fits so nicely around his cock. He also thinks about your smile, your laugh, your personality, how he enjoys the time he spends with you (both sfw and nsfw moments). Sometimes he calls you just to talk so he can hear your voice or he has you come over to his place or he goes over to yours just to hang out and watch a movie or something. Sometimes, it's for a late night booty call because you two just can't get enough of each other. You can't lie that you can't stop thinking about him either. Not only because of his nice, thick cock, but because he makes you feel something deeper than just coworkers or friends. It's not good to get into a relationship when working in this type of business but maybe you two can work it out.

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact smut

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hazashiovo · 7 months

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hii i was wondering if it was possible if you could do a korra x earthbender fem reader who is lin’s daughter?? thank you so much!! 🫶🫶

Ooo ,yes ofc <3

The best view

"Stop staring." You words cut the thick silence in the room.

"I'm sorry,I just never expected Beifong to have a kid." She crosses her arms, looking you up and down. You scoff anoyed at her rude staring. "So? It doesn't mean I'm a painting so you can stare at me." You roll your eyes."Like mother like daughter." She mumbles,loud enough for you to hear her.

"I could never be like my mother." Her eyes follow you figure as you walk towards her. The girl then continues,"How come you're not in uniform?"her gaze eyes you up and down. "I'm not a police officer." You speak, making eye contact with her. "I just thought that if she had a kid, she would want you to work with her or something." She tilts her head looking at you. "She did,It was me who didn't want to."you slump down on the couch.

"I saw you bend,and I think you're pretty strong." Her body remains standing. "My bending is not the problem." You leave out a small smile at her compliment.

"Then what is it?" Before you could say anything, Lin enters the room. "Chief," your gaze follows Lin's.

"I have a matter to discuss with the two of you." Lin's gaze moves from you to the girl.

"I mean,that's the whole point why you got me here.* The dark haired girl shrugs,sitting down on the couch.

"(Name) ,I want to introduce you to Korra,the avatar." You look at the girl with furrowed brows. "She's...the avatar?" You tilt your head,how could she be the avatar? She looks fine or whatever,but you imagined her to be something... different?

"Of course I'm the avatar! Who else would it be?" She chuckles at your confused expression,Lin continues. "Yes,and you will show her around Republic city,and make sure nothing happens to her." Lin commands, staying strong in her uniform, a fierce look on her face (like usual dare I say).

Your brows remain furrowed, "Why would you trust me with this task?" Your arms now crossed, suspicious of her trust in you.

"The two of you are close to age,and since you're my daughter,I trust you make sure nothing happens to Korra." Her words take you by surprise,you nod, smiling you nod. "Nothing will happen to the Avatar in my presence,I promise." You feel so proud,she finally has something important for you to do.

"I don't need protection,I'm the avatar? remember?" Korra crosses her arms.

"And I'm the Chief in this town ,and if you want to walk freely in my town you will do so with my daughters protection." Lin narrows her eyes at Korra.

"I am more than capable of taking care of myself!" Her defiant nature amuses you.

"if you wish to remain in Republic City you will obey my rules. End of story." Your mother slams her hand on the table, clearly done with the girl's comments.

"Fine! Whatever." Korra ends up leaving the room, allowing you and your mother to be alone.

"This girl..." She sighs,sitting down on the couch facing the one you're on.

"Working with her will be a challenge." You joke, earning another sigh from your mother.

"You're a big girl,I know you're capable or I would have assigned you for her." You smile at her (sort of?) compliment.

"I'll do my best." Earns a nod from Lin.

You warmed up to her rather quickly,and the other way around. Turns out she's a pleasant company to be around.

For the next few weeks you spend time with Korra,even getting to know her better, sharing a few things about yourself.

Besides the fact that she's a little cocky (a little more) Korra is a great person to be around.

"So tell me! how was it being raised by Beifong? Is she always like that? Did she want you to take after her?" You smile at her curiosity, "Sometimes, but as a child she never implied I become a soldier,like her" the memories bringing a nice warmth in your chest.

"My mother would sometimes take me outside of Republic City, we would hike for hours to get to the most breath taking view I could see as a child." Korra watches your expression, she must admit,you're very pretty.She finds herself staring at you quite often,but she can't figure out why you're so captivating.

Once you lock eyes with her she forgets anything she wanted to say before,just staring at your face.

"Republic city is boring,I know a place you would like." You smile,taking her hand in yours, passing by many streets.

She looks at you confused as you tell her to hold on.

The earth beneath your feet started rising up,until you decided it was enough.

You started walking deeper and higher to a place only you knew.

"Where are we going (Name)?" She speaks between chuckles.

"You'll see,just trust me." You look back at her ,winking.

Her face is slightly warm to touch,Korra follows after you,passing by trees and going higher up a hill.

If she wasn't so busy watching your body instead of the place you were leading her too she would have noticed the view already.

"Were here!" Your voice brings her back,gaze moving away from your body ,now focusing on her surroundings.

Hands still entangled you stop , letting go of her hand. Her eyes fall on her now empty hand, slightly disappointed.

"Korra,look." She follows your voice, gaze falling on the breath taking view in front of her.

Your hand takes hers,leading her next to you on the grass.

"It's beautiful,isn't it?" She looks at you, analyzing your face ,reading its expressions like it's an open book for her to learn from.

"It is." Your eyes meet,locked on each other. Your hands entangled on the grass, the looks shared between the two of you speak like no words ever could.

She leans in,one hand now cups your cheek,her skin is so soft..

"Korra I..." You struggle to find the right words,mind clouded by the thought of her and only her. Fortunately there is no need for words,not now.

Her eyes scan your face for any kind of resistance,any kind of hesitance,but there's none in sight.

Her lips crash into yours in a soft ,loving kiss.

Korra's hands are cuping your cheek, while yours are around her waist. Fingers gently rubbing the material on her skin.

The kiss lasts a few seconds,but it feels like time stopped.

You move away from Korra's lips, smiling while looking at her bright blue eyes.

"I just kissed Beifong's daughter." You laugh softly at her words,placing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"The avatar kissed me." You grin,noticing her proud smile.

"And I'd do it again."

Took me a little to search for a plot ,but here it is. Hope you like it ;).

Depending on the attention this fic is getting,maybe I will make a part two.

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kittyhui · 4 months

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exes to lovers! seungcheol x reader

!!MDNI!!

[seungcheol ended your five year long relationship seemingly out of nowhere, leaving you heartbroken. two years after your breakup, you release your solo album, song written about the heartbreak you felt. now, seungcheol is trying to get your love back]

cw: idol x idol, angst w/ comfort, semi public sex, not grammar checked well😭

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I think we should break up” is all Seungcheol says to you, sad in his eyes.

He walks out of your apartment, not staying to listen to your cries and pleads, asking for an explanation on why he was so suddenly doing this. He was a completely different person from the last time you saw him; his love-filled eyes replaced with cold and sad ones.

You tried to contact him multiple times after that; calls and messages never answered, leaving you and your heart shattered, your members having to pick up the pieces. A five year old relationship gone in a flash, without a reason, without even a thought of why. Did i do something wrong? Did he grow tired? Was there.. someone else? The situation hurt you so badly, that even fans could tell something was wrong. Your relationship was a secret from fans and from your company, save from the members. Your performance during promotions were off and it took you almost a full year to get back on your game, taking a hiatus at one time because it was just so bad. but you were feeling better now. It’s now past your two year breakup anniversary, and though you think about the good times of your old relationship, you weren’t consumed with grief anymore. You felt much better, better than ever. Better enough to release your first solo album, songs written from that time.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[interviewer] So, What was the thought process behind this album?

[Y/N] All these songs are a part of a giant collection of songs while i was going through a lot of feelings haha. Most of these were my inner thoughts and feelings that I couldn't express to anyone else so I wrote them out. they’ve only now came out because I was finally confident in myself and these songs after years and my members helped build my courage to share them with you all.

[Interviewer] I’m happy that you were finally able to overcome your fears with your songs.

[Y/N] Thank you so much

[Interviewer] Do you think you could go more in depth about the song meanings?

[Y/n] Yea, of course. The first song on the album can be interpreted in multiple ways in my opinion. When I wrote this, I was thinking about someone I loved truly. I wrote this wishing that the way they ended it could’ve been that we just fell out of love. I wanted us to be tired of each other, to just want it to be over and so I wrote this point of view wishing this was the reality, even though I knew how much I still loved them. It’s very sad and kinda pathetic but yea haha.

For the second track, I wrote this because in this same relationship, the way we broke up was so rushed and I was not ready for it. I felt like they didn’t even feel anything towards me anymore and it broke me down so much. By the end of the song, I kinda accept it as the end and try to let them go.

Ah~ This third track was actually wrote when i was first in that relationship. We were both falling hard and fast and I had to let it out in a way. I can’t really explain more.

[Interviewer] And lastly, the fully english track?

[Y/N] This one really talks about how even if I’ll be in another relationship in the future, I’ll only think about and try to find them in the other person. I wrote this the latest out of all of them. I knew I was still in love with this person even though it’s been years since the breakup but I know I’ll always see them as my first and only love even if they don’t see me the same way.

[Interviewer] These are all truly beautiful songs

[Y/N] Thank you

[Interviewer] We just have a few more questions before we say goodbye today. Firstly, You said these songs were in a collection of other songs, will you release the rest of them as well?

[Y/N] Maybe, I’m surprised I got away making this album so hopefully I can push my companies limits a tad more.

[Interviewer] Next question, This relationship you sing about seemed really intense. Was it a long one?

[Y/N] Yea, It dont think I can go into too many details but it was a pretty serious relationship. When it ended, I took it very hard. I liked them for a long time before too so it was rough haha

[Interviewer] Last question, Because you produce and write songs for your group, Have you ever wrote about this relationship in those songs?

[Y/N] Honestly I couldn’t tell you. I try not to because I’m still not the best about this relationship I was in but it’s probably slipped in a few songs unfortunately haha

[Interviewer] Thank you so much for coming onto my show today!

[Y/N] I’m honored to be asked here for an interview, thank you. I’d also like to say thank you to my fans and anyone else who is listening in! Please enjoy my new album!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Needless to say, your interview was seen by alot of people. Neitzens have been picking it apart since it came out, speculating on the mystery person you were talking about. Your fans were both happy for you and angry for you; ready to fight the person who broke your heart. Though the publicity was great for your album sales and streams, the constant news was really tiring now, especially now that you were promoting at music shows. Music shows that your ex, S.Coups of Seventeen, was also promoting at with his group. Singing a song about your heartbreak in the same place of the person who hurt you so bad, was awkward to say the least. The waiting room of the music show was the worst. passing by him and his group makes your heart pound. His eyes follow you when you pass by each other. you try not to meet his eyes. Your heart just couldn’t handle it. Your still wanted him yet you hated him at the same time. You wanted to kiss him again but also wanted to hit him. The last conversation you both had together was him breaking up with you. He hurt you so badly yet you yearned for him.

So when he approached you before your performance, you felt conflicted.

