#the story shes from is mostly set in two eras but this is when shes in the 80s 👍👍

[art--harridan]

[Image description: A digital drawing of a character called Joan. The drawing cuts off below her knees, but shows the rest of her in full. She stands in a pose that is both relaxed and awkward - her shoulders slouch and one hand rests in her pocket, but the other is held rigidly by her side and her knees point in at each other. She stares forward with a stone-faced expression. Joan is wearing a deep purple mid-length dress with a cravat-style neck. She wears ripped fishnet tights under it. On top of it, she wears a tank top with a messily cropped hem - it has a row of safety pins on it, and a dark blue badge - and two studded belts, alongside a mauve beaded necklace. Over this, she wears a long, dark trench coat with a few badges on its collar. Her earrings are mismatched - one circular and purple, while the other is a silver cylinder. Her makeup is a traditional goth style with a white foundation, dark lips and eyes, and exaggerated features with dark contour. The white cuts off abruptly at her neck and ears. Her black hair is a similarly eighties goth style, crimped and teased, going out at the top and the bottom. Her fringe is bobby pinned to the side, and a streak of dark purple runs from there to the top of her hair. Joan is situated further to the right of the piece, followed by two large four-point stars with watery, white middles. The background is a dark yet bold purple.]

[niallerspayno]

Only Angel

Materlist

When you land a job as your dad’s assistant on One Direction’s tour, the last thing you expect is to fall for Harry Styles—especially when your dad is Paul. What starts as flirty banter turns into something secret, messy, and real, and hiding it from the band (and your very protective father) proves harder than you ever imagined.

Tags: Harry x reader, long hair harry, Paul's daughter reader, smut (fingering, unprotected p in v, female and male receiving oral), some fluff and angst

Author's note: Set during the Made In The A.M. era, but I've kept Zayn in the fic

...

You adjust the strap of your bag and shift awkwardly in the elevator as it climbs to the top floor. Your heart’s been doing this annoying fluttery thing all morning, but you keep telling yourself it’s just nerves. That, and the fact that your dad didn’t tell you much—just that the job was yours, and to be on time.

That’s how you find yourself here, freshly unemployed, freshly humiliated, and now… freshly hired as an assistant for One Direction.

The doors slide open with a soft chime, revealing a hotel suite already buzzing with energy. You barely get two steps inside before—

“There she is.” Your dad’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Alright, lads, eyes front. This is my daughter. She’s joining the crew, so try not to scare her off on day one.”

Your mouth opens to say hi, maybe something funny, but then you actually look up and see them.

Louis is sprawled across the couch like he owns the place—legs kicked up, phone in hand, smirk firmly in place. “Paul, mate, you didn’t tell us your daughter was fit.”

��Louis,” Paul warns.

“I’m just saying!”

Niall gives you a small, friendly wave from the kitchenette, a spoon sticking out of his mouth and a tub of Nutella in hand. “Heya. You want some? Helps with first day nerves.”

Liam is the first to actually stand, his expression warm as he offers you a hand. “Ignore them. Welcome to the circus.”

You shake it gratefully. “Thanks. I brought my own straightjacket.”

He laughs, and something in your chest unclenches just a little.

Then there’s Zayn—quiet, observant, perched near the window with a sketchbook balanced on his knee. He lifts a hand in greeting, dark eyes flicking over you once, twice. You smile back, a little unsure.

And then—

“Hi.”

The voice is deeper than you expected. Smooth, slow, dragging like honey over gravel.

You turn—and your heart does that annoying fluttery thing again, but this time it’s not nerves.

Harry Styles is taller in person. His hair is pulled into a loose knot at the nape of his neck, a few curls escaping to frame his face. He’s dressed in a worn black tee and jeans that cling far too well to his hips, rings glinting on his fingers as he extends a hand toward you.

“I’m Harry,” he says, smiling like he already knows how this story ends.

You clear your throat and slip your hand into his. “I’m Y/N.”

His grip is warm, his touch lingering just long enough to be noticeable before he lets go.

“Pretty name,” he murmurs. “Didn’t expect Paul to have such a stunning daughter.”

You raise a brow. “Didn’t expect Harry Styles to be such a cliché.”

That earns a low laugh. “Touché.”

Before he can say more, Paul claps a protective hand on your shoulder, his tone all business. “Alright, that’s enough. She’s working under me. Strictly professional. Got it?”

Harry holds up both hands like he’s surrendering, but the grin tugging at his lips betrays him. “Loud and clear, boss.”

Paul narrows his eyes for a second longer, then turns his attention back to you. “Come on, I’ll show you where we keep the schedules and what’s on for today.”

You follow him through the suite, but you feel Harry’s eyes on you the entire time. Burning into your back. You don’t dare look—mostly because you’re pretty sure if you do, he’ll smirk, and that might just kill you dead.

“Don’t let them get to you,” your dad says, handing you a clipboard. “They’ll try, trust me. Especially that one.”

“Noted.”

You sneak one glance over your shoulder anyway.

Harry’s still standing there. Still watching. And when he catches you looking, he winks.

You quickly turn back around, heat crawling up your neck.

Yeah. You’re in trouble.

...

It’s been a week.

Seven days of wrangling schedules, fetching coffee orders with ridiculous customizations, and reminding five grown men what “soundcheck” actually means.

And somehow—somehow—Harry Styles has managed to be both the bane of your existence and the highlight of every damn day.

He’s made a sport of flustering you. Brushing past a little too close. Whispering “good morning” like it’s a secret. Stealing your pen just to hand it back with a wink. Every look feels like a dare. Every smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Spoiler: he does.

You’re mid-way through checking everyone off for soundcheck when you realize—of course—he’s the only one missing.

You scan the suite, then glance at the time. Five minutes until they’re due downstairs.

Paul is across the room, deep in conversation with the stage manager, so you slip your phone out and shoot off a quick group text.

You: Everyone here for soundcheck except one suspiciously curly-haired diva.

Immediately, Louis replies.

Louis: If I have to drag him out of bed again I swear to god.

Zayn: He was in the hallway like 10 mins ago?? Probably wandered off being mysterious.

Liam: Check the roof. Or the mirror. That’s where I usually find him.

Niall: Want me to check the buffet?

You roll your eyes, bite back a smile, and head out to find him yourself.

You’re halfway down the hall when you hear it—low humming, half a tune, half a distraction. And then, there he is.

Leaning against the wall just outside the fire escape, head tipped back like he’s posing for a damn magazine cover. One boot pressed flat against the wall, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the fact that you’re inside and the lighting is dismal at best.

You pause in the doorway, one brow raised. “Lost track of time, did we?”

He doesn’t jump. Doesn’t even flinch. Just tips his head toward you like he was waiting for this exact moment.

“Knew you’d come,” he says easily, a grin curling at the corner of his mouth.

You cross your arms. “It’s part of my job.”

“Mmm.” He tilts his head at you. “Is that what this is? Work?”

You narrow your eyes at the way his voice dips on that last word. “You’re five minutes late.”

He pushes off the wall with deliberate ease, the heel of his boot thudding softly against the floor as he closes the distance between you.

“Five minutes,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on yours as he approaches, “and already you’re chasing me down. Can’t stay away, can you?”

You scoff, but your feet don’t move. “I’m chasing a paycheck. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I’m not flattering myself,” he says, dipping his head a little, like he’s letting you in on a secret. “I just pay attention.”

He stops in front of you, close—too close. His scent hits you first, something warm and clean, laced with the faintest trace of mint tea and cologne. His sunglasses slip down the bridge of his nose, revealing green eyes that scan your face like he’s memorizing it.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

Your breath catches. “I look at you the same way I look at the coffee machine. With exhaustion.”

Harry grins, his tongue just barely swiping across his bottom lip like he’s tasting the flirt off the air.

“That so?” he asks, stepping in even closer, until your back brushes the edge of the doorframe and there’s nowhere else to go. “Because I don’t make you nearly as jittery as that machine does.”

You hate the way your heart stumbles. Hate more that he can probably feel it, standing this close. Your voice comes out tighter than you’d like. “You’re full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, cocking his head, “but I’m also right.”

His hand lifts, slow, and for a terrifying second you think he’s going to touch you—but instead, he tugs the edge of your lanyard gently between two fingers, the one with that damn silver ring catching the light.

“You should be careful with me,” he says softly. “I’ve been known to cause… complications.”

You lift your chin, refusing to be the one who backs down first. “I’m not scared of complications.”

That gets you a real smile. Dangerous and dimpled.

“Good,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Then maybe you’ll stop pretending this is just a job.”

And with that, he drops your lanyard and steps back, like he didn’t just completely knock the air from your lungs.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he calls over his shoulder as he strolls back toward the suite. “Wouldn’t want to keep your dad waiting.”

You don’t move for a full ten seconds.

Then you exhale, check your pulse, and mutter to yourself, “Get a grip.”

But you’re smiling.

And you are absolutely in trouble.

...

You’ve had enough.

It’s been ten days of Harry brushing your arm in passing, whispering cheeky comments under his breath, letting his gaze dip a little too low when you think no one’s watching. He always leaves you breathless, flustered, two steps behind while he walks off smug as hell.

Not today.

Tonight’s show is in a big arena. VIPs in the wings, cameras everywhere. The energy’s electric, the crew a well-oiled machine. And you? You show up early. On purpose. Hair done, lip gloss on, and a tight black dress under your tour jacket—fitted, simple, just the right amount of dangerous when the light hits the sheer paneling over your thighs. Just enough to make a certain someone’s brain short-circuit.

He finds you in the green room. Of course he does.

You’re leaned against the counter, phone in hand, sipping water like you don’t notice the moment his eyes land on you.

But you do.

You feel it like a heat wave. The pause in his step. The way his jaw ticks. He says nothing at first—just watches as you turn slightly, jacket slipping off your shoulder like it has a mind of its own.

You glance up through your lashes. “Something wrong, Styles?”

He blinks once. Then again. “That’s not your usual… assistant attire.”

You shrug, taking another slow sip. “Guess I felt like being appreciated for more than my scheduling skills today.”

He steps forward, eyes raking over you with a little more bite now, the teasing replaced with something darker. “You trying to kill me?”

“Not at all,” you say, all fake innocence. “I just thought I’d remind you that two can play this game.”

His tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. That stupid smirk returns—but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes now. Something sharp. Possessive.

“I like this side of you,” he says lowly, inching closer. “Confident. Calculated.”

“Dangerous?” you offer, tilting your head.

He smiles. “Only to me.”

You don’t move when he stops just in front of you, the counter behind you pressing into your back. His hands don’t touch you—he doesn’t even lean in. But it’s the tension in the air, the electric pull between your bodies that says he’s one wrong breath away from giving in.

Then, slowly, deliberately, his fingers find the edge of your jacket, brushing the fabric aside just enough to skim his knuckles over the bare skin of your arm.

“You really wore this for me?” he asks, voice barely a whisper now, his eyes locked on yours like you’re gravity itself.

You keep your chin high. “Maybe I was curious what it’d take to wipe that smug look off your face.”

His laugh is quiet, dark, a little breathless. He braces one hand on the counter beside you, his body angled into yours—not touching, but close enough that you feel the heat of him.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

“And you’re stalling.”

His eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up. His free hand lifts, fingers tracing a featherlight path along the exposed skin at your collarbone. Just the barest touch, but it sets your whole body humming.

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

His nose drags along your jaw, breath warm, teasing. His hand trails lower, grazing your waist, his rings cool against the fabric of your dress. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter to keep from grabbing his shirt.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, his pupils blown wide, chest rising with shallow breaths.

Then—

“Whoa—Jesus, I didn’t see anything!”

Louis’ voice barrels into the room like a wrecking ball, followed by the loud slam of the door as he immediately backpedals out again.

You and Harry both freeze.

A beat of stunned silence.

Then you let out a breathy laugh, pressing your forehead to Harry’s shoulder. “Well. That was subtle.”

Harry groans, tipping his head back toward the ceiling. “He’s never letting me live this down.”

You pat his chest and step around him, fixing your hair like you didn’t just nearly kiss him against the catering counter. “Guess we’ll both have to behave now.”

He grabs your wrist, gently but firmly, pulling you back just for a second.

His voice is low. Serious.

“I don’t want to behave.”

Your stomach flips.

But your dad’s voice booms down the hall again, this time closer: “Y/N? Where the hell’s that setlist?”

You swallow, nod once, and finally pull away.

“We’ll finish this later,” you murmur.

And Harry just grins.

“Promise?”

...

The concert’s a blur.

You spend most of it half-focused, jotting notes and checking cues, trying to keep your head clear and your hands busy. But your eyes keep drifting to him. To the way his shirt clings to his chest by the second chorus. To the damp curls sticking to his forehead under the stage lights. To the way he glances toward side stage after every song like he’s looking for something.

Like he’s looking for you.

By the time they hit the last note and the crowd roars, your heart is pounding louder than the bass.

You slip away during the encore, weaving past techs and assistants and Paul, who’s preoccupied with a headset and shouting something about exit routes. Your feet move on instinct now. Backstage hallway. Left at the corner. Harry’s dressing room.

The door creaks as you push it open, and there he is—half changed, hair a wild mess, shirt undone, chest still heaving from the rush of the set.

His eyes find yours in the mirror.

You shut the door behind you. Locking it.

“Still want to behave?” you ask quietly.

He turns, slow, eyes dark. “Not even a little.”

In two steps he’s in front of you, one hand cupping your jaw, the other landing low on your waist as he backs you gently against the door. His mouth hovers over yours, breath mingling, teasing.

“You’ve been driving me mad,” he murmurs. “All night. All week.”

You smile, just a little. “Payback’s a bitch.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, but it dies on his lips as they finally crash into yours—hot, hungry, no more teasing, no more games.

It’s a kiss that says finally. His hands are everywhere—trailing your sides, gripping your hips, tugging at your jacket like he can’t decide if he wants you clothed or bare.

You tug him closer by the front of his shirt, bodies flush, mouths parting with a shared gasp as his tongue slides against yours. The kiss turns messy, desperate. His hand slips under your dress, palm skating up the back of your thigh. Your breath stutters.

He pulls back just enough to murmur, “Tell me to stop.”

You shake your head. “Don’t you dare.”

That’s all he needs.

His mouth crashes into yours again, rougher this time, all teeth and tongue and heat. His grip on your thigh tightens, dragging it up around his waist as he pins you to the door. The sharp bite of the wood at your back is nothing compared to the way his hips slot against yours, hard and eager, already grinding into you through your dress.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You do. You can feel it—his cock pressed against you through his jeans, straining, twitching every time your hips roll up to meet his.

He lifts your other leg, and instinctively, you wrap them both around him. He groans at the contact, rutting forward, lips dragging down your jaw, your throat, biting at the spot just below your ear.

“Harry—” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Been thinking about this all night,” he growls. “Thinking about you in that little dress, walking around like you weren’t fucking begging for it.”

His hand slips between your bodies, fingers brushing the edge of your underwear. He swears again, breath hot against your collarbone. “Already soaked.”

You gasp when he pushes the fabric aside, dragging two fingers through your folds—slow, teasing, obscene.

“Been like this all day, haven’t you?” he murmurs, voice rough as his fingers press in, sliding deep. “Knew exactly what you were doing. Walking around in that fucking dress, looking at me like you wanted me to lose control.”

You cry out, your back arching off the door as he curls his fingers just right, his thumb grinding tight circles over your clit.

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Liar.” His mouth finds your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark before soothing it with his tongue. “You knew. You wanted this.”

You moan as he picks up the pace, his fingers pumping fast and filthy, knuckles hitting that perfect spot over and over. Your thighs are trembling already, your body taut with pressure, pleasure building fast and hot in your belly.

“God, you feel so good around my fingers,” he groans, forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged. “So fucking tight. Bet you’ll feel even better around my cock.”

You whimper at the thought, hips rocking against his hand, chasing every sensation he gives you.

Then he pulls back slightly, eyes locked on yours. “Take it off.”

You blink, dazed. “What?”

“The dress,” he says, licking his lips. “Take it off. Want to see you.”

You nod, breath catching in your throat as his fingers slip from you. He lets you down gently, your legs trembling as they meet the floor again. His hands never leave you—trailing down your arms, steadying you, worshipping every inch.

You keep your eyes on his as you reach for the hem of your dress, tugging it up slowly. He watches, transfixed, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as inch after inch of skin is revealed.

When the dress clears your head and hits the floor, you stand before him in nothing but your bra and panties—both already crooked from his earlier teasing. You should feel shy, exposed. But under his gaze, you feel powerful.