“Y/n?” The familiar voice fills your ears and you look up at the man standing infront of your sitting figure.

“Seungcheol? What are you doing” You didn’t actually think he would speak to you again, but here he was.

“Can we- can we talk?” He pauses, licking his lips nervously “I know you probably never want to speak to me ever again but I just want a second of your time.”

“You really have horrible timing. I going on stage in a few minutes. Please don’t do this now. You had two years to talk about this,” You look away from his, glancing to the side “We can talk.. after the music show is over. Don’t expect too much, though” You stand and walk to the stairs of the stage and he sighs, agreeing to meet later on.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The music show ends entirely too quickly for your liking, leg bouncing nervously in your dressing room and when you hear a knock at the door you know it’s Seungcheol. You open the door, the man in front of you quickly walking in and closing the door again.

“Y/n..” He sighs

“Seungcheol,” You try to sound disinterested but inside you just want to hug him. “Please just say what you have to say”

“I just want to say I’m so sorry for the way I ended things. I know I hurt you beyond belief and it hurts that I hurt you. I watched your interview and.. god.. I care about you so much.. I never wanted to break up with you but I had to..” His eyes brim with tears and he lets out a haggard breath.

“Then why did you? Five years, Seungcheol. I loved you for five years, hell, I still love you after what you did, but, just why? I felt like I wasted all those years for nothing. I want to marry you… I wanted to have everything with you.. You were my first everything and you hurt me like I was nothing..” You were choking on your tears at this point, the salty liquid pooling in you lips “You were more than just a boyfriend to me, Seungcheol. You were the love of my life.”

“Y/n.. I.. I didn’t break up because I wanted to.. your company found out.. they threatened your career if I didn’t break up with you.. I tried to convince them to let us be, but they were persistent and my company was pressuring me as well.. I shouldve fought for you more.. I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you what was happening but… I was a coward. I never stopped loving you, y/n.. You’re the love of my life too. I had every intention of being with you until the day I died, and I want to fight for you now even though I didn’t before.”

The shock of what he said lingers in your mind. You look at him without saying anything. He sat down next to you, letting you process his words. After some time you finally spoke.

“I dont know what to say,” You start “I believe you even though that means my company did this too me but.. I dont know. I want to forgive you. I want you, Cheol. I want you to be in my life again. but it took me so long to recover from this. I dont know if we’ll ever be what we were before,” He looks down at his feet in defeat “But we can try..” He looks up at you again, eyes brightening.

He finally smiles, “You dont understand how badly I missed you…” He hugs you tightly before looking into your eyes and then looking down at your lips “can I..” You nod slowly, waiting for his lips to touch yours.

He kisses your lips with hunger, holding on to you for fear you might run away “Missed you.. Misses your touch.. ‘m so sorry, my love” He pushes you flat on the couch you were sitting on, kissing you face and neck with desire. He missed this so much. “I love you, baby. Please let me make you feel good.. Love you..” You whine at his words, hips grinding up at his.

“l-love you too, Cheolie.. Please.. Need you so bad” Your hands move up and down his clothed back. “Please..missed you too” He kisses you quickly, breaking away to remove the both of your clothes.

“Just a gorgeous as I remember,” He mutters under his breath. You can feel his hard member on your stomach, moaning at the anticipation of having him after so long. “Need to be inside you so bad, baby”

“mhm please, cheolie..“ You pull him closer, begging him to do anything.

“shhh, ill take care of you, baby.” he coos at you, finally pushing in, “shit- so tight.. you feel so good baby” he brushes the hairs out of your face, kissing your forehead gently. “So good for me, my love”

“Please move- Please I need it. Cheolie- Needed this so bad” You sob as he finally starts to roll his hips into yours, groans falling from his mouth.

“God- y-you’re too good, baby. Am I making you feel good, hm?” He fucks into you faster, rougher, breathlessly calling out your name into your ear.

“yes yes makin’ me feel so good- gonna cum soon” You hips rut into his, determined to make both of you cum.

“b-baby” He pushes your hips back into the couch, “Be good- i’ll let you cum, promise…” He breathes out hot breath, eyes blown wide as he pounds into you; your heat sucking him in dangerously. “Cum for me please, need you to cum, baby.”

Your desperation for each other was unmatched and you were sure that the people walking past your dressing room can hear the obscene noises coming from it, but you could care less. The pleads for more came out if your mouth like a ritual and Seungcheol knew you were close. One of his hands grip your own, telling you to cum, and what else can you do when his cock twitches inside of you so deliciously. You cry out his name once more before cumming hard. Feeling you pulse around him, he fills you up with spurts of his hot cum in you. “Fuck, did you so good, my love. I love you so much” He breathes out, pecking your lips once again.

You look into his eyes, dazed, and welling with tears again. His happy demeanor changes ones again. “Hey. Hey, Y/n. What’s wrong? Did i do something?” He looks you up and down, checking for injuries. Making sure he didn’t fuck this up again.

“No- i just- i just missed you so much, Cheolie,” you cry out. “Love you so much..” His arms are around you before you can even say another word. He murmurs I love you’s into your ears, kissing the tears rolling down your face.

“I love you too, baby. let’s go home hm?”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

a/n: these are the songs i used as reference for the solo album songs:

1. Can’t Love You Anymore - IU

2. Goodbye - OOHYO

3. Fallin’ - Yoon Hyun Sang

4. Glimpse of Us - Joji

this was so spur of the moment #loveit

#seventeen #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #scoups x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader

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merakiui · 4 months

Text

angel/angler.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, stalking, non-con, non-consensual photography, chikan/groping (train molestation), obsession, kidnapping/captivity, drugging, violence, blood, death (or is it??), azul's insecurities and low self-esteem, azul’s not-so-subtle breeding kink, implied disordered eating, reader's height isn't described, but it's written that azul is taller note - to obsess is to hunger like an angler from the deep sea. living his entire life in pitch-black solitude, entranced by an angel's halo; his only purpose is to find the body that will become his lifeline and, one day, his cemetery.

entry 1: 18 April, 20XX.

For anonymity’s sake, I’ve chosen to write using a vague pronoun. Additionally, this diary will be a record of my thoughts so that I can keep my mind and senses intact. In my youth, I was prone to terrible fits of self-destructive rage, and as a result they suggested I write my feelings down to prevent any outbursts. I’m not very physical towards others. Rather, it was the harm I posed to myself that fostered concern.

But this space isn’t for my own views on myself. It’s about someone else.

I have a confession: I’ve fallen in love with you from the train, and I’ve been in love with you for the four months I’ve come to know you.

You wear perfectly pressed suits, heels of a modest height, tights, and pencil skirts that cut just at your knees. I want to touch you, but if I do you might stop wearing skirts altogether and then I’ll never see your legs again. I suppose trousers aren’t so unattractive. They’re appealing in their own right. Everything looks good on you, though. (Nothing would look even better.)

You work in an office building. I’m not sure which floor, but I’ll know soon enough. I wanted to follow you inside, but there’s a security guard in the lobby. He always greets you, and you always smile and chat with him. You’re a kind person, so I let this pass without incident. But I can’t lie to these pages and say it’s not troublesome when I watch his gaze linger longer than it needs to.

I’d kill him, but then they’d employ a new guard and you’d make friends with him because you’re so kind. I don’t admire kind people. Rather, I find kindness to be a double-edged blade (Is that the correct phrasing? It’s different in my hometown. We say kindness is like pufferfish—harmless until it’s provoked and then it becomes poisonous). It’s not that I look down on kind people. I just think you shouldn’t be so quick to befriend the world in its entirety.

After plenty of observation, I’ve learned that you often leave your building to get lunch by yourself. This is what you’ve eaten in the week:

Monday - A salad at a popular café. Iced tea because it was a sunny day. A tiny cheesecake for dessert. It was blueberry.

Tuesday - A wrap of some kind. Chicken? Or was it vegetarian? Sweet potato fries. Water.

Wednesday - You didn’t leave your building. Were you at work today?

Thursday - Another salad. Water. Same café. No tiny cheesecake.

Friday - You went to lunch with that guard. I only remember my irritation and so I’m afraid I can’t make note of your meal for today. He looks at you like an obsessed puppy waiting for its owner to give it attention. I want to pluck his eyes from his sockets so he’ll never look at you in that way again.

You lead a healthy lifestyle, but I can’t help wondering if you’re eating well. Did someone say something about your figure? I’ll eviscerate them for you and then they can see how much it hurts when unnecessary scrutiny is thrown around.

It’s quite late. I want to sleep, but thinking about you has my body wide-awake. I wonder if your mouth tastes like the moonlight shining in through my window. I wonder if your body is soft like mine… Of course it is. A silly, irrational thought. You’re much warmer than me. This is just a theory. I’ve yet to feel and confirm for myself. I will in the foreseeable future.

Before we part ways, I want you to know that I’m not very good at cooking. I’ve picked up a few books and hope to learn. I’m going to practice so that I can feed you better meals one day. Salads are the worst. Fried chicken is the true meal of heaven. I’m certain you would share this sentiment.

If I were to be condemned to a last meal like those serial killers on death row, I’d ask for fried chicken. Knowing you, you’re too good to kill anyone. In this hypothetical, supposing you’re a heinous criminal, your last meal would be something healthy. Do you even like those salads, or are you forcing yourself because you must? I understand calorie-counting well enough, but if there’s one thing to enjoy in life it should be food.

I suppose that makes me a hypocrite. I ought to take my own advice.

Oh. I’m starting to grip my pen with more force and the lines have become shaky. I usually break my writing utensils if my focus strays. I’ll stop here for today. Ink is a pain to clean.

AA.

The morning rush is your greatest enemy.

Jack Howl, the lobby’s security, has suggested giving you a ride on numerous occasions. “It’s part of the reason I got my license,” he explained once, “so that I can protect those who work in this building from the rush. Not like you have to accept my offer. It’s just…convenient for both of us. Again, I don’t care what you do.”

(He does. You see through his gruff surface.)

According to him, the morning and night rushes bring out the worst kinds of characters.

But isn’t that everywhere? you think as you peer out the window, watching the city come into clarity.

Like every morning, the train car is more crowded than a sardine tin. You’re used to being pressed up against other commuters, pinned to the window or between people. You’re flattered to know someone’s concerned, but nothing has happened yet. And why would it? It’s bright outside. No one would dare do something during the day. At least, not in a crowded area where anyone could see and hear.

I wonder what I should have for dinner. I still need to go shopping. My fridge is way too empty, you think, sighing. And I need to follow up with that one author. They’ve yet to get back to me about my edits. Perhaps we should meet in the office instead of through video call… And I also need to finalize that other style sheet after the last round of editing. And then another conference… There was something else. Was I scheduled to have lunch with an author? Or was that next week? I should check before—

The train shudders as it slides into the station. Someone brushes against you from behind. Their hand is pressed against the window just near your head. They steady themselves, their body so close to yours you can hear their staggered breathing.

“Ah. S-Sorry…”

It’s next week, right? I really should check once I get to my stop. This is going to eat me alive all day.