He breathes out like he’s been holding it in for hours. “Jesus, baby…”

Your hands go to the clasp of your bra, but he steps in, catching your wrists.

“Let me.”

He unhooks it with a practiced flick and lets it slide from your shoulders, baring you completely to him. His hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, watching the way you arch into his touch.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “So fucking perfect.”

Your hands go to the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing his stomach as you pull it up and off. His chest is flushed, tattooed, still glistening faintly with sweat from the show. Your hands smooth over the planes of it, slow and deliberate.

Then you drop to your knees.

His breath hitches, but you only reach for his jeans—unfastening them, dragging them down along with his boxers. His cock springs free, hard and aching, and you can’t help the way your mouth waters at the sight of it. Thick. Flushed. Dripping at the tip.

You glance up at him, and his jaw is clenched tight, eyes dark and locked on you.

“Later,” he mutters, pulling you back up to your feet, already guiding you toward the couch. “I need to be inside you.”

You let him lead you, knees hitting the cushions as he drops behind you, settling back against the sofa and pulling you into his lap. His cock presses against your thigh, hot and heavy.

You reach between you, guiding him to your entrance, and the moment his tip pushes in—thick and aching—you both moan like it’s the first breath after surfacing from underwater.

He grips your waist, fingertips digging in as you sink down, slow and deliberate, inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside you. The stretch burns just right, and the way he fills you makes your whole body tremble.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, head falling back against the couch. “So tight. So wet. You feel—god, you feel like heaven.”

You plant your hands on his chest, roll your hips once, slowly. He twitches inside you, eyes flying open to watch your every move.

You start to ride him properly then, lifting and dropping your hips, letting the motion grow faster, harder. He meets you thrust for thrust, fucking up into you with just as much heat, just as much need, the slap of skin on skin building between your bodies.

“You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?” he pants, hands moving from your waist to your ass, gripping, guiding. “Wanted me to fuck you like this. You knew exactly what you were doing in that little dress.”

You whimper and throw your head back, grinding down onto him as deep as he’ll go. “I knew.”

He groans like you’ve ruined him.

Your hands slide into his hair, finally giving in to the temptation that’s been driving you mad for days. It’s soft and wild beneath your fingers, curls slipping through as you tug, hard, forcing his head back.

His mouth drops open. He swears.

“Do that again,” he breathes.

So you do—twisting your fingers tighter, dragging a moan from his throat as you ride him faster, messier now. Your breasts bounce with every movement, his hands never leaving you—touching, squeezing, worshipping.

“Look at you,” he rasps, bucking up into you harder. “Taking me so fucking good. Like you were made for me.”

You crash your lips to his, teeth and tongue and heat, and he groans into your mouth, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit.

“I’m close,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to breathe.

His eyes are wild now, hungry. “Then come. Want to feel you fall apart on my cock.”

His words send you tumbling.

Your hips jerk, thighs trembling as the orgasm rips through you—hot and fast, stealing your breath as you clench tight around him. A strangled moan escapes your lips, head falling forward, forehead pressed to his.

“That’s it,” he groans, his voice a wrecked whisper. “Just like that, baby. Fuck, you feel—”

He cuts off with a gasp as your walls flutter around him, milking him, dragging him right to the edge.

His grip on your hips tightens, almost desperate, and he forces out, “Can I—fuck—can I come inside you?”

You lift your head, eyes dazed but clear, meeting his.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, I’m on birth control—please.”

That’s all it takes.

He moans your name like a prayer and slams up into you, deep and hard, once, twice—and then he’s spilling inside you with a low, guttural sound, fingers bruising your hips as he holds you down, burying himself as far as he can go.

You feel every pulse of it, every hot wave as he fills you, your body already aching and slick with the proof of it.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moves.

You’re still pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his breath hot and uneven against your neck. The thud of his heart pounds beneath your palm, matching the rush still echoing in your ears. He’s still buried inside you, the heat of him thick and warm, your bodies locked together, trembling in the aftermath.

But eventually, your thighs start to ache and your body gives a little shiver.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice shaky but content, “I should… probably move.”

“Slow,” he murmurs, nodding. “Easy.”

You lift your hips gently, carefully easing off him with a soft gasp as his length slips free. He holds you steady, fingers tightening for a second as he watches the way your body clenches from the loss. You feel the mess of it between your thighs, sticky and warm—but all you care about is the way his hands settle back on your waist, grounding you.

You shift to straddle his lap more comfortably, your chest still against his, legs trembling slightly. One of his hands rubs slow circles into the small of your back, and the other tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

And then your fingers are in his hair again.

You’ve been dying to do this—really do this. Not just tug at it in the heat of the moment, but run your fingers through the soft curls, comb them back from his forehead, memorize the way they coil between your fingers.

He hums, eyes fluttering shut as he melts beneath your touch.

“You really like my hair, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek as he leans into your hand.

You smile, lazily dragging your fingers through another curl. “I think I’m obsessed with it, actually.”

He laughs, breathless and warm. “Dangerous thing to admit when you’re sitting in my lap.”

You smirk. “You’re the one who begged to come inside me.”

He groans, tossing his head back dramatically. “And I have zero regrets.”

You lean forward, brushing your lips to his jaw. “Good.”

He wraps his arms around you again, holding you tighter, your skin still damp and sticky, but neither of you cares. You could stay here forever—limbs tangled, hearts still racing, your hands playing in his hair like it’s the only thing keeping you steady.

After a beat, he sighs, voice low against your neck. “You alright?”

You nod, still tucked against him. “Better than alright.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then one to your collarbone. “Let me clean you up, yeah?”

You let out a sleepy groan, nuzzling closer. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Same,” he mutters, but he’s already shifting, helping you gently off his lap. “But if your dad catches us like this, I will die.”

You giggle, letting him scoop you up off the couch as he stands. “Guess I’ll let you live, then.”

...

It’s been a few days.

A blur of shows, travel, crew dinners, and secret glances across crowded rooms. A blur of stolen moments. Locked doors. Late nights. His mouth on your skin, your clothes in a pile on the floor, his hands learning every inch of you like he’s making up for lost time.

And now… now it’s one of those nights again.

Harry snuck into your hotel room an hour after the band finished press. He barely got the door closed before he was on you—kiss rough, hands eager, laughter muffled into your neck when you pulled him onto the bed by the front of his hoodie.

Now, your room is dark except for the city lights filtering through the curtains. The air is warm with the smell of skin and sleep and something softer than either of you will say out loud.

He’s lying on his back with his head in your lap, one arm flung lazily across your thigh, curls spilling over your bare legs as you card your fingers through them again and again. His eyes are closed, lips parted, a tiny satisfied smile on his face like you’ve lulled him into the safest place on earth.

Your fingers pause for a second, tangled in the curls behind his ear.

He notices.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbles, voice gravelly from sleep and sex. “That’s cheating.”

You laugh softly. “Sorry.”

You resume the soft strokes, but your heart's hammering now, nerves coiling under your ribs.

He sighs again, content. So damn content.

You bite your lip. Then, quietly. “Can I ask you something?”

His lashes flutter open. He doesn’t lift his head, just looks up at you with those soft green eyes. “Course you can.”

You hesitate, thumb sweeping slowly across his temple. “This thing between us…”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

You exhale. “Is it just sex? Like, a friends with benefits thing? Or is it…”

You trail off, not sure how much to say. Not sure what you’ll do if he says it’s nothing. That you’re nothing.

He’s quiet for a second.

Then he shifts, lifting his head from your lap so he can sit up beside you, facing you properly. The movement is slow, almost cautious. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw.

His voice is quiet. “I don’t think I’ve ever had sex like that and not felt something.”

Your breath catches.

He leans in, eyes searching yours. “I sneak into your room at night because I can’t sleep unless I’m near you. You drive me insane in the best way. I want you—every version of you. And if you’ll let me… I want more than just this.”

You blink, trying to catch your breath, trying to make sense of the warmth blooming in your chest.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Good. Because I… I want that too.”

His whole face softens.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning in to brush his nose against yours.

“Yeah.”

He kisses you then—slow and tender, mouths brushing like neither of you wants it to end. When you finally pull apart, his forehead rests against yours, breath warm, fingers still curled gently beneath your chin.

“I want this,” he murmurs again, like a vow. “But I know what comes with it.”

You nod slowly, your hands sliding down to rest over his. “My dad would kill you.”

That gets a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in his eyes. “He’d kill me slow.”

“And the boys…” you sigh, pulling back enough to see his face. “They’d tease you mercilessly. Or worse—worry it’s gonna mess with the band.”

“And management?” he adds, voice low now. “They’d have a meltdown. Headlines, speculation… you know how fast things spread.”

You nod again, the weight of it all sinking in. “So… we keep it quiet. For now.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip, his expression unreadable for a beat.

“Can you live with that?” he asks softly. “Sneaking around? Pretending like you’re not mine when all I want is to show everyone?”

Your heart stumbles.

“I can,” you say. “If it means I am yours. Even if it’s just for us.”

His jaw tenses, and you can tell he’s battling every instinct to pull you in and say screw it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he exhales slowly, pulling you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you like he never wants to let go.

“You are,” he whispers into your hair. “You’re mine.”

You press your face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in, the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest.

“And you’re mine,” you murmur.

He kisses the top of your head and holds you tighter. “Then they don’t have to know. Not yet. Not until we’re ready.”

You nod, curling closer.

It’s dangerous. It’s reckless. It’s complicated.

But it’s real.

And for now, that’s enough.

...

It’s been three days since that night in your hotel room.

Three days of stolen glances and secret smiles. Of brushing past him in narrow hallways, pretending not to feel the burn of his hand on the small of your back. Three days of aching.

And today?

Today has dragged.

Everything feels too loud, too long, too slow. Every call sheet is wrong, every email never-ending. And Harry… Harry’s been a menace.

It’s like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

The way he leans back in his chair during interviews, legs spread like he owns the world. The way he tucks his hair behind his ear, slow and deliberate, curls bouncing around his face like he’s in a shampoo commercial. The way he chews on his thumb while looking down at his lyric notes—lips pink and plush and perfect.

You’ve been pretending to focus all afternoon, clipboard in hand, chewing your pen cap like it’ll distract you from the very real, very filthy thoughts in your head.

But nothing helps.

Not when you keep imagining those curls in your fists.

Not when you keep remembering what his voice sounds like between your thighs.

By the time the boys finish rehearsals, you’re restless. Wound so tight you might snap if he so much as breathes in your direction.

And of course—he finds you the second he’s free.

You’re tucked away in a quiet dressing room going over the revised schedule when the door shuts behind you with a click. You look up—and there he is.

Sweaty. Smirking. Hair a mess.

Fucking beautiful.

He says nothing at first. Just watches you.

You swallow. “We don’t have long.”

“I don’t need long,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “I just need you.”

Your breath catches.

He closes the distance in three strides, his hands slipping around your waist, pulling you against him. His lips graze your ear.

“You’ve been looking at me like you want to eat me alive,” he whispers.

“I do,” you breathe. “But I was trying to be professional.”

He pulls back enough to meet your eyes, curls falling loose around his face, his pupils already blown.

“Fuck professionalism.”

Then his mouth is on yours.

Hot. Urgent. Desperate.

His hands slide down your back, gripping your ass, lifting you onto the counter behind you. Your legs spread without hesitation, heels hooking behind his thighs to keep him close.

You kiss him like you’ve been starving, like you need this to breathe. Your hands go straight to his hair, finally tugging like you’ve wanted to all day—hard and greedy, curling your fingers into the roots and pulling just enough to make him groan against your mouth.

“God,” he gasps, grinding into you. “You love my hair.”

“Can’t help it,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly along his scalp just to feel him shiver. “Wanna pull it while you’re buried between my legs.”

His head drops to your shoulder with a growl. “Say that again and I’m dropping to my knees right now.”

You smirk, breathless, tugging again. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He growls low in his throat, and in one fluid movement, his hands are on your jacket, shoving it down your arms. His mouth never leaves yours for long, just broken kisses between quick movements—your fingers fisting his shirt, tugging it up over his head, revealing warm skin, inked muscle, and the kind of body that makes you ache.

“You first,” he murmurs, dragging the hem of your dress up, up, up—until you lift your arms and he peels it off in one smooth pull.

You’re left in your bra and underwear, flushed and already wet, and he looks at you like he wants to ruin you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes.

Then he drops to his knees.

He kisses the inside of your knee first. Then the other. His fingers slip under the band of your underwear, tugging them down your thighs slowly—like he wants to savor the reveal. He slides them off your ankles, discarding them somewhere behind him, and then his hands are on your thighs, spreading you open wide as he settles between them.

You shudder at the first brush of his breath against your core.

He groans, low and rough. “You’re already dripping.”

You can only nod, fingers curling around the edge of the counter behind you.

And then his mouth is on you.

He licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center, groaning again like he’s tasting heaven. His tongue flicks your clit, light at first, teasing, circling, then pressing firm and hot as he sucks you into his mouth. Your hips jolt.

“Fuck—Harry—”

Your hands find his hair without thinking, sinking into the curls, tugging hard.

He moans against you.

The sound vibrates through you and only makes you tug again, a little rougher this time, wrapping your fingers tighter. He loves it—you can feel it in the way he groans, in the way his tongue moves faster, deeper, like every pull of his hair spurs him on.

Like he’s addicted to it.

He eats you like a man starved—messy, unrelenting, burying his face between your thighs with no care for control. His hands slide under your ass, holding you steady as he works you over with his mouth, dragging his tongue through every part of you until you’re panting, writhing, begging.

You pull hard on his hair again, and he groans louder, grinding his tongue against your clit in tight circles.

“You like that?” you gasp, tugging again.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his mouth shiny, lips swollen. “Fuck yes.”

Then he dives back in.

You cry out, one hand braced on the mirror behind you, the other still tangled in his hair, pulling as he flicks his tongue faster, harder—relentless. Your thighs start to shake.

“Harry—I’m gonna—”

He moans like he’s proud, sucking your clit hard as two fingers slip inside you, curling just right.

That’s all it takes.

You fall apart with a choked gasp, hips jerking, thighs trembling, his name spilling from your lips over and over as you come undone against his mouth. He holds you through every second of it, tongue dragging through your slick, licking up everything he can get, like he’s not letting a single drop go to waste.

And still—still—your hands are in his hair, tugging without rhythm now, desperate and delirious. And still, he groans for it. Like he wants to be wrecked by you.

You don’t know how long it takes before you finally collapse back against the mirror, thighs twitching, chest heaving, completely undone.

And he’s still kneeling, lips swollen, eyes dark, grinning like he just won something.

Which—fuck—he did.

Your breathing’s still uneven, thighs trembling from the aftershocks, but when Harry finally rises from between your legs, his lips glossy and jaw tight, you catch the fire in his eyes.

He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, tongue dragging across his bottom lip like he’s savoring every drop of you.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he breathes, almost reverent.

You don’t respond.

You act.

Your hands slip up under the hem of his shirt, palms flat against his flushed, tattooed skin. He hisses softly at the contact, your touch gentle compared to the wreckage he just made of you. You push the shirt up slow, watching every muscle in his stomach tighten under your hands, until you finally tug it over his head and drop it to the floor.

“Your turn,” you murmur, gaze dropping to the waistband of his jeans.

His breath catches. “Yeah?”

You nod, backing him up until the backs of his thighs hit the edge of the chair in the corner. He sits without resistance, legs spread, eyes on you like you’re a fantasy come to life.

And then, slowly—purposefully—you sink to your knees.

Harry’s mouth parts, chest rising sharply.

Your hands find his belt, unfastening it with infuriating calm. He lifts his hips just enough to help as you drag his jeans down his legs, then his boxers, releasing his cock—already flushed and heavy, the tip glistening. He’s hard again, impossibly so, despite what he just gave you, and the sight of it makes your mouth water.

You glance up at him through your lashes as your fingers wrap around the base. “So responsive.”

He laughs, but it’s breathless, strained. “Sweetheart, you exist and I’m hard.”

You hum, giving him one slow stroke. “Poor thing.”

And then you lean in.

You start soft—just a kiss to the head. Then another, lower, your tongue flicking the underside as you stroke him with a lazy rhythm.

Harry’s head falls back against the chair, his fingers already threading through your hair. But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t guide.

He lets you have him.

You lick a stripe up the side of his cock, kitten-licking the head again before finally taking him into your mouth—inch by inch, dragging your tongue along the underside, eyes still locked on his.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, hips twitching. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hum around him, sinking down deeper, and the sound makes him shudder.

“Jesus,” he gasps, breath catching. His hand flexes in your hair again, the other gripping the armrest like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. “You feel—fuck, you feel so good.”

You set a steady rhythm—slow at first, teasing, taking him deep before pulling back and dragging your tongue over the head. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking in sync with every movement of your mouth, your spit slicking him up messily, perfectly.

He’s panting now, mouth slack, eyes barely open as he watches you.

“You’re unreal,” he whispers, the words broken by a low moan. “You’re so fucking good to me.”

Your fingers dig into his thigh as you pick up the pace—taking him deeper, faster, letting his cock glide over your tongue until your lips meet your fist and your jaw aches, but god, you don’t stop.

He’s close. You can feel it in the way his hips twitch, the way his thighs tense under your hands.

“Baby—” he gasps, voice cracking. “I’m—fuck—I’m gonna come.”

You don’t stop.

You don’t want to stop.

You look up at him, eyes dark, lips stretched around him, and he breaks—with a strangled moan and a sharp jerk of his hips, he spills down your throat, hot and thick and overwhelming.

You swallow every drop, slow and messy, your hand still working him through it, gentle now, coaxing out every last twitch, every last moan.

He slumps back in the chair, completely undone, chest heaving, sweat glistening at his hairline.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, head rolling against the cushion. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You smile, dragging your tongue across your bottom lip, smug and satisfied.

And that’s exactly when—

Knock knock knock.

You freeze.

Harry’s eyes fly open, wide and panicked.

“Y/N?” It’s Liam’s voice. Too casual. Too close.

You scramble upright, nearly tripping over your own knees as you snatch Harry’s shirt off the floor and throw it at him with a whisper-hiss: “Get dressed!”

He’s laughing silently, still boneless in the chair, but he yanks the shirt on while fumbling for his jeans.

You swipe a hand across your mouth, grab your dress and jacket, running a hand through your hair as the door opens.

Liam steps in, mid-sentence. “Paul’s looking for you—what the f—?”

He stops dead.

The silence is instant.

Your dress is halfway over your hips. Harry’s shirt is inside out and only buttoned halfway, his belt dangling undone, hair a mess, lips still swollen.

And Liam sees all of it.

His eyes bounce between you, wide with shock, disbelief, and dawning horror.

“Liam,” you start, breathless. “I—this isn’t—”

“You’re kidding me,” he says, stepping back like he walked into a crime scene. “You’re—oh my god.”

“Mate, just—” Harry stands quickly, trying to fix his belt, but his voice is too calm. Too Harry. “Can we talk about this like adults?”

“Adults don’t sneak around like horny teenagers in dressing rooms!” Liam snaps. “Are you serious right now?”

You wince, dragging your dress down properly. “Please don’t yell.”

“I’m not yelling,” Liam says—loudly—his jaw clenched, voice trembling more from sheer rage than volume. “I’m processing. I walked in and saw my bandmate half-naked and Paul’s daughter with her dress around her waist. What exactly am I supposed to do with that?!”

Harry sighs, buttoning his shirt correctly now. “Liam—”

“No. No, you don’t get to play this calm, charming bullshit right now,” Liam snaps, pointing at him. “That’s Paul’s daughter. Paul. The man who literally pays our salaries and trusts us not to fuck around.”

Harry holds his hands up. “I’m not—this isn’t just fucking around, alright?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Liam bites. Then he turns on you, betrayal flashing across his face. “And you. You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

“I am,” you say quickly, stepping forward, jacket clutched to your chest. “Liam, please, I know how it looks, but we didn’t plan for it to happen like this. It’s not a joke. I swear.”

He stares at you, eyes searching. “Are you together?”

You hesitate—then nod. “We’re figuring it out. But yes.”

He makes a strangled sound and looks like he’s about to launch into another rant, so you grab his arm.

“Please don’t say anything. Please. Just not yet.”

His eyes widen. “You want me to lie to your dad?”

“I want you to give me a chance to tell him myself. When I’m ready.”

Liam looks like he might explode. “Y/N—”

“Liam, come on,” Harry says quietly. “You’ve known me forever. I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t real.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Liam snaps. “Because if it is real, then it’s even worse. You don’t think Paul’s gonna lose it when he finds out one of us is secretly dating his daughter?”

You flinch, but don’t let go of Liam’s arm. “Please. I’m not asking you to lie forever. Just… let me handle it.”

Liam stares at you for a long, heavy moment.

Then, finally, he exhales through his nose and drags a hand down his face. “You have one week. One. Then I’m telling him.”

You nod instantly. “Okay. Thank you.”

He looks between the two of you again, still fuming. “You better hope he hears it from you first.”

Then he storms out, the door slamming behind him.

Silence settles again. You exhale shakily, then glance at Harry.

“Still think it could’ve gone worse?”

Harry raises a brow. “Yeah. He could’ve punched me.”

You groan. “Give it time.”

He walks over and wraps his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You okay?”

“Nope.”

“You were amazing,” he murmurs. “Even if he hates me now.”

You sigh, leaning into him. “I don’t think he hates you.”

There’s a pause.

Then you add, “Yet.”

You and Harry manage to make yourselves look somewhat presentable before slipping out of the dressing room separately.

Ten minutes later, you’re in the green room, clipboard in hand, pretending you’re not still shaking from what just happened—and from the fact that Liam hasn’t looked at either of you once.

He’s seated on the edge of the couch, elbows on knees, jaw tight, staring at the floor like it’s personally offended him.

The other boys filter in casually—Louis first, sipping from a water bottle, followed by Niall and Zayn mid-conversation.

Louis’s eyes skim the room once before landing on you. Then Harry.

Then Liam.

Then back to you.

And his brow lifts. “What’s with this vibe?”

Niall looks up. “Yeah. Did something happen? Liam looks like he’s about to start throwing furniture.”

“I’m fine,” Liam says tightly, not moving.

“You’re not,” Louis says slowly, eyeing him. “You look like someone slept with your sister or something.”

There’s a beat.

Harry coughs.

You freeze.

Zayn, who’s been leaning against the wall, straightens. “...No.”

Louis’s eyes widen. “No.”

Niall’s head snaps between all three of you like he’s trying to catch up mid-film. “Wait, what—?”

Then he squints.

At Harry.

Then at you.

And you know it’s obvious.

You’re both freshly flushed. Your hair’s a mess. Harry’s shirt is still on inside out, and there’s a faint pink flush crawling up the side of his neck, dangerously close to a hickey. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he walked in.

And you?

You haven’t made eye contact with a single person.

Louis gasps. “Shut. Up.”

Zayn groans. “Unreal. Absolutely fucking unreal.”

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—are you two actually—?”

Louis just cackles, pointing at Harry like he’s won a game show. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands.

Zayn shakes his head slowly, arms crossed. “Wow. And here I thought the sexual tension was just for sport.”

“I knew something was going on,” Louis continues, grinning like it’s Christmas morning. “You think I haven’t heard the noises coming from Harry’s room the past few nights? I thought he was just really, really into that meditation playlist.”

Harry snorts. “Definitely wasn’t meditating.”

“Harry!” you hiss, smacking his arm.

“What?” he says, entirely unrepentant. “Just saying, I was in a very mindful headspace.”

Liam lets out a strangled noise that sounds part scream, part groan. “Oh my god. I’m going to throw up.”

Niall, still catching up, squints at you. “Wait. So this is real? Not just a one-time thing?”

You glance at Harry, then nod. “It’s… real.”

Louis whistles, low and dramatic. “Well, congratulations, Styles. You’re a dead man walking.”

Zayn nods. “Start writing your eulogy now. And maybe pick out a nice coffin.”

Harry just smiles wider, all teeth and smug satisfaction. “Totally worth it.”

Liam shoots him a glare sharp enough to kill a weaker man. “You are not going to survive this tour. You understand that, right? The second Paul finds out—”

“He won’t,” you say quickly. “Not yet. Liam’s giving us a week.”

“Which is incredibly generous,” Liam mutters.

Louis claps his hands. “Right, so we’ve got six days, twenty-three hours before Paul goes full wrath-of-God on Harry.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Liam mutters, standing. “Because once Paul finds out, your fun is going to be at the bottom of the ocean.”

He storms out again, grumbling under his breath about children and poor life choices.

The door slams behind him.

Silence lingers for a beat—then Louis lets out a long whistle. “Yikes.”

Niall blinks. “So. Do we… do we comfort him? Or do we just let him stew?”

Zayn shrugs. “Man needs a minute.”

You exhale and sink down onto the nearest couch cushion, pressing your clipboard to your chest. “That could’ve gone worse.”

Harry sits beside you, completely unbothered, arm slung across the back of the couch. “Could’ve gone better.”

Louis snorts. “Could’ve gone nuclear.”

Niall points at you. “You alright?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Just… didn’t expect to get caught mid-scandal.”

“Mid-oral scandal,” Louis corrects with a grin. “Let’s call it what it was.”

Harry snorts, reaching for your hand. “We’ll be more careful.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll get another chance,” Zayn says dryly, arching a brow.

Harry winks. “Oh, I will.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush anyway.

Niall grins. “God, you two are so obvious now. How did we not catch this earlier?”

“Because I’m good at lying,” you mutter, half into your clipboard.

“And I’m just incredibly charming,” Harry adds helpfully, squeezing your hand.

Louis fake-gags. “Ugh. Disgusting. Someone tell Paul now just to get it over with.”

“Do not joke about that,” you say, pointing at him. “I’m already imagining the heart attack. Do you want to be responsible for giving my father a coronary?”

Louis raises both hands in surrender. “Nope. I like Paul. I’d just prefer not to be within five miles of Harry when he finds out.”

Zayn pushes off the wall with a sigh. “Well, we’ve got a week to brace for impact.”

“And hide anything sharp,” Niall adds under his breath.

The others start filtering out of the room, still murmuring and laughing among themselves, leaving just you and Harry on the couch.

He watches you for a moment, eyes soft now, playful edge melting into something quieter.

“You really okay?” he asks again, gentler this time.

You lean into his side, bumping your shoulder into his. “Yeah. As long as we make it out of this alive.”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We will. I’ve survived screaming fans, Simon Cowell, and Louis’s cooking. I can handle your dad.”

You laugh. “You’re so full of shit.”

Harry grins. “Maybe. But you’re still into me.”

You look up at him, brows lifted. “What gave it away?”

“The blowjob probably.”

You groan, smacking his chest with your clipboard. “You are the worst.”

“Still totally worth it,” he says, tugging you closer.

You sigh, letting yourself relax for a moment in the quiet.

And for now, at least—he’s right. Totally worth it.

...

The next morning starts deceptively normal.

Room service trays cover the table. Coffee cups, half-eaten toast, and little pots of jam are scattered across the surface like breakfast exploded and no one cleaned up. Louis is reading the headlines aloud in a dramatic voice, Niall is already on his second croissant, and Liam is definitely pretending to focus on emails just so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with you or Harry.

You’re seated beside said menace.

Harry’s in a worn grey t-shirt and sweats, curls still damp from the shower, and he smells like mint and hotel soap and last night. You’re in one of your tour hoodies and bike shorts. Totally innocent. Totally casual.

Except your knee keeps bumping his under the table.

And his pinky keeps brushing yours.

And you are absolutely not thinking about the way he kissed you breathless before you even left your hotel room that morning.

You stab your fork into a piece of fruit. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what?” he asks, far too innocent, reaching across you to steal a grape off your plate. His arm lingers longer than necessary, brushing your chest as he leans back. “Sharing?”

You glance at him. Narrow your eyes.

He grins—dimples and danger wrapped in a face you really shouldn’t trust.

You should know better by now.

But your hand still slides under the table, settling on his thigh.

Too high.

His breath catches, sharp and quiet, as your thumb starts to move in slow, teasing circles. His leg tenses under your touch, and you feel him shift slightly, like he’s trying to decide whether to stay still or drag you into his lap.

You’re just starting to smile when—

“Seriously?” Zayn’s voice cuts through, bone-dry.

Your hand stills instantly. Harry’s doesn’t—his fingers slide higher up your thigh in a slow, deliberate stroke that makes your breath hitch.

Zayn doesn’t even look up from his coffee. “Right in front of my toast?”

Niall nearly chokes on his juice, coughing into his sleeve.

Louis leans across the table, grinning like he’s been waiting for this moment all morning. “Told you two you’re not slick.”

Liam groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I regret giving you a week. This is going to be the longest week of my life.”

Harry smirks, entirely unbothered. “I’m a dead man walking. May as well enjoy the time I’ve got left.”

“By giving us a live porn show?” Zayn deadpans.

Louis rolls his eyes but still grins. “There’s an empty storage closet three doors down with your names on it. Soundproof-ish. Go be disgusting in private.”

You glance at Harry.

He raises a brow.

Then you’re both out of your chairs at the same time, barely waiting for permission.

“I swear to God,” Liam mutters behind you, “if I hear anything—”

“We’ll be quiet,” Harry tosses back without looking.

“You’ll try to be quiet,” Zayn mutters.

Louis raises his coffee cup in salute. “Good luck, soldier.”

Harry tugs you down the hall, quick and determined, fingers locked with yours like he might combust if you don’t get there fast enough. He finds the closet Zayn mentioned, swings the door open, and pulls you inside.

The door hasn’t even clicked shut before he’s on you.

Harry kisses you like he’s been waiting hours—days—for this. Like the idea of keeping his hands off you for one more second is physically painful. His mouth crashes into yours, urgent and hungry, his body pinning yours to the wall in the tight space. Your back hits it with a soft thud, breath knocked from your lungs, and it only makes you kiss him harder.

His hands slide beneath your hoodie, fingers spreading wide across your waist, the heat of his palms branding your skin.

“I’ve wanted to do this since breakfast,” he murmurs, mouth trailing down the side of your jaw, then lower, brushing over the base of your neck. “The way you touched me under the table—fuck, you’re a menace.”

You laugh, breathless and already trembling, your hands tugging his shirt up and over his head. It drops to the floor as your nails scrape lightly down his chest.

“You started it.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, pupils blown, mouth already swollen. “And now I’m going to finish it.”

His lips crash into yours again—messy, open-mouthed, claiming. One of his hands grips the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him while the other curls around your jaw, tilting your head until you’re exactly where he wants you.

You moan into his mouth, fingers finding his hair. You tangle them deep in the curls, tugging hard enough to make him groan, the sound low and wrecked against your lips.

It’s frantic. Desperate. Dizzying.

And then—

Click.

The door swings open.

“Y/N—”

Your whole body jolts as you whip around, heart slamming into your throat.

Your dad stands in the doorway.

Frozen. Eyes wide. Face blank.

He takes in everything in one horrible, split-second glance—your hoodie hanging off one shoulder, Harry shirtless, lips swollen, your fingers still twisted in his hair, both of you flushed and breathless, clearly tangled in something that was about to become much more.

You and Harry spring apart like you’ve been burned.

“Dad—” you start, voice thin, shaky.

“Don’t.” His tone slices through the air like ice.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t storm in or slam the door again. He just stares. Like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

Like he doesn’t want to believe it.

“I trusted you,” he says quietly, but it lands heavier than any scream would have.

You open your mouth to explain, to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.

Harry takes a cautious step forward, shirt still bunched in one hand. “Paul—”

“No.” Your dad lifts a hand, firm and final. “You don’t get to play the nice guy, Harry. Not when you’ve been sneaking around with my daughter behind my back.”

Harry flinches, the silence after the words hanging too heavy to breathe through.

“It’s not like that,” you manage, voice hoarse. “We weren’t trying to hide it to hurt you—we just—”

“That’s enough.” Paul’s voice is sharp, final. His eyes narrow as he cuts you off. “Get dressed. Meet me back in the suite.”

Then he turns, and the door slams behind him with a force that makes you flinch.

Silence rushes in, thick and suffocating.

You’re still frozen in place, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, heart racing like you’ve just sprinted off a cliff with no idea where the ground is. Your hands tremble at your sides—you don’t even realize you’re still clutching the front of Harry’s sweats until his hand gently wraps around yours.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice low and grounding. “You okay?”

You nod. Then shake your head. “I don’t know.”

He exhales slowly, eyes searching yours as his thumb brushes lightly across your cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

You close your eyes for a beat, leaning into the warmth of his palm. Letting it steady you. “I can’t believe it happened like that.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “But it’s going to be okay.”

He pulls you into his chest and you go without hesitation, letting yourself melt into him, your face pressed into his bare shoulder, arms wrapped tight around his waist. His skin is still warm. His heart is still racing, too.