“Mhm,” you hum, waving dismissively.

The stranger standing behind you peels his hand away from the window. A sweaty palm print is left in its wake.

“We will be approaching the next stop shortly.”

Just one more and you’ll be getting off.

A pair of bright eyes blinks back at you in the reflection, watching the city just as you are.

entry 5: 22 April, 20XX.

I’m not a social person by any means. If I can avoid crowds, I usually do. An introvert’s paradise is best spent in the comfort of their own room, after all. But if you prefer outdoor dates I can become extroverted for your sake. There are lots of things I’m willing to do for your sake.

Which is why I’ve forced myself to tolerate the train. I loathe it. It’s cramped and uncomfortable. Most days I’m not even near you, and so all I can do is stare longingly from afar. I content myself with imaginary scenarios like in the books you edit. I’ve mentioned it sparsely in this diary, but you’re a brilliant editor. Most of the novels you work on aren’t exactly my taste, but there’s something to appreciate about them. Reading through them knowing your very eyes pored over these pages dozens of times before publication… I admire your work. Immense time and effort goes into all professions, especially ones that involve meticulous touches.

With this discussion of careers, you might wonder what I do for a living. I manage my own restaurant chain off-site. It must be shocking news for you to realize: your secret admirer is actually quite successful.

If I’m not able to provide an adequate life—no, more than that. If I cannot drown you in all of life’s luxuries, I should sooner throw myself on the beach and let this soft, wriggling body of mine dry out than settle for the barest of minimums. You deserve only the finest.

In fact, I have a room in my home dedicated to you. A private office in which you can write and edit in peace. It’s furnished with everything you’d ever need. I hope to gift it to you one day.

Remote work is very relaxing. (You’ll know this once you try it here.) When you’re boss, you work your own schedule. That’s why I’m able to fit our secret meetings into my weekly itinerary.

Today’s meeting was quite fortuitous. I felt like I’d won the lottery. Mostly because I was finally given the opportunity to be close to you. So close, in fact, that you didn’t even notice when I slid my phone under your skirt to take a few photos. Your undergarments are unexpectedly plain. Truthfully, I’m somewhat disappointed. I was hoping to learn your lingerie preferences. At the very least, I know your tights are sheer enough to show me the color of your panties.

I consider myself a connoisseur of many things, and I’ve done enough interior decorating in my time to become well-accustomed to color palettes. A fool would say your panties are red, but they’re actually maroon.

That same fool wouldn’t take another breath after glimpsing such a private side of you.

If you must know, my dear, I am excessively avaricious when it comes to the things I like. I have always been this way. I am a collector. A hoarder of secrets. I refuse to let others touch or take the things that belong to me, especially when they are wholly undeserving…

I’ve broken another pen. Thankfully, the mess wasn’t so extreme. Not-so-thankfully, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Ah. Right. Trains.

Today I rode the train, and I was standing right behind you. You were looking out the window, lost in your thoughts, and so you didn’t notice me. You must have seen my reflection, but I wear a mask and a hooded sweatshirt when I go outside. Perhaps it’s a touch embarrassing to admit, but I am very self-conscious of the way I look. Firstly, my eyes are too tired. I’ve read that many people are not fond of eyes with dark circles under them. Secondly, my face is average—unworthy of your love by my lofty standards. My hair never cooperates. My smiles never fit properly. My skin is too pale. My eyes are too blue and my pupils are abnormal. My weight is just a few kilograms above the average. I will work hard to bring it back down for your sake and for my own so that it won’t show. I prefer a slim waist, so I must stomach all manner of healthy foods for the weekend. What a pity… Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could eat whatever you wanted without having to worry about caloric intake and numbers on a scale?

That aside, there are times in which my glasses sit crooked on my face and it’s a horrifying thought to imagine I walk around looking like that! As if I’ve rolled right out of bed with no regard for my appearance whatsoever!

Perhaps the both of us share one similarity. We are vain creatures who care too much about how we present ourselves to others.

Thus, I conceal myself so that you won’t judge me harshly should you look upon me. Not like you’d do that. You were so immersed in your head that you hardly paid any attention to your surroundings. You should be more careful. What if something were to happen and I wasn’t there to protect you?

The train stuttered to a halt at the first stop, and some fool bumped into me. I should thank them because I got to brush against you. You gasped softly. I watched your breath fog the window. I placed my hand just above your head and apologized softly, and you weren’t bothered in the slightest. Oh, how I envy your carefree nature.

As a result of that stranger’s mishap, I’ve learned something new. You wear perfume. Even with my mask, I could smell it. Strong and flowery, overwhelmingly sweet. Maybe you prefer these scents? I’m more partial to mature scents, but I admit there’s a certain charm to the scents you wear. I wish I knew the exact brand. There are dozens of perfumes with the same notes as the ones I picked up, but none can compare to the one you use. I want to be able to hold the bottle knowing it’s your favorite.

I’ve prattled enough. With the length of my entries, you’d assume I was this chatty beyond the page. I’m not. I only say as much as I think is necessary.

Once again, I’m having trouble falling asleep. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m looking through the photos I snapped and the outline of your lips against your panties is lovely. I’m sure you’re just as soft and sweet inside as you are on the outside. If only I could experience it right now. My hand can’t replicate the softness or the wetness or the way you’ll probably clamp down when we finally make love.

I can only fantasize for now. What a pain.

AA.

“It’s going to rain today,” Jack tells you the minute you step through the lift doors into the lobby. He stands straight like a soldier, his shoulders squared and features set into something serious.

“Looks like it, huh?” You glance at the darkening sky outside, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Hopefully it rains after I get home. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I’ll drive you.” He falls into step beside you. “It’s dark out and the station is—”

“It’s only five minutes away. I’ll be fine. I take this way all the time.”

Jack’s lip twitches into a grim frown. The beginnings of a sharp, pearly-white canine flashes at you as his mouth curls. “Fine,” he concedes with a huff. Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck and looks elsewhere. “Do what you want. I’m not forcing you or anything.”

You smile at him. “You’re very considerate, Jack. I appreciate the concern.”

He’s like a puppy. It’s really sweet.

“W-Wha—who said anything about concern?” His face is growing warmer by the second, thawing his external ice.

“I’ll be okay. It’s not even that dark out either.”

“Still…” He sighs and cards his hand through his hair. “You haven’t noticed anything weird lately, have you?”

“Anything weird?” You furrow your brows, suddenly confused.

“On your way home. Nothing out of the ordinary? It’s the same every day?”

“Mostly, yeah. Why? Did something happen?”

“No. Just wondering…” Jack looks past you then, searching for something you can’t seem to see. “You sure you don’t want a ride? I can walk you to the station. Protect you if anything or anyone—”

You force yourself to laugh. “Come on. You’re trying to scare me on purpose. This is because I told you I’m editing a horror novel, isn’t it?”

Jack doesn’t share in your humor. Instead, his frown tightens on his face.

“While I’m grateful you want to help, I really don’t want to put that on you. It’s not your job to chauffeur me around. I’d feel bad if I made you do that. So thank you, but I’ll have to decline.”

You turn swiftly on your heel before he can protest, striding out the door into the gloomy night.

When is it going to be summer? It’s way too chilly.

You burrow into your jacket as you beeline for the station. A brisk breeze blows through busy city streets. Even though there are still people out and about, it feels strangely desolate.

Jack’s heart was in the right place, but did he really have to phrase it like that?

You wrap your arms around yourself and hurry along. Your steps are in time with your pounding heart. A cold sweat beads along your forehead.

Relax. It’s nothing to get worked up over. I’m fine.

Crunch.

You whirl around, clutching your bag between your arms. There’s no one in sight. The city seems eerily quiet tonight.

Stop scaring yourself. Nothing’s there.

No, it’s not something that could make that sound—a noise akin to a footstep. That belongs to someone.

Is someone following you?

You aren’t going to wait around and find out. Now you’re jogging the rest of the way, your heels clicking against the pavement. Your breath comes in shaky heaves, and by the time you finally step into the station’s blinding fluorescents, adrenaline still vibrating through your veins, you notice the time.

My train—it’s already here! Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!

You rush through the station in a flurry, and the relief is tangible once you’re safe and sound inside the train car. You squirm through the throng of late-night commuters towards the window.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me,” you murmur as you navigate the crowded space.

You make it to the window just as the doors slide shut. Moments later, the train squeaks into motion.

I worked up such a sweat. I can’t believe I got so frazzled over something as small as a snapped twig…or whatever that was. It wasn’t a footstep. And if it was, it was probably my own.

You shake your head at your reflection.

Look at me, losing my mind all because I let someone’s words get to my head.

The stranger standing behind you sighs alongside you. You’re about to turn around, but it’s their hands on your waist that stop you. Your blood freezes. Your spine goes rigid.

“Excuse me? Um… C-Can I help you?”

You gasp, horrified, as the hands creep higher until they’re wrapped around your chest. The stranger squeezes almost curiously. Their breath catches on an eager hitch. You peer helplessly at the window. Two blue eyes blink back.

“Wait… Hold on—”

“It’s okay.” A man’s voice. Sweet and silky-smooth. A reassuring whisper. Only you can hear it with this invasively close proximity. It might as well be a drop in the ocean that is the rickety din of the train on the rails. You reach to grab his arms, hoping to pry him off. “I’m not going to hurt you. As long as you’re quiet…”

“No, you can’t. Please, sir. S-Stop… Don’t touch there.” Your fingers curl around his wrists. You squirm against him, your brain blanking.

This can’t be happening… There’s just no way…

Something stiff prods at your ass from behind. You yelp softly when he rubs himself against you. You try to catch sight of his features when you crane your neck, but all you get is a faceful of a dark hoodie. He’s tall enough to block you from the other passengers, his body caging yours against the window. One hand slides away from your chest to slip under your skirt. He gropes at your inner thigh; his fingers draw dangerously close to private territory.

“Sir—”

He inhales a dreamy breath. “Perfect,” he babbles, his words muffled by his mask. “So perfect. Warm… And soft. Just as I thought.”

There’s nowhere for you to run. Nowhere to hide. You’re trapped here with this fiend until you get off at your stop.

“We will be approaching the stop shortly,” the woman on the intercom says, but it doesn’t give you the relief you’re after.

Three more stops and then you’ll be at yours. Three more. Three. Your stop might as well be years away.

Two fingers trace the outline of your pussy through your panties. You’re grateful you’re wearing tights.

His breathing is heavy. He’s mumbling filth in your ear. You hardly register it over the static in your brain.

Gross. So gross. Stop it. Please stop. I don’t want this.

A whine bubbles low in your throat when he presses down against your clit. He caresses you through the fabric of your panties. You slump against the window with your palms on the glass. Your heart is in your throat. You feel sick and dizzy. It’s too hot in here. Everything is spinning. Your heart is picking up its pace. Your hands are starting to shake.

And there’s nowhere to go. No amount of begging will stop him. He’s all over you, pressed impossibly close—so close you think he’s trying to fuse his body to yours, becoming one mutual unit.