“We’ll talk to him,” he says, threading his fingers through your hair, “together. It’ll be okay.”

You nod into his neck, barely a whisper. “Okay.”

But even as you say it, you’re not sure either of you believes it yet.

You let him hold you for a moment longer, burying your face in the curve of his neck, wishing you could stay there just a little longer. But eventually, you pull back, tugging your hoodie into place with trembling fingers.

Harry grabs his shirt from the floor and slips it on, movements slower now. More careful. Like he’s trying not to make things worse by rushing.

Then his hand finds yours. Fingers intertwine, warm and grounding.

You hold on.

Together, you make your way back to the suite.

Paul is pacing, arms crossed, jaw tight. The other four boys are planted across the room, wearing matching expressions of guilt—like they’d all just been caught watching the world’s most awkward car crash.

Louis is the first to notice you. His mouth opens, then shuts again, which might be the most restrained he’s ever been in his life.

Liam is all clenched jaw and twitching fingers, eyes darting between you, Harry, and Paul like he’s waiting for something to explode.

Niall shifts uncomfortably, clearly trying to melt into the arm of the couch.

And Zayn just sighs and mutters, “Told you it was a terrible idea.”

Paul stops pacing the second he sees you. His eyes drop to your joined hands—Harry’s fingers still laced tightly with yours—and something flickers behind his expression.

Disappointment. Hurt. And something that cuts deeper than either: betrayal.

“Sit,” he says simply.

You and Harry obey without a word, sinking onto the couch side by side.

Paul doesn’t sit right away. He stands across from you, arms crossed, jaw tight. The silence stretches painfully long. You feel Harry tense beside you, feel his fingers twitch like he’s preparing to take the hit for both of you.

From the corner of your eye, the other boys try—and fail spectacularly—to look busy.

Louis has a magazine open upside down.

Zayn is suddenly very invested in the stitching on his jeans.

Niall keeps adjusting the lid on his empty water bottle.

Liam stares out the window like he’s praying it’ll crack open and suck him into the void.

Paul ignores them all.

“Alright,” he says, voice calm in that scary, clipped way you know too well. “You’ve got two minutes. Start talking.”

You and Harry glance at each other.

Then Harry clears his throat and says, “It started about a month ago. And it wasn’t planned. It just… happened.”

Paul’s brows raise. “Just like that?”

You speak quickly. “We weren’t trying to lie to you. We just—didn’t know how to tell you.”

“And sneaking around seemed like the better option?” Paul’s eyes cut sharply to Harry. “I trusted you. Not just as one of my artists, but as someone I thought had a little more respect than this.”

Harry straightens slightly. “I do respect you. And I care about her. A lot.”

Paul doesn’t flinch, but his voice drops a note colder. “So much that you risked her job? Your job? The stability of this entire tour?”

No one breathes. You’re fairly certain Louis has stopped blinking.

Harry holds his ground. “I didn’t go into this to mess anything up. And I know it looks bad. But it’s real. I wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t.”

Paul turns to you. “And you?”

Your voice comes out quieter than you expect. “I care about him. This isn’t just some fling.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Paul exhales and sinks into the armchair across from you, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Do you have any idea the position this puts me in?” he mutters. “The press, management, the fans… and I can’t even fire one of you, because that’d mean firing my daughter or blowing up the band.”

Niall makes a tiny choking noise in the background.

Zayn kicks him under the table.

Paul’s head snaps around.

His eyes narrow. “You,” he says, pointing at Niall. “How long have you known?”

Niall freezes mid-sip of his empty water bottle. “Uh…”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Niall sets the bottle down slowly, like it might explode. “A few days. Maybe a week. Kinda hard to miss when Harry started acting like a lovesick golden retriever.”

“Niall,” you hiss.

He shrugs helplessly. “What? It’s true!”

Paul shifts his stare to Zayn, who doesn’t flinch.

“How about you?”

Zayn leans back with a sigh, arms crossed. “Saw it coming a mile away. Just didn’t realize it was this serious until Liam caught them half-dressed.”

Harry lets out a quiet groan beside you.

Paul turns to Louis next. “And you?”

Louis grins, completely unapologetic. “Oh, I’ve definitely heard things through hotel walls. Thin ones. Also, you did say not to scare her off, and I’m just saying—I think she’s brave for sticking around.”

Paul raises a hand to his temple like he’s fighting a migraine.

“And Liam,” he says slowly, “my last hope.”

Liam lifts both hands. “Don’t look at me. I tried to stop them. Gave them a whole week to come clean.”

Paul blinks. “You knew and said nothing?”

“They promised to tell you!” Liam protests. “And I’ve been living in a state of constant anxiety ever since.”

Paul groans and rubs both hands down his face. “Unbelievable. All five of you.”

“We’re very supportive,” Louis offers.

“Quiet,” Paul snaps.

The room falls silent again, thick with unease.

Then Paul turns back to you and Harry, fixing you both with a look that could level a stadium.

“One chance,” he says firmly. “I’m giving you one chance to do this right. If anything happens—if the media catches wind, if fans start speculating, if anything compromises this tour or your safety—you’re done. Both of you. I don’t care how serious this feels or how in love you think you are. You do not come before this job.”

Harry sits up a little straighter, no trace of his usual charm on his face. “We understand.”

Paul’s gaze shifts to you, waiting.

“I understand,” you echo, your voice quiet but certain. “We won’t let it interfere.”

For a long moment, Paul doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you like he’s trying to find the kid he raised in the mess you’ve made.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, jaw still tight. “I need some air.”

And without another word, he turns and walks out the door.

This time, it closes softly.

Not a slam. Just final.

The moment it clicks shut, the breath leaves your lungs in a rush.

You slump back into the couch, pulse still thudding in your ears.

“Well,” Louis says brightly, tossing his magazine over his shoulder. “That was fun.”

Zayn lets out a low whistle. “Never thought I’d see Paul go full dad mode in a band meeting.”

Liam rubs his temples. “Can we all just take one day—one day—off from emotional trauma?”

Niall gives you a small, lopsided smile. “You alright, love?”

You nod slowly, fingers still tangled with Harry’s. “Yeah. I think so.”

Harry squeezes your hand. “We’re okay.”

And despite everything—the fallout, the lecture, the fact that the entire band now knows way too much—you believe him.

You’re okay.

[delusional-day-dreamer]

paige x olympian gymnast hcs!

‣ paige bueckers x olympic gymnast reader!

‣‣ synopsis: gymnastics has always been your entire life, and your dedication truly paid off when you made team usa for the 2016 rio olympics, but what happens after your injury while in the running for the 2020 tokyo olympics? #uneditedfornow

‣‣‣ a/n: just a few headcannons i have in mind for this story, if i were to make this a full blown series it MIGHT be a wattpad story with an oc or just a full tumblr series because of how long it would be... 👀

your life leading up to and including the 2016 rio olympics:

you've been doing gymnastics since you were three years old

at the age of thirteen your parents switched you to online school so you could train full time, but during this process it set you back a year, making your graduation year 2020 (same as Paige)

at the age of just fifteen you qualified for the rio olympics (meaning you were born in 2001)

your roommate that year was simone biles, and you competed at the olympics, taking home two golds (all around team and beam) and one silver (beam).

following the olympics, you became very popular for your skill at such a young age, leading you to signing many brand deals, sponsorships, photoshoots, etc.

it just so happens that your popularity reaches a certain basketball player, miss paige bueckers. in her slam interview in 2019, when asked about an athlete she admires outside of basketball, she says you. you have no idea who she is, but dm her regardless thanking her for her kind words. this is the only interaction you two have until uconn.

you continued online school for the rest of highschool, and throughout the next three years you received thirty recruitment offers out of the sixty-two schools that had a women's college gymnastics team.

your dream school had always been the University of Connecticut, but their gymnastics team didn't impress you throughout the recruitment process.

your graduation year is 2020, which happens to be the same year you got injured, right before choosing a college to commit to.

injury-related; 2020-2021:

in february of 2020, you got into a car crash while driving home from a late night practice.

you tore your left acl, dislocated your right shoulder, fractured your left collarbone, had a concussion, and suffered a left femoral fracture (ouchies i know)

thankfully you were mostly okay, but the accident completely put you out of the running for the 2020 (now moved to 2021 due to the pandemic) olympics, and doctors told you it would take at least two years to fully rehabilitate before you could even beginning training for competitions again.

your left leg had quite a few complications with the acl tear and the femoral fracture, and you had four surgeries in total on the leg.

during this time, you decided that since you couldn't compete in gymnastics, you might as well commit to the college of your student-life dreams, the university of connecticut.

UConn Era!!:

you commit to uconn for your undergrad in the sports management program, since you couldn't compete, you still wanted to remain in the athletic world.

your freshman year classes (2020-2021) was fully online due to your injuries and the pandemic, but it just so happens that you're placed as an intern with the women's basketball team for your sports management program.

you meet the team before the school year starts, and it just so happens that paige bueckers has remained a huge fan of yours.

the only reason the team recognized you immediately before you were even introduced is because of how much she has fangirled over you

you get your own apartment at uconn due to the program and your status (okay olympic privilege), which meant the team loved to hang out at your giant, well-furnished place.

you become extremely close with the team, and your first two years of rehabilitation seem to go well. it also happens that in your sophomore year, your best friend paige also fractures her meniscus, so the two of you are the resident cripples of the team!

paige has always had a huge fangirl crush on you, but over the years of you being friends, it seems those feelings develop into a little bit more...

one night while you were having a sleepover with her during her acl recovery she confesses, and the two of you start dating on the very down low

during your junior year is also when you are fully cleared to start re-training and you start getting back into gymnastics with a new coach (idk who yet!)

while balancing school and your duties with the wbb team, you start to train only four days a week, slowly getting back old skills on all four events.

you start competing in the 2023-24 season (i believe that’s how it’s measured?) and qualify for the 2024 olympics at the 2024 Xfinity U.S Gymnastics Championship

it’s safe to say your girlfriend and the entire wbb team were your biggest supporters apart from your family

Actual Olympics:

i can see you being roommates with Hezley Rivera, since she reminds you so much of yourself and you’re able to form a connection because of that.

Paige is unfortunately not able to make it to the first half of the Olympics, but she is your biggest supporter from home, constantly posting and hyping you up.

While competing, you definitely wear jewelry that she gifted you for good luck, and your hair has two braids going up into your bun, just to keep a piece of your girl close to you. Maybe even a purple ribbon braided into your hair at some point?

You also definitely took half of her closet of hoodies with you so that you could wear them and have her scent with you at night

the entire uconn wbb team, both current and players from your earlier college years, show support for you on social media, but paige’s is a little.. different than theirs

while all the girls post you on their stories or tweeting about you as, so proud of our husky 💙🐺, that’s my our uconn girly!!, etc. Paige’s are a little more special, hinting at your relationship, ex: so proud of my girl 🫶🫶

there were rumors about you and paige circulating since your freshman year, but you never bothered addressing them, and this only fueled them further.

You definitely text Paige as much as possible during meal times, facetiming at night, sending selfies all the time, etc.

The other girls definitely make fun of you if they overhear you on the phone with her, mocking you since you call each other baby as a term of endearment. They also make a tiktok cut together of a bunch of clips, basically every single time you were texting or atp with paige. the tiktok has over 50 clips!

“can you pass me that y/n?” suni asked you

“yea sure, here” you passed her the makeup brush

“thanks, baby,” she teased, making you blush

After the olympic athlete who ran straight to his girlfriend after breaking the Olympic record, I can definitely see Paige flying out to surprise you for a week or so in Paris.

Her flying out to come visit is when you guys actually hard launch, posting pictures of you at dinner with the captions, “my girl is finally here” or “yk i had to come cheer my girl on in person”

a/n: this is #uneditedfornow but that’s all i have for now yall! idk when i’m gonna make this a series but i have so many ideas for it i just might have to, but i also have two other unfinished series rn so… 😓😓

[lucis-dove]

digital era was truly one of the best fics i have read this year, i hope you will explore their relationships further, i feel like robby would also like to be praised in bed as much as she did, and also i feel like they would be best friends aside from lovers, i really hope you will continue exploring their journey together, great work 🩶

Thank you so much, anon❤️ I didn't expect to love this couple so much, and I definitely didn't expect others to either! I loved this ask so much and kinda ran away wiht the answer until it became a blorbo/oneshot/stream of-consciousness answer, so if you wanna read about Robby's praise-kink you'll find it below.

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖣𝗋. 𝖬𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 "𝖱𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗒" 𝖱𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖤𝗑𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍

𝗐𝖼: 2.6𝗄

𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌/𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌; 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 (18+, 𝗆𝖽𝗇𝗂), 𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗏, 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝖾, 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄, 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖾-𝗀𝖺𝗉

First of all, YESSS, their relationship would evolve on two separate fronts simultaneously: as best friends and partners. 

Based on that, I think they'll notice things about each other similar to how long-term friends do, which you might not usually when dating someone entirely new. At the same time, they'll be able to push the boundaries a bit further because they're dating and not solely confined to a friendship.

That's why I think DE!reader immediately clocks Robby might have a praise kink, bc he reacted similarly to how she did the first time she attempted to praise him (i.e., distracting her by kissing her silly in Digital Era part 2). 

She'll know it's repressed by his work persona (attendings mostly give not take compliments), his doomerism, pessimism, and whatever else he should discuss with a therapist.

She also knows Robby isn't exactly insecure, but he has his moments. When he feels out of his element is one. When receiving affection without having done something he considers worthy is a second, and a much bigger one.

So, she knows she can't press too hard. Not go too fast forward to test the theory. But she will get to the bottom of it.

I think it would all begin really light, not heavy bedroom praise, just a compliment to gauge where his limit and consequently his avoidance starts...

You've spent the weekend together. One where you stayed at his place with an overnight bag packed for totally two nights and days.

Waking up to a sweet smell that drags you from bed and into the kitchen, you spot Robby by the stove. He's just plating a fluffy pancake, reaching to pour in a new portion of batter the moment after.

Before you now it, you levitate towards him.

"Hi, handsome."

It's instinctual, because he looks so goddamn good in a domestic setting. In the soft white t-shirt and plaid pants combo, his hair ruffled and his beard not as smoothly combed down.

But what makes him look even better is the hint of pink across his cheeks as he glances over his shoulder, suddenly aware he's not alone anymore when your arms wind around him from behind and kiss th space between his shoulder-blades.

Robby is accustomed to Myrna's flirting and teasing, and threats but it doesn't affect him because he knows she says them to rile him up. But when you say it? Oh, that's a whole different story because you always utter them in a slow, drawn-out way. Honest, warm, meaningful. 

It makes a flutter spread through his chest like he's the nerd back in high school who got a crush on one of the hot girls in a class above him. The one who dishes out compliments with ease and flirts like she's done nothing else.

Despite not being older than him and nowhere near as desperate for attention as those girls he remembers from back in the day, you make him feel just like that. Squirmy, flushed, having trouble meeting your gaze.

***

When Robby eventually doesn't react to the terms of endearment DE!reader uses by flustering, I think the compliments would shift, now aiming to complement him as a person. 

And I think she'll quickly notice that they can't be work-related, because Robby knows he's good and competent. So, despite liking those things just as much as the rest of him, she choose something else to focus on, things he wouldn't outright admit to himself.

It's still not flat-out dirty praise. No, no yet. But she voices things she likes about him that won't elicit a proud smile as he brushes it off with a 'I've worked as a doctor for decades, hopefully I'm decent': Rather something he open and closes his mouth to and rubs the back of his neck before averting his gaze.

I imagine her and Robby going on a more… let's say formal date, when she kinda intentionally, kinda unintentionally, tests it out the first time. Think restaurant with a dress code, requiring pre-booking at least a month in advance, and alcohol that's expensive but tastes good when paired with the food. 

Both of them had had too much to drink to be road-legal. Not drunk, but still tipsy enough they decide to walk home from the restaurant along the river together. The champagne, wine, desserrt-wine has made her tongue a little looser than usual and Robby's blush easier to provoke…

You've pulled Robby to a stop, leaning against the railing behind you, his arms caging you in on either side. 

Since you elft the restaurant, you've stared more at his profile as you walked side by side, now finally giving and pulling him into kiss.

You're thankful this is one of the less populated routes for walkers and runners, because you couldn't stand the embarrassment of making out in public like this otherwise.

It's on the verge of too much . Your head craned backwards as Robby bows his head to kiss you, some tangling of tongues, soft sounds, your gripping his arms to keep yourself steady, slightly wobblier on your heels than earlier in the evening.