You want to scream, but you can’t find your voice. You can’t do anything. You can’t even think.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs, twining his fingers around your trembling ones. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mmh, no… No—stop. P-Please, sir, please stop.” You shudder against him, and a choked, broken sob rattles through your ribs.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand. His other circles your tender, sensitive clit, and the contact elicits a whimper from you. “Even though you’re making the cutest sounds? Aah, I wanna be inside you so badly… I’m sure it’s even softer there.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard that your teeth pierce the skin. A thin ribbon of blood dribbles down your chin. You refuse to give him that satisfaction. Even though your attempt to snuff your voice is successful, your body doesn’t seem to agree. It shakes in fear and arousal. When he presses against your panties next, he feels the growing damp spot.

That’s just a natural reaction, right? I’m not actually aroused by this. There’s no way!

Just when you think he might pursue further, he pulls back. His hips are still flush to your ass. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric. It’s gross and demoralizing. You’re nothing but a doll for him to get off to. Less than a person.

The train glides to a halt and the doors open. People exit and enter in a busy fashion. You stare out the window at your blurred surroundings.

When the train eases back into motion, you realize tears are welling in your eyes. They don’t fall. Not yet.

It isn’t until you get off at your stop, sprint the rest of the way home, hurry up into your apartment, and lock the door that the horror of it all finally catches up to you. You collapse to your knees and wail like you’ve just lost something precious—something you’ll never be able to get back.

You’ve never felt more dirty before.

entry 36: 4 May, 20XX.

I did it. I finally did it.

My hand is shaking; I’m so happy. No, I’m more than happy. I’m absolutely overjoyed!

You don’t know this about me yet, but I’m terribly envious. I suppose that’s why I could muster the confidence to touch you and hold you… Your body is so soft against mine. Every inch of you is beautiful. I wish I could have felt beneath your shirt, lifted your bra to see your bare breasts in the window’s reflection. This is quite the shameless admission. Even I, despite admiring you for so long, am loath to admit it.

You mesmerize me. I’m already flustered just thinking about the way your hand fit in mine when I held it… And you were aroused! I was so close to such a precious area, and you were wet for me and only me. I feel so overwhelmed. It’s a dream come true. You’re such an angel. My angel.

My dear, darling angel, I’m sorry for startling you. That was the only way, you see, and certain circumstances led me to that point. You must understand.

To be unfiltered about it, it was annoying seeing that security guard pester you. I had the strongest urge to kill him, but that’s not something you can do on a whim. Murder is like running a business, in a way. One misstep, a bad investment or a sliver of evidence left behind, and it might spell the end.

That’s besides the point. It’s hardly worth the time.

Regrettably, while on the train into the city, I noticed you were wearing trousers today. I was right. Last night was a once-in-a-lifetime event. A pity. Your legs in those sheer tights is a vision to behold. Luckily, I have enough pictures to satisfy the craving to see you in them. When you live with me, I’ll buy plenty of tights for you to wear around the house. That way you won’t have to worry if I rip them.

That aside, you’ve started looking over your shoulder more. You talked to that security guard longer than you normally do. It’s irritating. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.

I don’t want to be childish. I understand you’re stressed and nervous. Anyone would be. That’s normal. But I’m not going to hurt you. I even told you those exact words! I’m certain you would have calmed down if you could see my face. Unfortunately, I’m not very blessed in that department. I assure you my personality is far prettier…despite the ugly truths I’ve penned here.

But then those don’t matter when it comes to love. Even in love, couples are supposed to recognize and accept each other’s flaws. So it’s fine if I’m an ugly person. It’s fine if I’m a devil or something grotesque from the deepest trench in the sea. At least, in spite of such darkness, your halo will continue to light the way and I will always be lured in by your luminosity.

I can’t do much of anything right now and that has led me to feel increasingly itchy. I want to feel you again. Smell you. Touch you. I’d like to taste you next time. Part your legs or tear your skirt off and indulge in the space you keep hidden from me. I want to sink into your depths and know the shape of you just as you twist yourself to take the shape of me.

It’s just not enough. I desire more of you.

AA.

entry 40: 8 May, 20XX.

It’s been a few days. You haven’t taken the train since. Now you’re driven to and from work by that pest. I was overcome with such frustration yesterday that I slammed my hands down upon my desk and fractured my wrist. For the time being, until my wrist heals, I must wear this unsightly stabilizer-brace-thing and write carefully with my non-dominant hand. I like to consider myself ambidextrous, if only because it’s a talent I’m sure will impress you, as you seem to surround yourself with successful, talented people, but I must admit my lettering is rather…subpar.

It’s not as neat as I hoped it would be. Something to practice while my wrist heals, I suppose.

There’s only so much strain I can take, my angel. Are you really so afraid of me that you’ve chosen to rely on someone else to protect you? If it was funny, I’d laugh. But it’s not. It’s annoying. Must I chain you up by the throat so that you won’t run away? Must I cuff our wrists together so that neither of us can part ways? What must I do to ensure you’ll never leave me?

Every day I spend in solitude, you grow closer to everyone but me. It’s infuriating.

However, there are always silvers of hope to be found and exploited in misfortune. As a businessman, I know this well enough.

I can plan around this. I’ve taken a few photos of your house at every angle. It’s important to think ahead when making a calculated risk.

When you go to kidnap the love of your life, you must dress appropriately, no? Now should I wear a formal suit or something casual?

I have some time and plenty to look forward to.

AA.

Like always, early as usual, Jack is waiting for you below your apartment. You see his car from the window and light up at once.

It’s been two months since the incident on the train. Jack insisted you go to the police when you confided in him a week after the fact. But what could they do? A story isn’t evidence. Evidence is evidence. So to combat that, you’ve avoided public transport altogether. Jack drives you to and from work and anywhere else you need to go. You never knew him very well before this mess, and you regret not starting a friendship sooner. He’s everything you need right now: a friend, a listener, and someone you can trust and rely on.

Like always, he unlocks the door so you can put your things in the back. “It’s my turn to treat for lunch today, so let’s go somewhere you like.”

You shut the door and open the passenger side, sliding in seamlessly.

“There’s no need for that.”

Your heart skips. Your breath stumbles in your lungs. Your body tenses.

You finally look at the driver.

He’s wearing what appears to be an expensive collared shirt with a tie, but the top half is covered by the soft hoodie he’s thrown on over it. He has a mask like before, but there’s no denying his eyes. Bright and blue, deep and deceptive like the ocean, they blink back at you.

The door locks with a click.

You throw yourself at it in a useless effort to escape. The masked stranger seizes your wrist. You scream.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I-It’s only me! I won’t hurt you.” He tugs his mask down to his chin so that you can see the wobbly smile on his face. “Please don’t be scared…”

“Let go of me, you pervert!” You rip your arm free and reach for the door once more. “What the hell are you doing here?! W-Where’s Jack? Why are you—”

You choke around the rest of your words when he wraps his arms around you and yanks you over the seat towards him. You kick out like a deranged animal, breathing heavy and frantic, your eyes darting to and fro. The stranger manages to manhandle you into a chokehold despite the struggle. With his arm wrapped around your neck, he grabs a plastic water bottle with his free hand. Clumsily, he unscrews the cap and presses the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

“I’m sorry for being so rough, but I need you to drink this. Can you do that for me? Drink all of it.” As he says this, he tips the bottle and the strange liquid fills your mouth. You fight against his hold, doing everything you can to resist. He tightens his grip on you, dragging your body closer to his. “Swallow it, or I’ll slit your throat.”

Against your will, very shakily, you gulp down the solution. It tastes bitter and vile like medicine. A little salty.

“I didn’t want to frighten you, my angel, but this is the only way you’ll listen.” He swipes the tear threatening to spill from your eye. “You don’t have to cry. I’ll take you home and keep you safe. Just drink the rest of this and take a nap until we get there. That’s it. You’re almost done. I know it’s disgusting, but you have to drink it all, my love.”

“Why…” you sputter, coughing. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” He blinks at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because I love you.”

You can’t understand the logic there. You don’t want to.

Slumping against the seat, boneless and disturbed, you tremble when he leans over to buckle you in. And you continue to do so until you’re pulled into sleep.

Two blue eyes follow you in your dreams, sticking to your body like old gum under a school desk. In sleep, you feel his hands on you—clinging and cloying like tentacles and the stench of brine, all-enveloping.

entry 179: 24 September, 20XX.

Summer is winding to a close. The last few vestiges of warmth are slipping away. Today’s weather was crisp. Autumn is approaching.

It’s been a difficult few months. I’ve catalogued my process in the time you’ve spent with me, locked away in our bedroom. I must keep you chained to the bed for the time being. It’s long enough to lead into the bathroom. Until I can trust you, this is the arrangement at present.

They’re still searching for you, albeit not as frantically and frequently. I hope they assume you’ve met some grisly end so that I can finally shelve that anxiety and move on with my life. While I’m relieved it wasn’t as messy as I thought it’d be, I’m just a touch disheartened. I would have loved to watch the light fade from that guard’s eyes.

But that just wasn’t feasible or smart. Besides, what else am I to use my current fortune for, if not the props needed for that day? You call it kidnapping, and while that term is technically true I prefer something sweeter. A reunion of sorts.

There’s nothing of note to discuss. You haven’t accepted your new home or me yet, so I will continue to wait. I can be patient. I must be if this relationship is going to work (and it will).

I don’t particularly believe in soulmates. Rather, I find the concept to be foolish. Fate does not dictate an entire life. It is the decisions you make along the way that shape your paths. Just like in my favorite board game. I’d like to play it with you. Although I must admit I already know how our life goes. I have a few routes in mind.

You look at me with such scalding contempt when I imply we ought to start a family, and even though I’ve been victim to that look so many times it doesn’t burn any less. You just can’t see how good this is for you yet.

What else are we to do with our time if not use it to fill quiet halls with the pitter-patter of tiny feet? I have a few names in mind, but for now we’ll take it one day at a time. I’m a patient man despite my temper.

AA.

entry 257: 11 December, 20XX.

Exciting news! Though it may seem small, we’ve reached an understanding. Or so I suspect. You’re not so averse to me anymore. In fact, we take baths together, eat meals together, watch TV together, play board games together… There are so many things we do together as a couple and so, despite the encroaching winter frost, my days have become warmer! Just last night you allowed me to sleep beside you on our bed, and I held you close and you kissed me and I felt like the luckiest man alive.

Finally! Genuine progress!

I won’t delude myself and say that you may finally love me in the way I love you, but a start is a start. I admit I couldn’t help myself. I returned your kiss tenfold, all over your face, down the column of your throat to your collarbone. I was gentle and careful. I didn’t rush.

I like to play experienced in all fields, but even I can’t act perfectly. How should I describe our first time without all of the shameless vulgarity? Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Sex is sex no matter how you try to embellish it. Filthy and imperfect, sweaty and sticky, more effort and exercise than I realized.

You pulled me in close, pursued my mouth with the same want in mine, and it was more cathartic than anything I’ve ever known. Oh, to be kissed by the love of your life! I wasn’t aware such joy existed.