"God, have I ever told you that I love how big you are?" You smile against Robby's mouth when you part. "Tall, broad, strong, such turn-ons."

You giggle when Robby ducks his head, trying to distract you from the way he blushes at your compliments and stop any more with a kiss. He succeeds until the second you both need air.

"It makes me feel so small," you continue like he hadn't interrupted you.

Your eyes drop, slowly taking in his entire body until your eyes connect with his again. This time, your voice dips into something more suggestive when you speak.

"Yeah, really fucking sexy having you tower over me."

"You're killing me, sweetheart," he groans, his face now growing red.

"Not like you do with that dashing smile, though," you bite your lips and gaze up at him. 

Robby breaks into a smile as he chuckles, having to shake his head and look away because he feels his stomach churning with the look you gave him.

It's still twenty minutes until you're at his apartment; he won't walk through the city with a semi. To be honest, if you continued likee this it would be a full hard-on.

Suddenly, he feels your face get close to his. The hair on his arms stands as your breath puffs against the side of his face, only for goosebumps to spread when you speak breathily straight into his ear, "There it is."

A shiver works its way throughout his body, and he drops his head to your shoulder, hiding his face that feels like it burns through his blazer draped across your shoulders. 

You're laugh is bubbly, but your voice doesn't lose its purr as you push on. "Do you know what I like even more?"

It's like a siren's song, drawing him from his hiding to face you again, all against his better judgment. "What?" 

Robby should've known it was a trap from the way your eyes twinkled, but the alcohol made his mind fuzzier and your soft, warm body more enticing in the chilly night.

"I love your smile, but I love the look on your face when you get lost in it-"the way you enanucate it has him knowing exactly what you'ree implying, "-even more, you fuck me so good then."

"Jesus- let's get you home," Robby moves instantly, his hand finding your hip to pull you along with him as he continues the walk.

"Don't need to convince me." You're all smiles as he loops an arm around your waist, keeping you steady against his side. 

He sends you a look, trying to force himself to be stern when the rosy colour of his cheeks gives away too much. "We'll sleep."

"Tell yourself that." Yeah, he is, Robby thinks, because he's fighting a erection with everything he's got and he can't imagine anything else becaus eof it. "But I will go to bed naked and gush about how good you've planned this night, how I want to thank you by mhmp-"

His big hand hastily covers your mouth when his arms go from your waist to loop over your shoulders.

"God, you're impossible when inebriated," his eyes close harshly for a second as he rubs the side of his face with his other hand. "I understand why you didn't drink the first time we met."

He feels you giggle beneath his palm, the sound escaping as repeated puffs of air through your nose and against his fingers.

***

From there, I imagine it just continues with more teasing-like praise, until they're officially together and have been for a while.

Because when they are, they've reached that point where she doesn't have to be shy about pawing at him out of nowhere, and Robby instantly knows what she wants. Nor that he knows what you want when you whine 'Michael, baby?' Or that h always answer with a very smug 'Yeah, sweetheart?' .

THAT is when she's finally warmed Robby up enough to compliments that he surrenders to your sweet, sweet praise...

"Fuck you feel so good," you moan, throwing your head back. Your fingers dig into the back of the couch as you ride him. "You always fill me up so good." 

A throaty groan sounds from the man below as his fingers dig into the meat of your hips. Your head tips forward, watching Robby's twisted features. Eyes wrenched shut. Mouth hanging open. Head resting against the same pillowy surface you're twisting the life out of.

"Oh fuck," you moan at the sight. It catches his attention, making him peel his eyes open. 

With brown eyes gazing at you half-lidded and unfocused, no furrow creasing his brows or the skin around his eyes, all pleasure-drunk as you bounce on him, a swell of emotions makes you whine.

You move a little faster, chasing the pleasure that's mounting fast from how deep he reaches inside and how your clit grinds against his pelvis.

"Michael!" you gasp. He twitches inside you, a groan that pivots to a moan following. 

You know he's getting close, and you want to see him finish, not only feel it. You know exactly how to push him over the edge. One of your hands wedges beneath his neck, his beard brushing your palm as you cup his cheek. 

Maintaining eye contact, you say, "You make me feel so good, baby." His eyes flutter, and you feel more weight against your hand, but he keeps facing you, holding your gaze. "Always. You're so good at fucking me."

"O-Oh, shit-," he grunts, nails digging into your skin now as he curls his digits. "Close, Jesus fuck, m'close-"

The sentence is choppy as he starts meeting your bounce with thrusts, pushing himself slightly deeper. It punches a sharp sound from you, bordering on too much but still on the side of pleasurable.

"I-I wan't you to come in me, want you to fill me up s-so good like you a-always do," your sentence is partly slurred as you keep yourself from orgasming. But there's no chance you can hide it from Robby; you're becoming tighter around him, that rhythmic flutter too telling.

Desperate, you beg him, "Please, please Robby, I need you to come, you feel too good, I-I feel too good, I can't-want you-" 

That sent Robby over the edge.

He stills beneath you, head snapping back, throat tense as he moans out his release. It's drawn out, just like the thick, warm ropes of cum spurting inside you, filling you up until you feel it leaking out.

Robby looks absolutely gone when his whole body goes slack, head nearly hanging off the back of the couch as he pants through an open mouth when you don't stop moving.

"Fuck, so hot, you're so hot," you babble to yourself, now chasing your own high by concentrating on rocking back and forth as you replay what you just witnessed in your mind. 

Robby's head bobs once, twice as he tries to lift it and watch you. In the end, he has to roll it sideways; his muscles lax and uncooperative.

There's a smile tugging his lips, more of a curl in the edges of his mouth. It's pleasure drunk, but the furrow between his brows tells you it's close to edging on too much as your warm heat teases his softening cock into overstimulation.

You're already feeling your body seize whenRobby to open his mouth, "Give as good as you take praise, sweetheart," it's a mumble, a grittily strung-together sentence. Yet, it's his following words, sighed beneath his breath as his eyes closed again, that make you reach your high, "So good."

You cry out, thighs shaking as you immediately fall against Robby's chest, convulsing as your orgasm finally hits. 

Despite how his hand had dropped from your hips to rest motionless by your knees upon his orgasm, he catches you in his arms when you tip forward, enveloping you when your body vent lax and your mind blanked. 

The wave of your high envelops you, frying your nervous system as you can do little but whine into his shoulder and fingers twitch where they're trapped between your chests. A grunt filters through the cotton in your ears, blissfully unaware of how hard you clench around Robby's slowly softening cock. 

You swear you feel tears trail down your cheeks and a sob work itself up your throat when you finally gasp for a breath. Not far after, you vaguely feel Robby turn his head, kissing your temple before his lips are smushed against your ear.

"Let it out, you deserved it. Made me feel so good, sweetheart." And you know you can't be coming any harder, probably already coming down from your orgasm, but you're panting and shivering with his praise. Robby notices, his hand starting to rubb your back. Warm and soothing.

"Fuck me," you laugh breathlessly once you find your voice and your breathing isn't as laboured. 

"Yeah, I agree," Robby hums lowly. 

You blink open your eyes, feel the wetness making your lashes sricky. Twsiting your head on his shoulder, you face him despite the awkward angle for you both.

You smile at each other, sharing a satisfied sigh. 

After one of Robby's hands reaches between you to wipe the stray droplets caught on your cheeks, you hum, "Knew you would like being praised." 

He huffs softly, "Goating when I'm on my lowest? That's just rude."

"You do it all the time; this is just my revenge." You inch closer until your noses are touching

"Mhm?" He questions with a hum as your lips brush.

"Mhm." You confirm with a kiss.

When you part, you sit up again, carding your fingers through his chest-hair like you always do. Liking not only the feel but how Robby relaxes beneath your touch.

He watches you, silent for a beat, then, "Would you do it again?"

Your mouth ticks up into a smile. "Are you asking for it?" 

Robby worked his jaw, tipping his head side to side. "If we keep it to a nice 10-1 ratio."

"In my favour?" You tease him with a loopsided smirk.

"No," he says, sitting up, bringing you chest to chest and almost at eye-level. He scoots to the edge of the couch. "In my favour."

"We'll see about- that!" Your sentence ends on a squeal as Robby heaves himself, consequently also you, from he couch. 

He shifts his grip as he slides out from you, and by the gods, you hope your panties sliding into place without his cock out of the way stops the rush of liquid because it will be a nightmare to come back out and see a trail of mixed fluids on the floor.

"We both know you fold quicker than me." Robby muses as he walks to the bathroom wht you in his arms.

You tilt your head to whisper into his ear, smug because he hadn't gotten the taste of your dull effort just yet, "As I said, we'll see about that."

A/N: Am I turning Digital Era into a universe? Well it’s starting to look like it as I have another reqauest about this couple as well. So I guess if you guys got any thots or ideas about DE!reader, send them in! 

[a-simple-imagine]

Don’t They know a Rabbit Can’t Cry - a life once lived

synopsis: ye olden era. The reader is sick so Agatha and Rio look after her but it begins to cause tension between the trio

pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem!reader x Rio Vidal

Words: 5.1k+

A/N - you don’t have to read this to follow the main story it’s just me writing whatever I want. This can also be a stand alone. I have a few ideas as to why the reader might be immortal but I can't decide which one I prefer??

WARNINGS - Sickness, brief mention of blood and dying. not period accurate

The luminous sun and rhythmic chirps of overhead birds should have made for the backdrop to a lovingly peaceful afternoon. After days held up in her stuffy cabin, you had pleaded with Agatha to let you go outside. She agreed, eventually, when you convinced her that it would be good to get some fresh air. So the two of you (mostly Agatha) set up a homemade blanket of a deep maroon colour by the side of the lake. Agatha sits reading some dusty old book she's been obsessing over for the past two days. Her legs make for the perfect makeshift pillow as you bask in the warm rays of bright sunlight; drifting. A faint throbbing in the front of your skull. A rattle in your chest with each careful breath. Body heavy. Tired eyes search for hers as you shift somewhat, making sure she knows you are awake.

"how are you feeling?" a question you hear far too often as of late. A soft groan slips into the air as you wrap your arms around her waist. Burying your face in the fabric of her skirt. It was warm. Fresh. Comforting. a faint floral scent that tickles your nose. "oh, sweet girl," a hand comes to trace lightly over your back. "should we head back?" in truth, you probably should but being inside was driving you crazy even if most of your time was spent sleeping.

"no," answered quickly, muffled against her clothes. "I like being out here,"

"I know you do but the chill on the breeze will do nothing for you," Agatha explains. "you should be warm in bed."

"I am plenty warm," it wasn't a particularly cold day. Signs of autumn were only just starting to show. Green leaves beginning to morph into beautiful reds and yellows. A slight cold beginning to infect the wind. Daylight grows shorter. Agatha was right though. The chill was affecting you more than you cared to admit but your stubbornness outweighed her use of logic. "a while longer. please?"

A few stray pats on the back as the older woman gives in. "fine but just until the sun begins to set." the deep blue sky suggests that sunset wouldn't be for a while now so you agree to her terms. Stifling a yawn, you look up at her but her attention is already back on that stupid old book. Bound in a strange leather jacket with symbols you don't understand the book is rather small in size but from this angle covers her face. The pounding in your head becomes a little less intense as you adjust to the bright light of the waking world. You try not to move around too much but your body seeps with discomfort. Shuffling against the blanket, your eyes drift towards the lake. Minuscule waves twinkling in the daytime light. It was slowly becoming too cold to swim these days. Not that you would feel up to it even if it wasn't. It does make for a nice view during picnics or moments of rest.

"What are you reading?" you question, poking the bottom of the book with your pointer finger.

"do you actually want to know or are you merely seeking attention?" her book lowers revealing her twinkling eyes. You debate telling the truth.

"I would like to know," you offer a slight smile. There's a short pause before the book lowers so you can see the pages too. They're yellowed and bent but eligible.

"it is about old magic and healing runes," your finger traces the large symbol on the right page before flipping it over. Even now the idea of magic was still new to you or more so the fact witches weren't ugly, evil women who worshipped the devil and practised dark magic. Agatha possessed magic, rio too; neither of them seemed particularly evil and they were some of the most beautiful people you've come to know.

"healing runes?" you repeat. Smile fading somewhat, you look up to Agatha through your lashes.

Agatha nods a little. A delicate smile. "it is quite interesting. You may read it next if you like. Although I know you prefer stories of fantasy." she closes the book, resting it on your chest. "what is wrong?"

You shake your head. Such a subtle change in expression, you are surprised she even noticed. "I am just tired," she watches you. And for a second you think she is about to push further but alas the subject falls to the wayside.

"As long as you're sure"

There is a moment of pause before you nod. Agatha returns to her book and you adjust so you're staring out ahead of you both. A sense of guilt mixed with an already unsettled stomach. "Agatha," your voice hushed. Almost like you don't want her to hear but she does.

"yes, bunny?"

"do you think I will get better soon?"

"of course."

"do you promise?" you glance up at her but she is once again hidden behind those pages.

"you will not rid of me so easily"

"not sure you have a choice in the matter," but lips curl into a smile. "I hope Rio returns soon."

"as do I," Agatha agrees ultimately setting the book aside when she realises she's not gonna get silence from you. "she can be your pillow for a while."

"do you not wish to bring me comfort?"

"I wish nothing more," Agatha admits, a hand brushing your cheek. "I just would also like feeling in my legs."

With great exertion, you push up. Haze clouding the front of your head. "if I am a bother you can just say,"

"do not push yourself," Agatha expresses. "I speak merely in jest."

"I am sorry for being such a burden."

"you are no such thing."

"but you would tell me if I was?" Agatha nods but you still doubt her words. She was much too kind to admit such things. At least to you anyway.

"rest, my sweet, I am fine."

You lay back down, getting comfortable once more. "can you sing something?"

"Like what?"

You shrug. "anything. Surprise me." her body shakes with a chuckle before her voice fills the space. It's light. It's joyful. It's... "pitchy."

She taps your forehead gently. "if you want me to sing you must keep those comments to yourself." a little chuckle, quickly killed by a cough.

"Sorry. Please continue." and she does. It is a melody you don't recognise. Words you have never heard. But they're soft. Gentle. And wrapped in enough feeling to let your mind drift off.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since you had first fallen ill and yet you continue to suffer. Normally it would go away rather quickly. Whether naturally or with the assistance of magic. Nevertheless, Agatha tried using her magic but it didn't help. Healing just wasn't her speciality. Rio was much better at it but she had been away working for a long while now. You know with each passing day you grow more tired. Even on days when you feel a little better. The day is a little brighter. You know deep down it is temporary. But tomorrow will be worse. After every up comes a seemingly even worse down. Agatha worries for you. She pretends not to. Hides behind frivolous songs and bowls of soup you struggle to keep down but it's there when she thinks you're not looking. It's evident in her small sighs or the fade of her smile. Eyes that look at you like it very well might be the last time. You agreed to stay inside today. Largely too tired and achy to face the outside world. So instead you stay snuggled up in bed while Agatha goes about her day. You're uncertain of the time when you wake again. Weary eyes reluctantly opened to a much too bright cabin. Your head aches. Your limbs hurt. A muted groan as you nuzzle against the pillow. And then you hear her. Agatha. But she's not alone. Another voice that you would recognise anywhere. You rub your eyes as you force yourself up.

"Rio?" a meek inquiry comes out before a chesty cough that shakes your whole body. "you... have returned?"

Rio moves to sit at your bedside. "to see you,"

"you should be resting bunny," Agatha walks up behind Rio. "did we wake you?"

You nod slowly. The pounding in your head was only made nastier by the movement. "you were arguing?"

They glance between each other and then back at you. "how are you feeling?"

"I am fine," you declare, "happy you have come home."

"hmm," she seizes your chin with her hand pushing your head from left to right. Eyes boring into you. "you are lying."

"I am not," you try to shake out of her grasp but it hurts and you can't disguise it. "just a little tired."

"Oh," her grip a little tighter. "so Agatha is the liar? She tells me you have fallen ill."

You shrug a little. "maybe,"

"If it is just resting you need then," Rio lets go, "then sleep."

"But you have just come back," you insist. "I am fine. promise."

"bunny," a clear firm tone advising you to not overdo it. You sigh softly, laying back down.

"I am sorry I didn't have flowers waiting. I have not felt up to it,"

Rio laughs, standing up and tugging the covers back over you. "sleep."

You shut your eyes. Curling up into the warmth of the bed. A stillness envelopes the room. "Rio, will you still be here when I wake?"