You palmed me through my pajamas and told me you wanted a family—that the idea of raising a little one was perfectly charming. I admit it’s an alluring thought I’ve had long before you lived with me. I’ve always thought you would look very enchanting while pregnant. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Even though it isn’t official yet, it doesn’t hurt to call myself your husband. In my mind and heart, we’re married. It may not seem so to you yet, but it will be.

Back to the matter at hand. Hearing that you wanted a child with me made me happy. I can’t remember if I cried. I must have because you pulled me in close and you, lying beneath me, wiped at my face and told me you wanted me to give you a child. And who am I if not the most doting, most benevolent husband? I’d do anything for you.

This must be what a predator feels when they tear into prey: a rapture so absolute and all-consuming that it covers their brain like a cotton shroud and renders every other action a hazy instinct.

It was a blur even though I was sure I moved slowly. Clothes weren’t exactly shucked. They were in the way and we had a singular goal, far too focused to remove them completely. Thus, they were pulled up, down, to the side, in whichever way provided easiest access. I closed my hands around your breasts and they feel so much softer without the obstruction of clothes.

Perhaps, rather than humans, we’re just anglerfish. Hungry for each other, using the other, a voracious relationship full of mutual benefits. If I could, I’d love to live inside you. I want nothing more than to press myself close enough to feel your heart beat alongside mine. To feel rushing blood. To turn myself inside-out just to satisfy you. Give you every little thing I can offer—brain and body—and we’d cleave through sunless waters as one, together forever.

The word ‘love’ is not large enough to truly encapsulate all that I feel for you.

My forehead pressed to yours. You kissed me once. I felt sloppy. I was sloppy. Inexperienced. We both are. Your hand wrapped around me. I told you it was okay, to do it at your own pace, to tell me if it hurts. But you kissed my every anxiety away, and in just a few strokes we were connected. Perhaps I died then and I’m still dead now.

Maybe I’m writing this from the moon or the deep, dark sea. Maybe all of this is just a long dream and I’m not even human. Maybe I’m the anglerfish stuck to your side, latched on with my sharp teeth, our lives forever intertwined. You taste of fruit and blood and every beautifully painful thing in this world.

For the first time in the many months we’ve lived together, you called me by my name. You gasped it as you curled your legs around my waist and clung to my chest, your arms draped over my neck, nails in my back. You chanted it like a song. I must have done the same with yours.

However, no amount of carnal euphoria can change the fact that I still have my reservations about unchaining you.

A deliberation for another day. It’s time to cook dinner. I’ve improved lots in the time we’ve known each other. You help around the kitchen as well. Harmless things like stirring batter or mixing a salad. I can’t trust you with actual food prep for reasons I’m sure are obvious and understandable. I try to create balanced meal plans. Now that I’m no longer eating alone and surviving off of misery, I want to show you that I’m both a great chef and a conscientious eater.

AA.

You watch the seasons shift outside the bedroom window and there’s nothing you can do.

You live life chained like a prisoner and there’s nothing you can do.

You eat off paper plates with the same utensils made for toddlers and there’s nothing you can do.

You let the same man whose touch was once so covetous pet you all over with his hands and mouth and there’s nothing you can do.

You’re stuck here forever and there’s nothing you can do.

There are highs higher than the clouds and then there are lows lower than the sea. You oscillate between these temperaments, a body thrown around on rocky waves. How you’ve yet to sink and drown for good, you’re not sure.

Today’s low has brought Azul to his knees. You stand over him, gripping the knife in a shaky hold. Chopped vegetables scatter in a rainbow on the floor. He had been chopping them so methodically, so wrapped up in pleasant conversation with you, that he hadn’t been expecting the retaliation. The blade is freshly sharpened. The perfect weapon. The perfect opportunity. Freedom just after this final hurdle.

Freedom that comes with its burdens—with a child and the law and the media and… And then what? A life of loneliness. A life spent working through mountains of trauma. A life in which you can never look at the train again.

Two blue eyes blink up at you. For the first time, Azul looks scared and weak—a small, pitiful thing. For the first time, you have him trapped beneath your thumb.

You want to bring the knife down and put an end to these cyclical days. You want to crush his spirits in the same way he crushed yours. You want him to know pain so brutal it rots him from the inside.

But you can’t. You want to and in an ideal scenario devoid of fear you would. But you can’t.

You dig your heel palms into your eyes and sob. “I can’t! I’m sorry. I… I can’t do it!”

Azul deflates with a deep sigh. “Oh… Oh, my angel, it’s all right. I forgive you. You’re just a little confused. A little emotional—I get it. We all have emotional moments. I’m not upset.”

“But I—I almost… I was going to—”

“You didn’t. You didn’t, my love, and that’s what matters.”

He beckons you to his height; you lower to your knees. The knife is still clutched in your hands. He looks between it and you, as if weighing which is more dangerous. Volatile emotions or a blade. Maybe both.

Azul wraps his arms around you and rubs your back consolingly. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

You sniffle, but the tears won’t stop flowing. “Still… I almost did such a horrible thing to you. I could’ve hurt you—k-killed you!”

“My dear, it’s okay.” He kisses the top of your head, tucking you beneath his chin. “I forgive you.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle. “You do?”

“I do. I always will.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Angel—”

You turn the sharpened point inwards and slam it into his side, just below his rib. It pierces through soft flesh. You pull away just in time to see hurt and betrayal flash across his face, hot like the tears you’re now drying.

Shakily, his movements unsteady, he reaches for the handle. His fingers dance across it, assessing the reality of the situation. You stabbed him. You did it.

He hisses through his teeth when he tears it out. Blood spatters the kitchen floor in a brilliant, vermillion arc. Azul, knife in hand, staggers to his feet and lunges.

You stumble away in a blind panic.

“How dare you…” He clutches his side with one hand while the other slashes through the air. You narrowly dodge before the knife can slice your arm. Blood seeps through Azul’s shirt, staining his palm red. His expression is twisted in a dark concoction of agony and anger. “I’ve shown you nothing but love and care… I’ve been nothing but patient. I’ve done everything! You were beginning to warm up to me—to this life—our life! I was wrong to trust you. Get back here—”

“You’re crazy! You assaulted me, kidnapped me, threatened me! Do you really think I’d love you after all of that?!” You yelp when his slick, blood-stained fingers wrap around your wrist to drag you down. “Stop! Let go of me!”

You elbow him in the ribs, which causes a shockwave of pain to travel through him, and it gives you enough time to wriggle free. Ripping your arm from his hold, you try to get away when he, aiming to subdue you, grabs hold of your ankle next. You feel the blade sink into your calf before you see it. A terrible cry frays your throat, torn from the depths of your chest like a flower pried from the soil.

“If I’m going to die…” He flops to his knees, wheezing. “If I’m going to die, you’ll die with me.”

“Like hell I will!” you hiss through your teeth, thrashing wildly.

Stupidly, you pull the knife from where it’s wedged in. Blood spurts from the wound, trickling down your leg in a thick, steady stream. You wince and limp towards the door. Closer… You’re almost there.

Azul reaches out with a bloodied hand, his expression utterly shattered. “Wait… Don’t go any further. Please… I need you. We need each other. My angel, my love, please don’t go!”

You tear your eyes away. He’s a monster. You’ll never sympathize with him.

Just before you can get to the front door, Azul picks himself up and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down and your head hits the floor with a harsh smack. You see stars. The ceiling spins above you. You try to get up, crawl away, escape—whatever it takes to lose him—but he clings to your side, holding tight. His blood is warm and wet against your shirt. The pain in your calf is sparking up your leg, joining the ache at the back of your head in duet.

Pressed so closely, the flow of blood slows. Your shirt soaks up what the rest of his already drenched shirt can’t hold.

You watch the ceiling. The light looks like a halo; it shines brightly. Azul blinks up at you, hopelessly, sickly enthralled. The tip of the knife prods at your stomach. If it pierces, you don’t feel it. You’re sore all over. Bruises are already beginning to bloom.

At the bottom of the sea, clothed in frigid darkness, there is no sense of direction.

That’s the sweetest relief while you wade into unconsciousness with a parasitic angler.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #tw: noncon touching #tw: noncon #tw: chikan #n/sfw #tw: stalking

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vexingwoman · 5 months

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genuine question regarding the "women are female people" post. trying to understand the radfem mindset because I don't agree with y'all on most things, but I understand your need to find safety and acceptance within the patriarchy's oppression/danger. I am female but not a woman. I was never socialized as one either. I feel like biological socialization piece goes out the window in my case. Biologically yes, I am female, but socially no one, including myself, would ever view me as a woman or place me through the same social oppression that women face, nor will I experience or have experienced any of the good parts of womanhood. I feel no desire to, because despite sharing the same biology, we are not socially the same. I feel like, in this experience, theres a stark divide between the social category of "women" and biological category of "female." What is your take on this, I'm curious?

The crucial issue here is that you’re conflating women and femininity. You say there’s a difference between women and females, when you instead mean there’s a difference between feminine women and non-feminine women. You believe women are socially constructed, when you instead mean femininity is socially constructed.

The only way you could think that your non-conformance to femininity indicated that you were not a woman, is if you believed femininity was innate and inseparable from women. This is not only an unabashed display of bioessentialism, but a reinforcement of the same sex-based roles and sexist stereotypes that gender ideologues purport to be defying.

In case you don’t know, the concepts of femininity and masculinity were created solely to enforce female subjugation and male domination (elaboration here). Therefore, nothing is more misogynistic or in direct contradiction to the radical feminist goal of gender abolition than claiming women are defined by the very social construct created to subjugate them, rather than by their biological sex.

I’ll be honest, I feel increasingly irritated and hopeless every time I receive these messages of “I’m not a woman because I don’t conform to society’s sexist, outdated idea of what women are.” How can you not see how backwards it is to believe your conformity to a demographic’s harmful stereotypes is what determines whether you belong to that demographic? In what other circumstances is this ever the case?

This is a genuine question: why is it so hard for you to acknowledge that you’re a gender-non-conforming woman? Why must you go through all these mental cartwheels and act as though being a woman is contingent on how others view you, or how you socially conduct yourself, or what degree of oppression you face? What benefit do you see in defining women by the social construct of femininity (hierarchical, prescriptive, arbitrary) rather than defining them as female (non-hierarchical, descriptive, concrete)?

Much of my frustration stems from the knowledge that radical feminists and gender ideologues actually hold similar views on the concepts of women and men, until they diverge at one crucial, irreconcilable point:

Both radical feminists and gender ideologues acknowledge the existence of regressive stereotypes attributed to the sexes. But where radical feminists seek to remove the stereotypes from the sex, gender ideologues instead, quite stupidly, seek to remove the sex from the stereotypes.

In short, I still consider you a woman completely deserving of access to women’s spaces, because being a woman does not, and should not, have any other prerequisites other than being an adult, a human, and a female. There are not, and should not be, any behaviors, aesthetics, feelings, or non-biological characteristics that determine whether you’re a woman. There are no gendered brains; there are no gendered souls. Being a woman is an innate, neutral, and non-prescriptive reality, no different than having freckles or brown eyes or hooked noses.