"of course," she ensures. You focus on sleeping. Their voices are now but a whisper it's hard to make out their conversation. You periodically hear your name. It matters not.

It hurts deep and sharp in your stomach dragging you from your restless sleep. A cry crawled up your throat. Your eyes open to darkness. It's late. Agatha sleeps beside you. Rio on the other. "bunny?" a tired voice, as Agatha sits up in bed. You collapse into her arms; seeking comfort and her skills. "I got you." this wasn't the first night you had woken up feeling like your stomach was going to explode. Such strong cramping and nausea bring tears to the eyes. The only relief came from Agatha using her purple. She holds you close to her chest. Rocking back and forth slowly. "You are okay."

"what's wrong?" Rio's voice comes later. Less urgency. Waking up a little later.

"help her," Agatha demands

"I can't- what do you want me to do?"

"soothe her," Agatha instructs. "I used my purple already and have not been able to leave her alone."

"Agatha,"

"Rio," she shoots back. "it is simple. There are no rules against this." she shoves you away from her and nausea settles in your stomach. You haven't consumed anything today so there was nothing that could come back up. It would just be gross and toxic. "lay back down. Rio will help make it better," she doesn't wait for a response. A hand against your chest lowers your back against the bed. They exchange a look. "just place your hands on her stomach. Please." Rio eventually does as instructed. Her hand drifts gradually over your lower stomach. A tingling left in its wake, the pain fading. You roll onto your side and seek comfort in Agatha once more. She wraps you up in her arms. "is that a little better?" you nod against her. "do you want me to rub your back?" and again you nod. "do not empty your stomach over me like last time," it makes you smile a little. Agatha shuffles down the bed so she's lying down too. Allowing you to rest against her side. A gentle hand running up and down in slow motion. "go back to sleep, my love."

"how long has this been happening?" rio wonders.

"Long enough," Agatha answers. "you should rest too. She will be fine until morning."

When you wake up the next day, their absences are notable. Your head feels fuzzy but you're grateful that your stomach has resolved at least a little. "Agatha," you call out but instead rio arrives at your bedside, a cup in hand.

"Agatha has gone out," your brow furrows.

"out where- when will she return?" you haven't been without her for a couple of weeks now and the idea unsettles you.

"calm yourself," Rio murmurs. "she'll be back soon enough, now drink,"

"no," replied sharply.

"you must,"

"I do not want to,"

"it will make you feel better,"

"no," you shove her hand away, and some of the liquid slips over the edge. "I don't want any. Where is Agatha?"

A sigh from Rio, "It was Agatha who insisted you must drink some,"

"I do not want it," you huff. "it always comes back up,"

"a small sip and we can be done,"

You watch her before snatching the cup. A small sip of tea. It's warm and earthy. Like drinking soil. You cough as it goes down before handing the cup back. You fall back against the bed and snuggle into the covers. "can we go for a walk?"

"I don't know if that is a good idea?"

"a short one. Just to the far side of the meadow?"

Rio agrees. It's easy to get your way when you're sick. She has a supportive arm around you the whole way letting you collect flowers every now and then. They always looked a little brighter when Rio came home. Like they grew just for her. Once you felt you had enough, she brought you back to sit on the front porch. A blanket draped over your shoulders to protect you from the chill. Each flower is carefully laid out in front of you. Rio is sitting in Agatha's chair. Bouncing a leg and seemingly carving some wood with her blade. "Will Agatha return in the morning?"

"I do not know," Rio responds. "do you not like it being just us?"

"I do, it is just strange being here without Agatha," you express. "this is her home."

"it is our home," Rio corrects. "I just have to travel."

"I know," you reply, glancing at her. Rio was always back and forth in a way Agatha never was. Everything about this place you have come to associate with Agatha and Agatha alone rather than Rio. It was Agatha's chair that she always sat in to have her morning tea. "I hope she returns soon."

"not even a full day without her and you already seek her company once more?" there was a playful edge to Rio's words. "do you miss me as easily?"

"I always miss you," you answer. Each flower was carefully laid out before you. Organised by colour rather than type. You pick one up a purple one. Twisting it between the pads of your forefinger and thumb. "But it is different when Agatha leaves because it is a surprise. What if something happens? I am too ill to assist."

"I will deal with anything," Rio answered back. "I am capable of being left alone and looking after you. Besides she will not be long."

She will not be long? That could mean anything. days. Weeks. Months. You couldn't go months without seeing Agatha. "why didn't she tell me she was leaving?"

"she did not want to worry you. It would not serve you well," Rio explains.

"sneaking away is not better," you huff, stems of green now crushed.

"I am just giving you an explanation," you glance at the wood shavings that surround the other woman. So messy. "I know as much as you." a heavy sigh. There was more to this than they were willing to share but you don't push. Settling for the explanation Rio shared. "are your parents not worried?"

"they do," you hum. Of course, they are worried. "but they trust Agatha as a healer."

"they don't know the truth? Agatha is no healer."

"they would trust Agatha regardless," you explain. "we spend most free time together."

"I forget you two are inseparable," Rio muses softly. Almost sadly. You wouldn't exactly say you are inseparable but you do spend a lot of time together. It made sense. You had lived a pretty sheltered life at home in the woods. The nearest little village wanted pretty much nothing to do with you outside of your business. You only really went to visit the bakery or haggle for supplies. More often than not you're met with dirty looks and hushed whispers. Mean-spirited comments on a bad day. Agatha gave you company outside of just your family. She was beautiful and caring and wanted to spend time with you. She didn't think you were weird or strange but then again she was what a lot of people feared. The only difference between your relationship with Agatha and your relationship with Rio is time.

"you are never here,"

"you exaggerate,"

You shake your head just a little, focused on the crown you are making. "I do not, I-" A tickle in your throat brings a cough from deep within your chest. Loud and dry. Painful. It seems like maybe it'll pass as you grab the handkerchief Agatha insisted you always carried. It was ivory white with hand-sewn stems of green and pretty flowers lining the edges of each corner. But the tickle persists. Spreading through your throat; any attempt to avoid resulting in watery eyes. Rio is immediately knelt by your side. A curious brow. "you okay?" probably not. Giving into the dire need to rid yourself of the feeling in your throat. Each cough builds with a sense of desperation. Raw and dry. Burning from the inside. a much-needed moment of respite seemingly out of reach. You can't stop. A hand slapping against your back is unexpected; it was forceful but not enough to hurt. An attempt to help. The green witch repeats the action a few more times. A body starved of air. It helps. Profound breaths as your eyes flicker to Rio. Wide eyes convey a semblance of concern to her otherwise calm demeanour. Fist tightens around fabric now stained with tiny dots of red and shoved out of view. "we should get you inside."

"I... am fine..." you lie between breaths. You were no better off inside than out. It was merely an attempt to get you back into bed. It's not like being inside was helping in any way.

"That was not fine," Rio insists. Her hand still rests on your back.

"Rio... please..." fixated on the flowers. An almost finished crown. A moment ruined by this unexpected illness. You breathe deeply. Leaning in, the other plants a kiss delicately against your temple.

"Agatha would kill me if something happened to you." whispered against the skin. Warmth shivering through your veins.

You reach for her arm, carefully pulling it away from your body. A shaky small smile on your lips. "it is okay." even with reassurance, you can sense her reluctance to leave you be. A sign she cared too much. Returning to her spot in Agatha's chair not too far away, you can feel her eyes still on you. Watching and waiting. You are grateful Agatha was not here right now to make a fuss. She worries over every little thing. She also probably would have dragged you back inside if she had to. Silence falls as you return to your hobbies. Just a little too uneasy to speak in case another coughing fit occurs. However, with silence comes uneasy thoughts. Thoughts about Agatha leaving you alone with Rio. A sickness that just won't stop. A green witch forced to look after you. "rio?" she just hums some kind of response. "can I ask your opinion on something?"

"If it is about your crown then I will be biased," she urges. "I always like it when your creativity includes flowers."

"it is about Agatha,"

"Is she all you ever talk about?"

"I am serious," you reply.

"what about Agatha?"

"do you think," a moment of hesitation. "she grows tired of me? Is that why she left without saying anything?"

"where does this come from?" rio wonders. Fingers fiddling with the leaves plucked from flower stems. "you are her most precious person,"

"that is not true," it makes you laugh a little. Compared to her relationship with Rio, yours was just a drop in the ocean. You also weren't anything like them. Rio was teasing and confident. A force of nature you weren't sure you would ever figure out. Agatha was commanding but caring. She had a real nacht for making you feel like the most important person in the world. Not to mention they were both witches. They could do remarkable things. You felt like a burden to both of them regardless of your sickness. "she has you."

"she does," Rio agrees. You tear the edge of the leaf pulling straight through until you're left with two parts. "but that does not make you any less than. Why would you think otherwise?"

A shrug of your shoulders. Tearing the rest of the leaf up into tiny pieces and sprinkling them on the ground. "I am not like you. She does so much for me and now she must do even more because of this stupid illness," it wasn't your fault you had gotten sick but that didn't stop you from feeling guilty. So much time was spent reading books about healing. Or making special teas of different soups. Even just ensuring you're comfortable was a challenge that wasted her magic. "she must grow tired."

"you will be better soon."

"you do not know that. Agatha does not know that. I am not even sure I believe that anymore," With a soft sigh, you pluck a petel from its flower. So small. So soft. So delicate. "I wish I could make things better so she does not have to waste energy worrying about me."

"my love," Rio comes to sit beside you on the porch. She takes the plant you have been destroying from your hands. "It is not wasted."

"easy for you to say" you snap. A bitter tone. Rio does not understand. How could she? You get that she has to work and it's important to her but still. How could she possibly understand what it's like for Agatha? or even you? "You're never here."

An arm snakes over your shoulders allowing Rio to pull you against her. and despite your attitude, you melt into the embrace. Your anger is such a confusing emotion. You wish she was around more. You wish you weren't such a burden for Agatha. You wish you weren't sick anymore. A deep breath, you find comfort in the other woman's earthy scent. The way she cradles you against her side. A soft kiss was placed upon your head. "eres todo para mi," whispered against you before she pulled back. "we just want the best for you. This sickness will not last forever."

"so you say," s soft sigh. One way or another this will end but you might just not be around for the latter. A silence settles. Rio is content with sitting on the floor beside you now as she works with wood. You have no clue what she is making. You continue to fiddle with flower stems and small twigs. Weaving them into a beautiful circle to wear. You have had a lot of practice.

"it grows late. We should head inside." you brush yourself off as you stand. Offering a small smile. "for you," the crown of flowers placed gently on her head before she stands too. "I hope you will stay for a while this time."

A gentle smile. "remember how I said I would always return if you will it?" rio reaches for your hand, placing something small and hard in between your palm and hers. "I am grateful you called." her hand slips from yours and she heads for the door. You glance at what she gave you. a small rabbit made of creamy-coloured wood. It was a little jagged in places but no less cute. "come," Rio calls. She stands in the doorway waiting. "I will make us some tea."

Agatha does not return in the morning nor the one after. Rio has been on the receiving end of your bad attitude. Everything was just off. Tea a little too hot. Soup a little too thick. You know it's not her fault; your anger is misguided but irritation was more abundant when your body ached. A constant reminder of how much you just wanted Agatha to return. You missed her dearly. She knew how you liked things. She was much more tender than Rio and that's what you needed when sick. Tenderness. a gentle touch. Rio was trying but it was just grating. It is almost a week before you see her again. She brings all kinds of things with her but mainly herbs. And most importantly her magic. Her purple. She explains that the reason behind her trip was to recharge. Whatever that means. You didn't quite understand how it worked. However, the older witch's return may bring more attempts at comfort. More tea with supposed healing properties. But it does not bring better days. Your sickness seems never-ending. Seeping into your bones. Aches in every muscle. a raging fever. Short little sips of water every minute or so are the only thing that doesn't make you nauseous. Agatha still makes you tea but it's rare you ever drink it. Most days are now spent in bed drifting. Agatha does not dare leave again. Instead sending Rio off on silly errands.

The sun hangs low in the sky. The light in the cabin beginning to dim. You sit upright in bed, cradled in Agatha's too-tight embrace. Her grip on you was bruising. Almost painful. They were arguing. Again. that is all they seem to do these days. The constant back and forth makes your head hurt. You have tried to get them to stop and sometimes they will at least while you are awake. Today is different though. The air feels heavier. Suffocating. Take deep weighted breaths that rattle your chest: your lungs burning. Agatha feels different too. Angrier. More aggressive. Desperate. Rio walks closer, handing over a cup to Agatha.

"This is too hot, she will not drink," Agatha shoves it back. Rio sighs heavily. She could do nothing right these days according to Agatha. Everything was wrong. Her tone is ever so harsh.

"it will cool in time,"

"you could just do it right in the first place," Agatha mutters quietly. "leave it to one side. I will retrieve it later."

"fine," there is silence fora wink before you hear the door. "I am going to tend to the gardens. I will return later." you feel a breeze against your cheek. Cold and brisk. "the mint should be ready."

"no," Agatha urges. "I'm sorry, don't."

"I won't be long. The mint will do her some good."

"you must stay," Agatha insists. "I... I cannot do this alone."

"Whatever do you mean?" if it's a genuine question, it's undercut by an overly sarcastic tone. It was understandable. A breeze cut off by the closing door. "you did not want my help before. I can do nothing correct."

"please rio... just stay," Agatha squeezes you gently and you look up to her. "I... I worry for her."

"I know but-"

"no," snapped. Her grip somehow tenser. You cough a little. "you don't- you do not understand. I fear she needs more than I can give her but you..."

"Agatha," there's a tenderness to Rio's voice despite Agatha's tone. "you know I cannot."

"you have the means to help her,"

"it is forbidden,"

"And since when were rules your priority?" Agatha shoots back. "you share this home with me- this relationship with us. Does that not go against everything?"

"it is not the same thing," Rio responds calmly. "and you know that,"

"It matters not," Agatha sighs. "Rio, please. She gets worse each day and you're the only one who can do anything."

"my love-"

"Don't!" she cautions sharply. "I do not want to hear excuses."

You nuzzle against the older witch's chest,a weak groan. Willing her to quell the arguing. "Agatha," mumbled softly from your lips but she did not pay you much attention even as you tugged on the fabric of her blouse.

"Rio, please," anguish in her voice. You feel the bed dip.

"Agatha. You cannot expect more than I am capable of," Rio's voice was closer now. Agatha's body shifts moving you with her in the process. It's sudden. Makes your head spin.

"do you not value her?" Agatha questions. "lover her?"

"you know I do,"

"then do something- anything," Agatha pleads. "what use is your power if to not help the few who care for you?"

A hand comes to your forehead. It's cold so it must belong to Rio. "she is weak."

"I know," Agatha nods a little. "I- I cannot lose her Rio."

"but the end is not guaranteed." her hand shifts lower, thumb skimming against your cheek. "there is still a chance.”

You begin to drift again. Listening to Agatha's heart beating in her chest. A soothing sound. "leave," Agatha huffs.

"my dear-"

"Now," Agatha snaps. "go... tend to the garden since you care so little." Rio doesn't argue. And doesn't defend herself. You feel her rise from the bed and then the breeze once more. A loud band and suddenly you are alone with Agatha. Her body relaxed as if she had been guarding you from Rio.

"I am sorry," you express gradually. Your voice but a whisper into the early night. "it is my fault you are fighting."

"do not say such foolish things," Agatha hums. "Rio is persistent. She cares more for her duty than anything."

"her duty?"

"I am sorry I cannot heal you," Agatha replies. "I have tried everything but-."

"you do not need to apologise for anything," you interrupt. Tears beginning to form. This was all your fault. You cannot get better. You cannot stop them fighting. And now Agatha blames herself. You never wished to bring hurt to either of them. "maybe if I rest some more, I will get better."

"I am..." she lets out a shaky breath. "sure you will."

"Agatha?"

"yes, bunny,"

"Do not hate Rio," you express warmly, shutting your eyes as you nestle against the older witch. She is trying her best. And sometimes that is not enough, but at least she is trying."

// NEXT

[bobbie-robron]

Robron Fanfiction Recommedations (Jun-2025)

The below were recommended in June 2025 on both the Voldemort site and Bluesky.

Christmas Midnight Memories (2016) 4.5K words, orphan_account

It’s Christmas and Aaron is feeling something is missing in life and doesn’t know what that ache is. It could be very much down to his fiancé Robert believing he is unhappy and, because of that, is unexpectedly granted a wish… erasing himself from everyone’s memories. The thing is you can’t erase what is meant to be always. Includes a serving of pub quiz!