#radical feminism #answered asks #gender critical #radblr #trans ideology #trans

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hollowed-theory-hall · 6 months

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Ok so Harry has a tendency to blatantly state out loud just how much the Dursleys don't give two shits about him (to the point that the people around him think it's just a typical teenager over exaggerating their complaints), but... Does he realise that the way he is being treated by them is wrong?

Also like, I know that the way the Dursleys treated him plays a huge part in the way Harry behaves and views himself- specifically him not thinking an adult is a reliable source of help and protection + his disastrouly low self esteem + how he doesn't respond to Snape's everything (which is the exact opposite of what James would have done) ... But what are the other ways in which he got affected and it shows? (Someone once mentioned that they hc that when feeling extreme emotions Harry tends to skip out on food and may have nearly wasted away in his second year had it not been for Ron and Hermione- which is also why they act so much like Harry's bodyguards)

Yep, Harry put no effort into hiding his abuse. He literally told anyone who would listen. By 5th year, he was making jokes about it to Ron and Hermione who seemed used to it.

Now, you've raised a few questions and I'll try to answer them to the best of my ability.

Does he realise that the way he is being treated by them is wrong?

I think he does. Most of his comments about his relatives' treatment definitely sound like Harry is very aware that he shouldn't be treated like that.

“I told you, I didn’t — but it’ll take too long to explain now — look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won’t let me come back, and obviously I can’t magic myself out, because the Ministry’ll think that’s the second spell I’ve done in three days, so —” “Stop gibbering,” said Ron. “We’ve come to take you home with us.” “But you can’t magic me out either —” “We don’t need to,” said Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning. “You forget who I’ve got with me.” “Tie that around the bars,” said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to Harry. “If the Dursleys wake up, I’m dead,” said Harry as he tied the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car. “Don’t worry,” said Fred, “and stand back.”

(COS, page 31)

“It was cloudy, Mum!” said Fred. “You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Weasley snapped. “They were starving him, Mum!” said George. “And you!” said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.

(COS, page 39)

But Harry wasn’t going to stand for this. Gone were the days when he had been forced to take every single one of the Dursleys’ stupid rules.

(GOF, page 33)

“Excellent,” said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. “We’ve got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we’re ready. Harry, I’ve left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry —” “They won’t,” said Harry. “That you’re safe —” “That’ll just depress them.” “— and you’ll see them next summer.” “Do I have to?” Lupin smiled but made no answer.

(OOTP, page 54)

“You don’t seem to need many qualifications to liaise with Muggles. . . . All they want is an O.W.L. in Muggle Studies. . . . ‘Much more important is your enthusiasm, patience, and a good sense of fun!’ ” “You’d need more than a good sense of fun to liaise with my uncle,” said Harry darkly. “Good sense of when to duck, more like . . .”

(OOTP, page 657)

It seems Harry is very much aware that the way he is being treated is wrong. the younger Weasleys and Hermione are clearly aware of that too. Harry calls the Dursleys' rules stupid, he knows the Dursleys aren't treating him the way they should and that he doesn't have to take it. That he shouldn't have to take it.

Harry is kind of a best-case scenario of an abused kid and Dumbledore was so lucky Harry ended up functional enough for his plans. It could've so easily gone down differently.

Honestly, I'm enraged on Harry's behalf at how Arthur, Molly, and Lupin (and every other adult) just completely ignore his mistreatment. He really does just state plainly what's going on and has Ron, Fred, George, and Hermione backing up everything he says.

What are the other ways in which he got affected and it shows?

I do like when Harry's approach to food is affected by the Dursleys starving him, that being said, there isn't really any book evidence for it. It's an interesting headcanon to explore though. His low self-esteem, willingness to endanger himself, and his thinking that adults be counted on are definitely effects seen in the books. As for other things we do see in the books:

1. Harry is actually really quiet. He doesn't speak as much as Ron and Hermione and he's pretty awkward with social interaction. He mimics Ron in many ways since he never had any friends before him.

His approach to studying is one of the ways he mimics Ron socially. Harry actually read their school books before 1st year, he found Hedwig's name in a History of Magic. And he planned to study at the beginning of Philosopher's Stone. Then he meets Ron and realizes no one in Gryffindor except Hermione actually studies, and she is hated for it. So he didn't bother studying either, even though he planned to because he wanted to fit in.

2. Harry isn't great at emotional regulation, specifically anger. Harry is a pretty angry character and throughout the books, he actually has moments when he completely loses himself to a sense of anger.

A boiling hate erupted in Harry’s chest, leaving no place for fear. For the first time in his life, he wanted his wand back in his hand, not to defend himself, but to attack . . . to kill.

(POA, page 339)

“Madame Maxime!” said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. “Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!” Somewhere under Harry’s numb disbelief he felt a ripple of anger. Little boy?

(GOF, page 275)

Harry sat there staring at Snape as the lesson began, picturing horrific things happening to him. . . . If only he knew how to do the Cruciatus Curse . . . he’d have Snape flat on his back like that spider, jerking and twitching. . . .

(GOF, page 300)

If Dudley’s friends saw him sitting here, they would be sure to make a beeline for him, and what would Dudley do then? He wouldn’t want to lose face in front of the gang, but he’d be terrified of provoking Harry. . . . It would be really fun to watch Dudley’s dilemma; to taunt him, watch him, with him powerless to respond . . . and if any of the others tried hitting Harry, Harry was ready — he had his wand . . . let them try . . . He’d love to vent some of his frustration on the boys who had once made his life hell —

(OOTP, page 11)

He does calm down the older he gets. But he definitely has a lot of anger in him.

3. Harry, in general, has a disrespect for authority. I assume this is an extension of his distrust of adults, in that no teacher or nurse ever helped him. Harry is so anti-authority and anti-orders, that he can resist the Imperius Curse decently from the first try.

Harry just doesn't do orders or authority. Actually in the earlier books, and even in books 6 and 7, Harry has his doubts about Dumbledore. He repeatedly tells people he's Dumbledore's man, but in his head, he has doubts. Like he has for any other adult with authority over him.

“Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” he hissed. “He’s not as gone as you might think!” Harry retorted. He was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true —

(COS, page 282)

“Because the Ministry of Magic’s still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, so my big disguise is useless. There’s not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix . . . or so Dumbledore feels.” There was something about the slightly flattened tone of voice in which Sirius uttered Dumbledore’s name that told Harry that Sirius was not very happy with the headmaster either. Harry felt a sudden upsurge of affection for his godfather.

(OOTP, pages 82-83)

He's very distrusting of adults and authority, but also his peers. He doesn't tell Ron and Hermione everything in the earlier books because he is very slow to trust. Which, makes sense for someone who grew up like he did.

4. His occasional impulsiveness is an extension of his issues with emotional regulation, I think.

5. I think Harry's cunning Slytherin streak is a result of his abuse. The Dursleys' mistreatment taught him to sneak around, to lie, to be clever. It taught him to keep a blank face when being yelled at because if he reacted it'll make it worse.

He learned how to insult the Dursleys in ways that go over Dudley's head. His little way to rebel.

6. His response to pain as well. We see it with Umbridge and the blood quill for example:

He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry’s right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel — yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth. Harry looked around at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile. “Yes?” “Nothing,” said Harry quietly. He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill upon it once more, wrote I must not tell lies, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time

(OOTP, page 267)

Harry can hide his pain and not react to it, and he does it well. He learned from the Dursleys that she wants to see his pain, and he isn't going to give her what she wants. Instead, he grits his teeth through it and doesn't react externally.

Even later in the book when Umbridge threatens with the Crociatus Curse, Harry just braces himself for it, not planning to break (in later books too, Harry is very willing to get hurt and just deal with it). He is willing to take torture without reacting, and I think this is something he got from the Dursleys.

These are the some other things that came to mind regarding your question. There are probably more that I can't think of now that I might add later. Harry is who he is in part because of his nightmare of a childhood. So many facets of his personality just link back to it.

#harry potter #hp #asks #harry james potter #harry potter analysis

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thisismeracing · 7 months

Text

To be alone with you | CS55

― Pairing: Carlos Sainz x fem!reader ― Warnings: mentions of food; typos. ― Summary: A glimpse into Yn's little reading world and how Carlos supports her passion. ― A/n: None of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps, but the work is, and I do not allow it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, and others

yourusername slow afternoons with books, coffee, and my lover 🤍 to be alone with you 🤍 (I am obsessed with the copy of 'the book of disquiet' he got me, te amo, carlito!)

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carlossainz55 te quiero, cariño 💓

carlossainz55 I just got to chapter five of that book, answer my messages my mind is *blowing* 🤯

⤷ yourusername going goingggg

⤷ yourusername I told you you would like it!!!!!

sillyseason_ did yn just turn carlos into a reader or am I tripping?

lecsainz I love her aesthetic so much

hammertimee can you imagine reading fernando pessoa from the original? I'm so jealous of her, omw to get myself enrolled into a Portuguese course .............

carlossainz55

liked by yourbestie, lewishamilton, and others

carlossainz55 Still don't get her thing for coffee, but I get it for her anyways ☕️

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yourusername teamooo

landonorris disgusting 🤢

⤷ yourusername singleee 🫵😂

⤷ landitofour LMAO

sainzsantification she really got him into books bruh

nicoraspberry he gets her flowers, read with her, posts her regularly, buys her coffee, I- 🥹

yourusername

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yourusername It's not my bday, I just reached my reading goal faster than ever so mrs. funny pants decided to do this 🥸

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carlossainz55 Mrs. Funny pants huh? 🤨

⤷ yourusername yeah, but your humor won me over

⤷ landonorris he's not even that funny, yn

⤷ alex_albon are you kidding me? don't you remember the MaRÍA CAREI video?!

⤷ yourusername LMAO😭😭😂😂😂

lando.jpg

liked by pierregasly, danielricciardo, and others

lando.jpg went on a date with these two and it was awful 👎👎👎

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yourusername liar! you asked us to let you join again!

⤷ lando.jpg you made me thrid wheel the whole time

⤷ oscarpiastri it's not their fault you're single, lando

⤷ carlossainz55 yeah, next time invite oscar too!

⤷ yourusername yay double date! 🥳

⤷ lando.jpg I'm not going!!!

norizzricciardo is that carlos wearing converse?

⤷ lando.jpg no, it's me :)

⤷ formulaten OMG LANDO AND YN MATCHING SHOES GKJSDKHJS besties goal

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yourusername he joined us 😜😁 (and osc too)

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oscarpastry they really did the double date thing LOL

landonorris you take your coffee terribly 🤢

⤷ yourusername I'm gonna call the team's nutritionist and tell them you take your sugar with a bit of coffee

⤷ carlossainz55 ayyy cabron jajajajaj

oscarpiastri it feels great to be a chess winner 😎

⤷ mclatas81 soon to be f1 winner 🧡

mclaren 😍😍😍

formulareader osc 😭 she called him osc 😭

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yourusername best Sunday ever ❤️🏎️ (also I loved the paddock's coffee!)

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scuderiaferrari we loved to have you, yn! 😍

⤷ mclaren us too, yn! you should watch the next race from our garage (we'll get you all the coffee you want!)

⤷ scuderiaferrari shut up 🙄

⤷ carlossainz55 you guys know she's MY girlfriend, right?

⤷ yourusername yes and I'll watch from merc garage next race! 🫣 lew invited me 🤭

⤷ carlossainz55 ¿qué?

⤷ mercedesamgf1 hehe 😌😎

schumischumi lmfao not the admins fighting over yn

hammert1m3 she did charles so dirty HAHAHAH

charles_leclerc hated the pic, but love you

⤷ landonorris you won't join the besties dates!

⤷ yourusername I already invited him :(

⤷ landonorris omg I thought it was an exclusive club!

⤷ pierregasly I was invited too

tifosidirectioner she's so simple yet so glowy, I love her energy! 💗

booktoker22 f1 romance books rec?

bieberselenator it's like she's carlos' lucky charm

szagooddays I want what they have so bad

monzatwentytwo day 352 of feeling single than ever with carlosyn posts 😺👍

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi! I hope you guys liked this piece! This is part of that convo about posting my drafts hihi so yeah, here goes another one :D no twitter edit this time, hope this was ok, AND with tons of fluffy and funny moments after that angsty wave (that will come back bc I have at least three other angsty wips hihi sorree). let me know your thoughts!

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summerclementine27 · 2 months

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Meet Me in The Hallway🌷pt. 1

summary: Mr. Styles has possibly interested Y/N more than his literature classes and she finds herself pining for him over the months.

pairings: professor!harry, student!reader

warnings: small age difference, mentions of smut

word count: 4.7k

note: i wanted to make this one part but it will be too long so there will have to be a part 2

part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/summerclementine27/757559698881986560/meet-me-in-the-hallway-pt2

Tender days of mid-October

As I took my seat in the large lecture hall, a sense of anticipation loomed over me. Today, Mr. Styles was giving us the results of the last literature and theory criticism coursework I had handed in the previous week. This was my third class with him, one of two this school year, the other being Contemporary Literature. Last year, he taught me Introduction to Literature, a mandatory class for my degree. Though I dreaded it at first due to his choice of reading list, I ended up falling in love with the course because of the way he taught it. Some works I initially criticized him for choosing, he ended up using as examples and critiqued them himself, like "The Awakening" by Kate Chopin. Plus, it helped that he was impossibly handsome with his tall frame, tousled brown hair, and piercing green eyes.

When my friends noticed how much I liked his class, they were unfazed. However, as I became somewhat of a teacher’s pet in a class rudimentary compared to the others I took this year—such as Feminism and Literature, Historical Narratives in Fiction, and Postcolonial Literary Criticism—they realized that maybe the tall, green-eyed man was what had really piqued my interest, not discussing "Middlemarch" for four classes.

On days when I had his class, I dressed extra nicely, sometimes even daring to pair a clean collared shirt with a shorter-than-usual skirt. One time, I even left my wool trench coat on during the first period and stood up from my auditorium seat to take it off. Sitting in the back, the rows of chairs likely covered the lower part of my body, but I was sure the space between my long boots and short skirt was visible from his vantage point. Surely, my abrupt standing would grab his attention. What I didn’t anticipate was him pausing in the middle of a long train of thought to stare, then quickly catching himself and stuttering before continuing seamlessly as I knew he would. My friend Anika, seated in one of the front rows, noticed and turned to see what had caught his attention. To her dismay, I was playing games with someone totally unattainable again. But she knew I thrived on academic validation, and this little crush of mine would only drive me to excel in more classes.

"Are you serious, Y/N? He's our professor." she exclaimed once.

"I know, but he's just... different."

"Different? Or is it the way he looks at you when you answer a question?"

"Maybe both. Besides, this crush is making me work harder. You can't argue with the results."

"Just be careful. I don't want you getting hurt."

In fact, it drove me to do more than that. One time, Mr. Styles noticed my passion for poetry after I shamelessly defended the works of Sylvia Plath with a controversial view that modern poetry should not shy away from the stark realities of mental health. He gave me a few poetry anthologies and compilations, including his annotated copies. I fawned over reading his notes and even emailed him once, pretending that I had "accidentally" annotated something, forgetting it wasn’t my own copy after losing myself in the literature. He replied kindly:

Mr. Styles: "Please, feel free to annotate as much as you like. I would be honored to have your opinions inked on my favorite copies."

By the next semester, after encouraging me to join the poetry society, Mr. Styles nominated me for president, and I was thrilled to win. He insisted on celebrating, gently grasping my upper arm and smiling warmly as he said he expected nothing less. I brought a bottle of wine to his office, where he had asked me to meet him, only to find the entire poetry society there, ready to congratulate me. The gathering lingered for a few delightful hours before everyone left, leaving just the two of us to clean up.

"You really impressed everyone tonight, Y/N. Not that I'm surprised." He began once we were truly all alone.

"Thank you, Mr. Styles. I couldn't have done it without your support."

"Well, you deserve it. By the way, outside of class and school hours, you can call me Harry." He said in his thick Manchester accent.

"Only if you stop calling me Ms. Y/L/N." I joked.

"Hey! I only do that sometimes. Plus, I can't call out to you in class like, 'Y/N, will you read the next slide?' People will think..."

"...think I’m the teacher’s favorite?" I finished his sentence with a teasing smile.

I couldn’t take the lingering stares and supposedly accidental touches we were both guilty of. But I knew that if I really wanted this, if I wanted to be more than just a student he regretted being tempted by when I graduated, then I had to play the long game.

And indeed I did. I kept up my habit of always showing up well-dressed in elegant coats and well-fitting clothing. I accentuated my features with a light coat of makeup, even if I had to apply it on a bumpy bus ride to campus. I even signed up for his office hours, despite really not needing them, just to exchange thoughts and opinions under the guise of “wanting to make sure I'm on the right track.” I wanted him to get to know me more, to realize that despite my youth, I was mature and thoughtful.

At the start of the second year, he emailed me to come to campus a few times in August, a month before the start of term, to discuss my responsibilities as the founder of the debate team. The idea sparked in his mind after I excelled in the heated debate he chose to hold as our first-year final assessment. He was so in awe that he went as far as saying I could compete at a national level on the English debate team, which neither of us was certain of, but I accepted the compliment.

Our earlier meetings were spent cooped up in his office, reviewing why the last debate team failed almost a decade ago and planning the structure for the new team. We discussed everything from team dynamics to potential debate topics, ensuring we were prepared for any challenge.

On one of the hotter days in August, we took our meeting to the university courtyard, having grown tired of experiencing the last bursts of England’s so-called summer from his office window. It was a beautiful window, and a big one at that, but it didn’t compare to actually being outside. That day, I realized the majority of planning for the next few months had already been accomplished in our first few meetings, and I got the hint that he didn’t actually need my help now that I had settled everything I could that wasn’t on an administrative level. So naturally, I decided to have a little fun.

I was wearing penny loafers with black tailored pants that I got fitted for when I visited my mum in London in July. I had paired them with a light knit sweater that fit slightly loosely over my shoulders, often falling down to reveal a collarbone. When I saw him take off his blazer and loosen his tie, I took that as my green light to take off something of my own, knowing I was wearing a neat white tank top underneath. As I slipped the sweater off, covering my face with the fabric, I could see his face through the thin material, making out his features and briefly noticing his eyes on my body. Sitting up straight, I managed to remove the sweater from over my head neatly. Once he saw my face, a soft blush made it to his own.

"Did I mess up my hair?" I asked, as if I hadn’t planned on brushing down the strands that had likely gone astray or as if I was oblivious to the fact that I had just taken off my sweater in front of him.

"Um, yeah, a bit at the top," he said, chuckling as if he wasn’t just clearing his throat in a flustered manner before my face was revealed from under the sweater.

To my surprise, he reached out, inching himself closer to where I was sitting on the bench we shared. With two fingers, his index and middle, he gently brushed down the messy hair on either side of the top of my head.

"Thank you, Harry," I said softly.

However, nothing could have prepared me for what would happen later this year.

As the class settled down to receive their marks on the literature and theory criticism coursework, Mr. Styles walked in, dressed in a well-fitted navy suit with a crisp white shirt. He took off his coat and placed it on the edge of his desk, a departure from his usual habit of draping it over the back of his chair. He wasted no time before pulling out the papers from his leather satchel and making his way down the aisles of the lecture hall, passing out the papers to everyone. When he read out my name, I watched as his eyes searched for me across the hall, darting from one side of the room to the other. It was unlike me to skip his class, so he knew all he had to do was find me. I hadn’t planned this specific event, but I enjoyed it, nonetheless. Once he found me, he smiled sheepishly, yet much more subtly than he did when we were alone and made his way to me.

"Excellent work, Y/L/N," he said as he gently placed the papers on my desk. "I especially appreciate the effort of handwriting this," he remarked, although everyone knew he didn’t care if papers were written by hand or typed on a computer.

I had deliberately written my paper by hand after he replied to an email of mine. I had thanked him for letting me borrow his books, and his response was a charming note saying he’d enjoyed reading my annotations and adored my handwriting. For once, I was glad that my all-girls school had emphasized cursive writing, as I used it to add a romantic touch to my work.

When I finally read his comments and feedback, I was met with admiration and praise. In one of the margins, he had written, “Your insights are so compelling, it’s impossible not to fall in love with your analysis.” On the final page, at the bottom, he had added, “It’s a privilege to be your professor. Your brilliance shines so brightly that it’s clear this paper is a testament to your exceptional talent.”

Often times I worried that there actually was something going on between us, and that his praise and charming were remarks were not that of a proud professor, but of an infatuated man instead. So that day, I decided to address it.

As the lecture drew to a close, I lingered in my seat, carefully packing up my belongings with deliberate slowness. The classroom slowly emptied, the murmur of students’ conversations fading into the background as they made their way out. I wanted to be alone with Mr. Styles, to discuss something that had been weighing on my mind. By the time I made my way down the row of seats to his desk, the room was empty except for the two of us.

“Mr. Styles,” I began hesitantly, catching his eye as he gathered his papers. “I was hoping to ask you something.”

He looked up, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Of course, go ahead. I’m actually glad you stayed behind. There’s something I’d like to ask you as well.”

A sudden rush of anxiety gripped me. The possibility of crossing a line—whether I had done so with my subtle flirtations or if he were about to make a move that could alter our dynamic—was almost too much to bear.

My fantasies of him flashed through my mind. I had dreamt of intimate moments with him like kissing him, waking up in his bed, or better yet, on the couch in his office after a late romantic night together. I had once pictured us sitting on the floor around his small coffee table as we did one time when they ordered takeout during one of our August meetings except this time I would slip my shoes off casually and find a way to stroke my foot, clothed thin leggings, against his leg, looking at him with doe eyes as I dare to not so innocently asks if he ever thought about me sexually.