Are you still mine? (2015) 4.1K words, WickedandDevine

Takes place June 2015 (weeks after the ‘you are nothing to me’ comment) with a different outcome. Instead of refusing to tell Robert anything about where Vic and Adam may be hiding after Ashley’s accident, here Aaron relents to Robert’s pleas to see his sister to make sure she’s okay. As the two head to that destination, a song on the radio has Aaron thinking back to their week at Home Farm as well as other times (and kisses) he had with Robert. Will this time on the road bring them back to where they were before or remain as they are now?

Where you lead (2019) 5.9K words, toxica939

Gilmore Girls AU. Robert and Aaron have been in each other universe for ages. The thing is the idiots have feelings for each other but neither wants to act on them leaving things status quo. When Aaron asks Robert to go to a wedding as his plus one (weddings are not his thing yet he owns a cafe), it’s 16 year-old Sebastian that has to point out to Robert that it’s date! Will Robert suppress his fears of messing up and finally take a chance with Aaron and find the happiness that both are long overdue for?

Pray you might (2019) 3.3K words, softlyspoken

Post-prison. The lads are apart but civil mostly for Sebastian’s sake (he doesn’t appear himself in the story). But there are moments, like celebrating with a non-date for Sebastian winning a footie match, that bring back feelings when certain songs are played from their past. But is the hurt too ingrained for them to ever be more again?

What happened to taking it slow? (2016) 5.4K words, girfromthenorth

As we all know, the lads are not well known for taking things slow (something that will more than likely change in the return era). Here, we focus in on them at the time of reunion 1.0 when Aaron wanted to take it slow and filing in four gaps during that time that lead them to officially becoming boyfriends.

How Could You? (2016) 7.5K words, DirtyLilGreaseMonkey

Boyfriend era. All is going along swimmingly for the boyfriends until Aaron sees Robert a bit too cozy with Chrissie in the pub and right then and there ends it with Robert without allowing him to explain himself (his innocent reason for being with Chrissie explained early on). What’s it gonna take for Aaron to slow down and stop ignoring his ‘ex’ boyfriend and noticing something missing in plain sight?

I won’t let you close enough to hurt me (2019) 8.3K words, supercali

Teachers AU, Ten years ago, Aaron and Robert had a thing at uni, it wasn’t serious but also wasn’t casual either. When the term ended, Robert never returned and Aaron heard a word from him. That is, until now. Both are teachers at the same school and are given the task of working together on a production of Oliver! The hurt is still very raw for Aaron even after a decade and finds it hard to get along with Robert. Meanwhile, the owner of cafe Aaron frequents, Sarah, keeps trying to set Aaron up with her son who recently has returned… Do Robert and Aaron have a chance by putting the past in the past?

[ladigube]

nepo baby dream reality pinterest | spotify

"I WISH YOU LOVE, I WISH YOU WELL, I WISH YOU ROSES"

"MY PETALS ARE SOFT, AND SILKY AS MY SHEETS"

── JULIA BELLA LOPEZ is... well, there isn't much to her, to be honest. i guess she's acted in some stuff like moonrise kingdom and priscilla and she's voice acted in like regular show and adventure time... she's good at that... i think? i'm not sure. i mostly know her as the daughter of the legendary mario lopez and thalia.

okay, assuming you live under a rock and dont know anything about mario lopez or thalia, i guess i can tell you about them. though i'm not getting paid extra to do so. thalia is a famous mexican singer, actress, songwriter and so on. so she's basically more than a triple threat. now mario lopez is an actor and producer. these two began dating in the late 1980s. they would get married in 1990, and then thalia would give birth to elio in 1994—a spunky and gentle artist. then, in 1997, santos would be born. he'd find that his talents would lay in baseball. three years later, ms. jules was born.

she's just... there, i guess.

since the day julia could open her eyes, she could remember getting a new chanel bag every month, new coach glasses weekly and a new dior lipgloss daily. this girl is spoiled rotten. and if this didn't give her an ego, her parents' and the medias constant attention and praise definitely did.

you know with all this constant privilege and status, you'd think "wow, this girl must be bratty with a capital b." well, you'd be wrong. (don't worry—i thought the same thing, haha.) julia is actually incredibly genuine and humble. i mean, i've definitely witnessed a good amount of meltdowns over things not going her way, but i'd say that besides that, she's pretty down to earth.

not just that, but julia is extraordinarily smart. like nerd-you-see-in-a-movie type smart. this girl can run through the lore of at least fifteen fandoms from start to finish and can give you a timeline of nearly any major historical event. the moon landing? she's got a notebook dedicated to it. the renaissance era? yeah, she made one of her bedroom walls look like an evidence board in a criminal minds. regular show? she's literally dating one of the voice actors!

julia is the embodiment of don't judge a book by its cover.

"I NOTICE EVERYTHING. I JUST ACT LIKE I DON'T."

"YEAH, EVERYONE'S REPLACEABLE—BUT NOT ME THOUGH."

── MS. JULES hasn't been up to much recently. she's just kinda been living, i guess. there's not much to do as a nepo baby. i mean, julia is kinda set for life. she's got money and status, so worry isn't a word in her world.

you know, as the narrator of a nepo baby, you'd think i'd have some crazy stories to tell or some interesting update—but to be honest, julia is pretty normal. if you put aside the fact that her mother is a famous singer, her father is an award winning producer, and she live's in a penthouse at twenty three.

i guess she's recently wrapped up the whole barbie promotion thing. yeah. i know. this girl was in barbie. crazy, right?

oh! she's also recently adopted a bombay cat and named it bambi. she also did just come back from a romantic vacation to italy with her boyfriend. erm... besides that, julia has just been living her life to the fullest—you know, by spending her parents' money, working (not really, but you know..), relishing in the attention of the public, going to parties, spending time with her voice actor boyfriend.

yeah. normal, i guess. julia is so lame. i need my money back.

"IF I BRING YOU TO MY WORLD, YOU'LL NEVER WANNA LEAVE."

"I WANT YOU CONSTANTLY, ETERNALLY, UNCONDITIONALLY."

── SAM MARIN AND JULIA LOPEZ have an interesting meet—cute. it wasn't exactly ideal, according to julia.

as previously stated, julia lopez is a nerd—not just in historical eras or timelines, but in cartoons. one cartoon she's dedicated far too much time to is regular show. regular show started when she was 17. she fell in love with all of it immediately—the art style, the plot, the music—but her favorite thing was the characters. pops was her favorite. she just thought his voice and personality was hilarious.

one day in 2019, she got tickets to a comic-con where the voice actors of regular show would be doing a panel. time wasn't on her side though. the photoshoot she was at ran later than expected, and she barley made it to the panel.

sam marin—also known as the voice of pops, muscle man and benson—looked up, and his jaw dropped. was that really julia lopez, or was he dreaming? julia had been turned around, mumbling to herself something about "stupid time" and shaking her head. she began to walk away before she heard the voice of benson say:

"...aren't you julia lopez?"

she looked back, her brows furrowed. "how does sam marin know who i am?" she thought.

you know, for a girl who's extremely knowledgeable in so many things, she can really be oblivious to her status sometimes.

"benson?" she said in that questioning tone.

sam's face lit up. "yeah! well... kinda? i'm the voice of—" he gave her a shy smile.

"yeah, i know. i'm a fan."

"you are?" he raised his brows in shock.

"i'm literally dressed as pops. can't you tell?"

"oh, yeah, sorry. i just... didn't expect someone like you to watch the show—wait! no! that's not what i meant!"

before he could continue his ramble, julia interrupted.

"i know what you meant." she gave him a reassuring smile. "so is the meet-and-greet thing over?"

he stared at her for a beat before nodding and speaking up "uh... yeah. i was just packing up."

she frowned. "awe, shucks!" she lowered her head and puffed up her cheeks with air—sam would later learn that she did this while thinking.

she turns to face him. "do you wanna get pizza or something?"

sam started at her once again—but this time disbelief painted his face.

"...m-me?" he pointed at himself.

she nodded.

after that pizza hangout, they would go on a date. then three. then five. then eight. then, on their tenth date, sam would say:

"julia, would you give me the honor of being your boyfriend?"

julia nearly fainted but agreed immediately, nodding her head repeatedly.

"SIN TI, NO PUEDO ESTAR."

[bengiyo]

Ben’s Big BL Blurb 6: End of the J-BL Run

Well, it’s over friends. We now enter a period where we don’t expect to see any Japanese BL for at least a month, and I will have little BL to watch as a result. Let’s unpack how our last two shows kinda sucked, cross our fingers for the remaining shows, and lament even more shows I’ve dropped.

When It Rains It Pours Let Me Down

I’ve been thinking about how to write about how much I disliked the final episode of this show for over a week, and all I can say at this point is that the show felt like it couldn’t pick a lane between book canon and its own ideas. In episode 6, I loved the breakup scene between Kaori and Hagiwara. We’ve had hetero couples break up in shows like Ossan’s Love (2018) and Me, My Husband, and My Husband’s Boyfriend (2023) as a mutual thing, and I really loved Kaori owning her role in the failure of their relationship. I really hope she unpacks her revulsion to male bodies, but I really loved that she appreicated that Hagiwara never spoke ill of her. 

The show didn’t extend similar grace to Fujisawa, who it couldn’t decide if he was a sympathetic aromantic-asexual, devoted friend and roommate or an abusive boyfriend withholding sex and keeping Sei from interacting with other people in his life. Moreover, the continued preciousness around not showing the emotional movements during sex itself led to audience uncertainty about whether he raped Sei or not. After reuniting with Sei, we learn that Fujisawa has been guilty about his presumed role in the death of Sei’s parents, and it’s why he can never have sex with Sei or be properly happy with him. I was completely unmoved by this, and though it was an extremely lame way to end a show about people cheating and finding something that seems meaningful with someone new. 

Final Verdict: 6, Too Muddled to Recommend. I can’t pretend that this is a fully coherent show. There are things I really enjoyed in this, especially the final conversation with Kaori, and Hagiwara’s pouty mouth. When this show began, I had high hopes that it would stand alongside something like Mood Indigo in dealing with complicated feelings within relationships that can’t work. However, the choice to not commit to sex in a show about two guys who really wanted it, and putting emotional development behind the fade to black sex it didn’t want to show, deeply undercut the final half of this show. Moreover, I just do not appreciate what they failed to accomplish with the Fujisawa character. It’s gonna be a chop from me.

Call Me By No Name Was Pretty But Also Failed

This particular show feels so incomplete, despite having some really compelling set design. I can’t believe this show thought a perspective shift in the final episode to tell us things we already knew was the way to finish this story. We never understood Megumi’s savior complex, or why she was so obsessed with Kotoha. More importantly, I do not feel like this show accomplished a useful comparison between the way people diminish the sincerity of lesbian relationships by placing them alongside woman-on-woman sexual assaults. 

Final Verdict: 4, Not Recommended. I don’t think I like anything I think this show was trying to say, and I found the romance of this completely uncompelling. I don’t think the sexual assault in this story is worth any sort of useful takeaway. I was mostly bored or offended by this show. A dubious place to be. 

Gelboys Used A POV Shift Well (3/7)

I was so relieved this week when we got a break from Fou4Mod’s primary POV. Chian’s energy is less frenetic, and it was useful to see how he is experiencing much of what Fou4Mod is with Bua. Still, I can’t get over all of these boys turning each other into fuckbois, and I was not expecting to relive the high stakes tension of the MySpace Top 8 friends era with the IG close friends stories. I find myself feeling only mild sympathy for Chian getting ignored by Bua whenever he shows off his thirst when he hurt Fou4Mod the way he did. He should know how Fou4Mod feels, so it feels especially shitty. This is still the most beautifully shot show I’m watching, and I find myself genuinely compelled by the use of naturalism in this show. I’m excited about hopefully getting a Baabin POV this week. 

The Boy Next World Was Actually Sci-Fi After All! (8/10)

I’m quite surprised that the alternate universe schtick was actually real, but I’m having fun with the reveal. I love the idea that Cir is a man forever cursed to get his ass in gear and start a romance with Phu by seeing another version of his life around Phu. Having the stalker Cir finally make things real with Phu because he saw a universe in which he went for it in high school, only to have him later show that world to a Cir who never even noticed him, was compelling. I’m still trying to figure out why the other Cir was so pissy with him, except that he was maybe jealous that someone else touched Phu. I’m curious to see where we go, since everyone else thins Cir hit and quit on Phu, but Phu seemed to take the loss of his Cir in stride. We’ve gotta unpack the big lie, so that means we have at least one “we love each other for real now” sex scene left. MAME often does her best at that point. 

Fragrance of the First Flower is Back! (4/12)

I’m so glad we’re getting this after Fragrance You Inherit (2024), because I needed some compelling lesbian angst. Fragrance of the First Flower is back for a second season, and the drama remains compelling. Yi Min has divorced her husband, and they’re trying to make coparenting with separate habitation work. Ting Ting is trying to make things work with her band. The two have reconnected and are dating again (and now living together!!), but there are no easy answers. I love that this show is exploring the difficulties of coming after after heterosexual marriage that produced a child with special needs. The problems are not simple, and the handling so far has been really enjoyable. I’m seated. 

Impression of Youth is Unbearable (8/9, DNF)

I cannot finish this show. This show isn’t taking any of its relationships seriously, and I am so annoyed by everything happening. I already struggle with student-teacher stories, and this one has done nothing worth reporting on. It’s dropped.

Ossan’s Love Thailand Can Kick Rocks (8/12, DNF)

I cannot finish this show. I was already pissed in episode 7 when they sent Kongdech to a Catholic shrine to help him get over his gay thoughts, and literally had Heng take on the role of the devil. Now, in episode 8, they had Kongdech get possessed by a ghost that would only move on if it got to forcibly kiss an employee? No thanks. I cannot separate my feelings about Kurosawa, and that man would NEVER force himself on one of his subordinates. Moreover, while I generally don’t mind when the East uses Western religions as mythological tools in their stories, Catholicism is way too tied up in my own internalized homophobia for me to accept Kongdech going that route for peace in this story. On top of that, they keep using key scenes from the original while altering the context, so things stop making sense. I’m deeply unimpressed and will not be finishing this. 

Are We On a Break?

A check of World of BL says that a good amount of stuff is airing, but damn do I not feel compelled to watch most of it right now. I’ll check in at the end of Gelboys, and hopefully something else fun has picked up in the next month. 