Hell, I even pictured him going down on me after laying me on his desk and even touched myself to the idea of riding him while he sat on his office chair. I would sneak into the small space between him and his desk and shut off his laptop while he graded my papers, cockily saying “We already know I got an A” – despite my crippling self-doubt without tangible affirmation – as I sit on his lap. In this fantasy he would laugh at my remark and gladly embrace me with a hand on my ass, the other intertwined among thick locks of my long hair, messing it up as I teasingly kiss him, ever so aware of the friction I’m creating between our crotches.

But still, to think that he would propose something to me in that moment, sexual or romantic, casually after class as if I haven’t been pining for two Octobers made me incredibly nervous.

I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice as I met his gaze. “Mr. Styles, well, first of all this has nothing to do with the actual course itself, maybe a bit but...” I trailed off “It’s... it’s been on my mind for a while.”

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his expression. “Sure, go ahead. I’m happy to answer anything.” He smiled shyly to comfort me.

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding as I prepared to voice my concerns. “Do you think that maybe my behavior in class, my enthusiasm, or even my approach to your feedback has influenced you to… um… maybe to favor me? Over other students I mean.” I began nervously, desperately searching for an expression on his blank face.

“Maybe sometimes I get a little excited and forget that you are my professor and not my friend or something, I think I may have overstepped my boundaries but… but you treat me as an equal which, by the way, I have always greatly appreciated. I mean, it has offered me an opportunity to grow as a student like no other, but I still worry…”I trailed off, now a stern look evident on his face and possibly even hurt.

He paused for a moment, his gaze thoughtful as he considered my words. “I appreciate your honesty and self-awareness,” he said finally, his voice steady but soft. “It’s clear that you’re passionate and dedicated, and I value that. But it’s important to remember that I strive to maintain fairness in all my interactions with students.”

I bit my lip, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. “I understand, Mr. Styles. I just want to make sure that if I take pride in these academic accomplishments… if I want to revel in the fact that I always receive praise from you and rarely any criticism – like todays feedback for example, which included no criticism, I want to make sure it is because I am worthy of it. And not because I won you over by involving myself in your extracurriculars or because we are… uh.. friendly.”

He looked at me with a reassuring smile, his gaze steady and sincere. “First of all, let me assure you that you are never inappropriate. The friendship we’ve developed is separate from our academic interactions. Outside of school hours, I call you by your first name to maintain that distinction. In the classroom, I evaluate you purely on your merit.”

He leaned forward slightly, his tone earnest. “The reason your feedback today contained no criticism is that your paper was truly flawless. If there had been any weaknesses or areas for improvement, I would have pointed them out without hesitation. I hold you in very high regard academically, and that respect extends to all aspects of your work. If I ever notice any shortcomings, I will address them so you have the opportunity to refine and grow.”

His expression softened, a touch of concern in his eyes. “The only issue I see here is that you are doubting yourself. Your achievements and the praise you receive are well-deserved. You have a remarkable ability, and I believe in your potential. My only hope is that you start to see in yourself what I see in you – a brilliant, dedicated student who deserves every bit of recognition they receive.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of relief and a renewed confidence. When I looked down at my lap I heard him continue:

“And of course I value the relationship we have fostered outside of class. Would I be the man I am today if you hadn’t introduced me to the wonders of Moroccan cuisine?” He tried to joke to ease the tension and unsurprisingly it worked as it earned him a soft chuckle of honest amusement.

“Theres the y/n I know and love” he bantered though I cant say my heart didn’t skip a beat at the mention of the word “love”.

“You know, there are many other cuisines you’re yet to try,” I said with a playful glint in my eye. “For someone who’s so well-traveled and cultured, it’s surprising how much you’ve missed out on when it comes to food.” I teased.

“Well, perhaps you’ll tell me all about it when we’re in Amsterdam for the debate competition,” he said with a smile, his eyes twinkling with genuine excitement.

I blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait, what? You secured that for us?” My voice wavered slightly as my heart leaped with joy. “I can’t believe it! I’m so excited. This is incredible news!”

He chuckled, clearly pleased with my reaction. “I thought you’d like that. It’s an excellent opportunity, and I know how much you’ve been looking forward to it.”

I couldn’t help but beam, my excitement bubbling over. “This is amazing, truly. Thank you so much!” I stepped closer, touched by his thoughtfulness and dedication.

As I reached out, our hands brushed briefly, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through me. His gaze softened, and I could see the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m just glad we get to share this experience together,” he said softly.

The moment felt charged, filled with unspoken words and mutual appreciation. I nodded, my heart full of gratitude and warmth. “Me too,” I murmured, feeling the depth of our connection more than ever before.

Time jump – December is getting ready for Christmas.

As we stepped into the hotel lobby, the excitement was palpable among the debate team. Amsterdam was already charming me, even though I’d only glimpsed it through the bus window. The streets were lined with picturesque canals and quaint buildings, each one more enchanting than the last. I couldn’t help but talk animatedly about how I’d dreamed of visiting the Netherlands ever since my father told me stories about the blooming flower fields when I was a child.

Harry, who had been sitting beside me on the bus, watched with a fond smile. “You really seem to love the city,” he said. “Maybe we could find a couple of free days between the training and the competition to visit the flower fields.”

My eyes widened in delight. “Really? That would be incredible. But managing a whole field trip with the debate team might be a bit complicated.”

He grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Well, we could go alone. Just you and me. A little escape from the team.” He added. “We could explore some other things too if we’d like.”

The thought of spending time alone with him, wandering through a sea of flowers, made my heart race. I felt a warm blush creep up my cheeks. “That sounds amazing. I’d love that.”

When we checked into the hotel and were given our room keys, Anika, my vice president, and I realized that Harry and I had rooms on a separate floor. In fact, they were deluxe rooms though him and I booked standard rooms for everyone when we went over the budget. Anika seemed particularly perplexed by this.

“Why did you get such a nice room and I didn’t?” Anika questioned, her tone tinged with curiosity as she approached me in the lobby.

I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Maybe Mr. Styles thought I needed a little extra comfort. You know, as president” I joked, not really sure if that was the case. “Besides, he probably just had to make decisions based on what was available.” I found myself lying, knowing I was curious myself.”

Anika raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe he’s using the budget money to splurge on you. I’ve noticed you two have become quite friendly. Could it be that he has a thing for you?” she teased, knowing I have spent months pining and flirting.

I laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t think so, Anika. We’re friends, and that’s all it is. I don’t think he feels anything else.” I said, confidant of my words for the first time in this conversation. “Plus, you are the only person other than me and Harry that got her own room. Others are sharing and you likely have a king bed all to yourself.”

“Harry? Is that his name now?” she smirked. “I guess you forgot to tell me you are on a first name basis. Are you holding out on me Y/L/N?” she joked though she was never oblivious to the fact that you kept some encounters with Harry to yourself, as if it would fuel the fantasy somehow.

I raised an eyebrow and gave her a playful grin. “Oh, come on. You have to admit everyone in the poetry society calls him that when we are outside the university.” I said, knowing that it was only one guy who was a family friend of Harry’s who got the honor.

She chuckled, but there was a hint of curiosity in her gaze. “Right. But you can’t deny there’s something a bit… special about how you two interact. Just saying.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not holding my breath for anything more on this trip. We’re here for the debate, remember? That’s the focus. But if anything happens later…” I shrugged playfully as she returned my knowing smile.

“Fair enough. Just keep your eyes open anyway, okay? Sometimes things happen when you least expect them to.”

I heard Harry calling my name from the end of the hall. I turned around to see him walking towards me with a thoughtful expression.

“Hey, do you still want to gather the debate team for a brief practice session before the afternoon debate?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of concern.

I shook my head, smiling. “No, no need. You were right; they need a break. Plus, everyone has their notecards and seems prepared.”

Harry nodded, his smile relaxing into a satisfied grin. “Alright then. Let’s head to the elevator; it’ll be a bit quieter now anyway.”

We walked to the elevator together, and once inside, he pressed the button for my floor. The confined space seemed to amplify the gentle hum of the elevator, making it feel intimate.

Harry glanced at me with a soft smile, his eyes lingering a moment longer than usual. “Your hair looks different today. Did you do something special with it?” he asked, his voice carrying a playful undertone.

I felt a tinge of embarrassment, my cheeks warming slightly. “I just blow-dried it differently since I was in a rush this morning,” I replied, trying to sound casual.

Harry’s smile grew, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and something else I couldn’t quite place. “Well, it looks beautiful. I wouldn’t have guessed it was rushed.”

His compliment made my heart flutter, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Harry. That makes me feel a lot better about this hectic morning” I tried to divert the conversation, feeling nervous at his focus on me.

“Yeah, well, at least you have matching socks,” he joked, and before I could ask him what the hell he was talking about, he lifted his foot, revealing his own mismatched socks with a playful grin.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You and your accidental fashion choices,” I said, shaking my head with a smile, remembering that time I complimented his shoes only to find out he ordered the wrong ones online and couldn’t get them returned. He looked handsome in them anyway, I had told him.

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What can I say? I like to keep things interesting. And besides, it’s a good thing someone’s got their fashion game on point around here.” He said, brushing off the fact that it was a rushed accident.

I playfully nudged him. “Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. And for the record, I do have matching socks today, just in case you were wondering.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he looked at me, a warmth in his gaze that made my heart flutter. “Well, I must say, your socks are a lot less distracting than mine.”

I chuckled, feeling the tension between us ease into something more comfortable and light-hearted.

As the elevator chimed and the doors slid open to my floor, Harry didn’t make a move to exit. Instead, he turned to me with a charming grin, his eyes sparkling with warmth. “Let me walk you to your room. It’s the least I can do. After all, it’s not every day I get to be a gentleman,” he said, completely ignoring the fact that his room was directly across from the elevator.

I laughed softly, touched by his thoughtfulness. “You’re too kind, Harry. It’s just down the hall here,” I said, gesturing toward my door, which was a short distance away from his.

As we walked together down the hallway, the atmosphere felt lighter, filled with a quiet, pleasant tension. Harry’s presence beside me was comforting, and I found myself appreciating the little things—like how he occasionally glanced my way, as if trying to make the moment last just a bit longer.

When we reached my door, Harry reached out and brushed his hand lightly against mine as he opened the door for me. “Even so, a little extra time with you—well, when else can I talk about my accidental shenanigans and have someone listen intently?” His voice was low and warm, and his gaze lingered on me with an intensity that sent a thrill down my spine.

I felt a flutter in my chest at his words but remained blissfully unaware of the deeper implications behind his gaze. “Well,” I said, smiling as I unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Thanks for walking me. It’s always nice to have a bit of company, especially when the company is as pleasant as yours.”

Harry’s smile grew softer, and he took a step back, still holding my gaze. “Anytime, y/n. I’ll see you in a few hours. Get some rest.

“You too, Harry.” I said as he walked back to his own room.

——————————————————————

PART TWO IS NOW UP 🌷🌷

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