[lonelyroommp3]

pls what's the zephy saga (if you don't mind) i love fandom drama

okay gather round the fireplace kids it's zephy retelling time. i feel like i do this on a practically annual basis at this point. it's tradition

anyway first i must set the scene. around christmas 2012, tom hooper's star studded cinematic adaptation of the iconic musical les misérables, itself based on victor hugo's magnum opus, was released. within a few months, the film and its healthy sized gaggle of shippable twinks (including, of course, patron saint of fujoism george blagden) would gain enormous popularity on tumblr, causing the fandom to explode in size and leading to other more storied dramas like the great enjonine war of spring/summer 2013. this is not a story about the fandom in that era of expansion.

prior to that, the tumblr les mis fandom was essentially divided into two, maybe three if you squint, camps, who basically only interacted - as far as i'm aware - to beef with each other. it was, in the grand scheme of things, a very small fandom even before you divided it, so within the camps it was very much an everybody knows everybody kind of deal. on one side, you had people who took things like canon era historical research very seriously, very much favoured the book over the musical, had mostly moved here from places like livejournal and forums, skewed older, had their own insane drama (crow!jehan cult anon come back to me my love...) but aren't really a part of this story. on the other side you had a younger (almost exclusively teenage, maybe some of them were early 20s at the time) cohort who took things altogether less seriously, were more appreciative of the musical, favoured modern aus and shitposts over serious meta, etc etc. they were called the les mis jokers and when i tell you i literally made my account on here after months of lurking because i wanted to Be a les mis joker. i went about this in a sane way compared to the protagonist of this story

(the kind of third clique of fans were people who were into the musical more than the book but took themselves more seriously than the les mis jokers. they do not matter in this story)

anyway, i joined tumblr in late november 2012, the movie came out christmas 2012, ALSO around christmas 2012 another new aspiring les mis joker entered the ring. this was zephy. zephy was a little bit older than most of the people on this side of the fandom (25 or 27 depending on what post you read. #subtleforeshadowing), married, pregnant, and (very very cool thing to be in the eyes of any teenager obsessed with les misérables) french. although she moved to new york city mere days after making her account. not only this, but she came in and just immediately had the tumblr way of speaking down pat, knew all the blogs to follow, seemed to come in already knowledgeable in les mis joker injokes (lurking without an account was, as my own story shows, a completely normal thing to do on here at the time, so this didn't raise any alarm bells), immediately integrated herself in with this side of the fandom with absolute ease and became a very beloved and popular blogger very quickly

sadly, all was not plain sailing for zephy. as her blogging career continued, over the first few months of 2013 her personal life became marred by a sequence of increasingly horrible events. in rough order going by the eventual callout post: her sister attempted suicide, she miscarried her twins, she separated from her husband, her husband then took his own life, she was fired from her job, became estranged from her sister, and THEN (remember we're in spring 2013 by now) her entire family were present at the boston marathon when the bombing occurred. zephy was, understandably given all she'd been going through, very very suicidal herself, and-- WAIT! what's this? it's PEYTON BEACHDEATH WITH A STEEL CHAIR

that's right, peyton beachdeath was in (or adjacent to? i'll be honest i don't remember this entirely. never followed him) the les mis fandom at the time, and was alerted to the many concerning posts and suicide notes zephy was posting. "alright," thinks peyton beachdeath, "i'm going to go back through zephy's blog archive and see what contact information i can find so i can get in touch, maybe get this really vulnerable and distressed woman some help and prevent her from harming herself." a genuinely kindhearted gesture!

however. it turned out that when you exposed yourself to zephy's entire blog history in one sitting... things stopped making sense very rapidly. i'll let the artist formerly known as lalondes' findings speak for themselves here

(yes, for those who clicked, zephy's url was felixtholomyes, aka fantine's dirtbag ex who deceived, betrayed, and abandoned her. i have never figured out if this was a mere coincidence in the post-movie scramble for the last remaining canon urls or if zephy was playing us like a fiddle all along with that one)

tl;dr for those who cba reading the entire callout - various crucial things did not add up in zephy's lore, including but not limited to inconsistencies in her age, her supposed email address, and even the number of children she was supposedly pregnant with (eta: other zephy contemporaries have said they remember her posting when she found out she was expecting twins as opposed to just one baby but she just deleted the post, hence why peyton couldn't find it). she also managed to pull off an intercontinental house move and start a new job while obsessively keeping up her brand new les mis fandom blog (peyton hypothesises, and i have to agree, that this move was so whoever was behind the zephy account could post more easily in their own time zone after realising that their initial ploy to be Very Interesting And French was going to be a logistical nightmare)

essentially - at the very least, several key facets of zephy's life story were fabricated. at worst, zephy did not exist whatsoever

after the callout post, zephy deactivated, and to this day i don't know that anybody has figured out who she was. a few people at the time posted that they had theories but nobody (much to my consternation as a certified nosy bitch) shared them with me, and i have no leads other than peyton's aforementioned theory about what time zone they probably lived in. and basically as soon as this had happened the fandom experienced its aforementioned exponential growth and subsequent world war thrE/É so everyone rapidly forgot about it anyway in favour of our new hobby (queer erasure slapfights)

the detail that really vexes and haunts me is zephy posted selfies - they were all the grainy mac photobooth gpoys we were all taking at the time, they were clearly of a person none of us had seen before (EVERYONEEEE was posting face on main in 2012/13 tumblr fandom), so who knows if this was the actual face of zephy & we were really being infiltrated by a whole new face in the fandom, OR it was an extremely elaborate and well done catfishing ruse. idk if anybody ever reverse image searched or even had the thought or opportunity to do so before the blog vanished from existence.

anyway. that's the zephy story. if you were around at the time and have theories i still want to know them 12 (TWELVE) years later. i got my laptop out at midnight for this

[leggerefiore]

Resemblance

cw: Volo being himself, confession fic, probably unhealthy relationship, Cynthia is there as a friend, Set on Pasio in current storyline

pairing: Volo/Reader, Cynthia & Reader

Pasio was an exciting place of endless battles and meeting of raw, new talent and old, carved ability. To be invited out there by Cynthia was no small thing. Ultimately, you knew it was an attempt on her behalf to drag you out of the strange stupor that you had been in since returning from your disappearance. Many downright refuse to believe your explanation as to what happened.

You supposed it was quite fantastical, but when a man had quite previously tried to recently force out two legendary pokemon with control over time and space to do his bidding, you felt it was not so impossible to believe. A few had believed your tale, at least. Among them being Cynthia, naturally. The archaeologist simply understood many Sinnohan myths and legends. Your story simply seemed as another case of being spirited away — Especially when you mentioned Arceus to her.

Something that you had admittedly hesitated to do. It was not out of any malice or mistrust, but something born out of fear. In Hisui, there was something that would never fail to haunt and pain you. Cynthia unknowingly bearing his eerie resemblance and interests. Without a doubt, she was of his bloodline. Their relation would never be in doubt. You wondered truly if she knew anything about him, but records were not exactly so common during that time period - especially when coming to people like him.

Volo...

His gentle kindness during your most vulnerable moment. His hand reaching out to you when everyone else had turned away from you. You had tried to rationalise it as purely manipulation, but there was still a certain genuine kindness in those eyes of his. In truth, he would have still obtained his goal either way. Forcing out the legendaries had been his original plan before settling on the plates, after all. Yet, he changed his mind. You so desperately wished to solely hate him, but that felt impossible. Somehow, seeing Cynthia once more made it even harder to do. Someone who bared his blood was a person who found justice and supported the order of this world — Even stopping another who held similar plans to Volo's own.

Was there a time in which Volo could have been like Cynthia? A time when justice and trust existed in him. What had happened to him? What were those painful, heartbreaking things that had made him as he had been when you met him? Those answers would only elude you. You had left Hisui back to the era you originated from, after all. It was unlikely Volo left any information like that behind. Those feelings had made it more difficult to acclimate back to this world of disbelief around you.

Yet, you supposed you would admit joy. Pasio was a nice change. It was exciting and constantly filled with events. Many people had come to your acquaintance on the island. The battling style mostly demanding friendships and bonds to be made. Cynthia was never too far from you, either, seeming keen to take some responsibility for you. Her concerns were never subtle. She truly had worried about you as you pulled away from the world. Her belief and trust were only so much when you felt your heart ache when the pendant on her coat caught your eye. The ancient Sinnoh people… You had half a mind to ask her for information—As if she held any or would be willing to share.

But, you forced yourself. She was far too worried, and you felt bad for doing that to your friend. Cynthia had nearly burst into tears when she had first seen you after your return. She had been doing some kind of expedition work at a ruin sight in the cave of Mount Coronet. Her shock when she saw you stumbling down in your Survey Corp uniform had never left your mind. She had rushed over, dropping over whatever was in her hands to grasp you — to confirm that you were real and not some Ditto transformed or Zoroark under an illusion. A hug was next, naturally. It was relieving to see someone so plainly care for you. The both of you were close friends, after all. (Another reason Volo had such an easy time with you.)

Pasio did bring some strange nostalgia — or, perhaps, hope alongside despair. The very rifts that had tormented Hisui during your stint there had come to the present, and with it those from that very same era. Adaman and Irida were shocked to see you again, but happily greeted you, clearly having your departure still fresh in their minds. The Diamond clan leader had thrown an arm around your shoulder and joked about how different you looked, while the Pearl clan leader rolled her eyes at him. Both further aided your story — most doubt had faded. The two were shocked that anyone doubted you before realising that many had doubted you in Hisui, too. Rei and Akari having come, too, was a shock. Both telling you how much you were missed. Cyllene apparently was still not entirely over how you had departed, while Laventon had apparently teared up. You felt a bit bad.

Cynthia was shocked by all the friends and relationships you had built within Hisui. She even had asked you why you had decided to leave back to the modern era — especially when Akari jokingly called you the Hero of Hisui. To learn of all you truly faced, she was certainly mortified. Her questions about your newly obtained scars now feeling a bit cruel. She was frustrated that you had not opened up to her still. It stung to be unable to tell her as to why. Only Rei met your gaze knowingly, having also seen that side of Volo. His shock at seeing her was imprinted into your mind. The resemblance made it far too difficult at times. It almost felt as if you were dealing with the man himself. Yet, you felt grateful to see everyone again. The horizons of Pasio felt far brighter as you spent time introducing those of the past era to the modern one.

You almost felt yourself moving past all the trauma…

Then, as you stood at her side on stage at the stadium, a familiar visage sent a terrifying chill down your spine. He spoke as he always did — The very picture of amicable and good-natured. Yet, his eyes met your own, and only you saw that dark flicker buried within them. Your hand found Cynthia's sleeve to clutch onto as you shrunk into her side. There was likely something pitiful in how you looked, but you did not care. He was pretending as if he had not threatened your life and tried to alter this very world into something he desired. Even hearing the voice of Arceus again was enough to make you want to run off. It felt as if it were all happening again. Rei had turned his gaze back to you as you tried to hide yourself away from the world.

Cynthia clearly had some questions, but did not ask them. Yet, Volo had apparently confronted her and lit up some kind of fire inside her due to his style of battling apparently being better than her own. She had pleaded with you and Rei to help her train — simply refusing to be weaker than him and desiring her strength as a trainer to continue to grow. You both had agreed to help, but your reason was mostly due to not wanting Volo to do as he pleased. The thought chilled you to your core. His plans… You doubted you could understand them outside of wanting Arceus and its power. No matter how he acted, his goals were simple.

So, you thought.

While walking alone through a forest in order to clear your head from everything, a hand had come to grab your shoulder the moment you stopped to think.

“Boo!”

You had nearly jumped out of your skin.

That voice…

Volo stood behind you — his smile as genuine as it ever would be. He brought back his hand and readjusted his hat. “Don't you remember when I taught you the backstrike technique? It was only a few months ago for me… How long has it been for you?” his tone changed from something nostalgic to eerily serious, “You clung to that so-called champion… I hadn't even had a chance to speak with you alone yet.” You wished you could call for Cynthia right about now. Volo towered over you, as he did most people.

There was no one else around. It was just the two of you barring wild pokemon. They would do nothing to save you if something went south. Your own pokemon was on you, but you wondered if they could surmount the team Volo no doubt still carried.

He was silent, clearly still wanting you to answer his question. You swallowed. “… About the same amount of time has passed for me,” you could not meet his eyes. Why was that the first thing he asked? A sigh left him — It was of relief or annoyance was unknown.

“… You left,” he said simply, “Arceus took you away just as quickly as it had you spit out of a portal.” You tensed up as he unexpectedly came to hold your chin. His eyes stared into yours with an unreadable feeling. “I searched for you. I had wished to speak with you again,” they only seemed to grow darker with each word that left him, “Perhaps, this is a second chance in various ways, no?” You were soon pressed against a tree. “My feelings for you… I was not so forthcoming, was I?” You swallowed, not sure where this was going. “I had chosen far too harsh words, hadn't I? You and I were so similar… Staring at you, I saw myself, and it made me far too emotional. But, I noticed that you were the same even here. An outsider.” Your breath was caught in your throat. His smile almost felt mocking.

A thumb stroke your cheek while his other hand came to grasp your hip.

“… I love you,” he said simply, “I am deeply jealous that you cling to that woman like that… I do not care if she comes from the same bloodline as I.” Why did your cheeks burn? This was always what you had wanted to hear — before he had revealed his true nature. If he had confessed during your plate hunt… You felt tears burn your eyes. He wiped them away. His expression was serious. This was not a mocking attempt or some cruel action — These were his genuine feelings.

You shoved him away somehow — likely because he let you — and ran away. Cynthia was shocked when she came to check up on you at your lodging. You had been crying for hours thanks to these complicated feelings. Why? Why could you not just hate him? Why did you feel so relieved when he had told you those things? There were no answers. You could not answer the blonde's questions as she asked what had happened. Biting your tongue, you simply said it was just a memory from the past. She did not entirely believe you, yet she said nothing to further push you.

It was much to your shock when the Arc suits situation happened. Cynthia overpowering Volo should have given you more ease, but his smile — That damn smile. You could not even admit your concerns that this was all part of some grander plan by Volo. Your suspicions being confirmed felt sickening. Cynthia was so unaware. You needed to be alone again.

It was then that you saw him. The isolation of the beach. You had not expected him to seek you out. No words were immediately spoken, he only came to stand at your side. The full moon hung above you both, shining with a bright silver glow. The sound of waves was the only thing preventing an awkward silence. You felt lost.

“… Chosen by Arceus…” you mumbled. Those three… Blessed. Lucky, you supposed. Your chosen state by Arceus had not been so peaceful. Their struggles… A hand came to rest on your back. “… I understood what you were telling Cynthia… It's cruel to mock people like that.” The mentions of wielding pokemon to fight for survival… She was so truly luck to not know all that pain you had faced. This impossible to surmount wedge had existed between you both since you had returned. Something that she could truly never understand. Was that why those from Hisui had put you so at ease?

You turned to look at him. It was impossible to hate him. His words… Seeing himself in you. An outsider. You would never have a place of belonging anymore. The deity expected you to rise to this occasion. Perhaps it even planned to deign you with your own Arc suit. You doubted it. You clung to Volo, burying your face into his shoulder. The waves sounded so distant as you wept. He only held you without a word being uttered. Your emotions felt far too strong. Nothing would ever be clear again, would it? Was this some kind of punishment? A test? Is this how he felt? You supposed you understood why he wished to remake this world even if you would never support such an ideal.

“… What… What horrible things have you faced?” you finally asked the question that had bugged you for so long. His expression was far too solemn.

“… I don't think there is anything to gain in telling you that,” he said simply, “… You didn't tell her despite your suspicions towards me, did you?” You shook your head. A sigh left him — again, unknown if was out of relief or annoyance. “I love you,” he repeated those words again. You tensed up. But… you felt less conflicted this time. For so long, you had sat on those words… Love… His initial question of how long had passed of you. He searched for you… Now, he was here as you suffered through further conflicting things. When again you were left alone, he showed up to extend a hand to you.

And once more, you would take it.

“… I love you, too.”

It finally made sense why you could never truly hate him.

His hand rested on your cheek as his lips pressed against your own.

Another thing to hide from Cynthia.

[sarcophagid]

Night Watch 2024 Letter - Breakdown and Personal Thoughts

my personal thoughts and initial analysis of ithaqua's letter!

these are mostly just my own opinions and will bounce off some pre-existing ideas i have, so feel free to let me know if you'd like anything clarified or if you want to discuss your own thoughts!

readmore because it's very long:

A Stack of Unsent Letters to Home (2024) (It's speculated that this stack of 18th-century letters was frequently examined. The papers are worn and damaged to varying degrees. Below are excerpts from the organized and restored legible text.)

The 18th century line really throws me off. IDV's main events and manor games take place in the 1880s-1910s, and this detail states that the letters were written before 1800, which wouldn't make much sense if we assume both Ithaqua and Lagertha lived at the time of the manor games. It's also not a mistranslated '1800s' because the original Chinese version also states '18th century'.

Avoiding rambling as best as I can there are two main ideas this brings to mind:

The plateau of Leng is considered old itself, with practices that are possibly centuries behind 'modern' practice for the time. Lagertha and the Vilulf clan seem to be based off of vikings which were also figments of a much earlier past. This could be an effort to ease the time gap by setting the story earlier.

However, I still severely doubt either Ithaqua or Lagertha have lived all the way from the 1700s to the 1900s. As aforementioned, I have no concrete proof, but it's just not sensible for either of them to be supernatural beings themselves, given the thematic importance of Night Watch being a human disguised as a monster. If we assume the 18th century thing is true, then they died. If we assume it's not true, then Ithaqua is alive and Lagertha's fate is unknown.

EDIT: I started this analysis before Brynhildr Vilfulf dropped. Her weibo lore seems to imply Ithaqua's story did in fact take place 200 years ago, but I will leave this part up because I'm petty and the detail bothers me for reasons I will expand on in a later post. 

[I] The star cluster of Vilulf will fall into the fourth house, symbolizing the law of "disintegration." This powerful force compels the life chart to discard the old and embrace the new—not in a gentle manner like a snake shedding its skin, but rather with the sudden breaking of a dragon bone, causing thousands of tons of iron and wood to sink to the depths of the sea. —The prophecy of the star atlas foretells suffering. My brave Ragnar, how have you fared? You were still young when I left Medan, yet I believed you would ultimately choose to follow the old man and navigate the oceans. I have no idea where to send this letter, but I trust that the power of the universe will carry my thoughts to you as I write under the moon.

I will have to check the original chinese text to see if there's any nuance I missed for many of these terms TOT. I think I may make a separate post looking into these specific terms, but for now I will look at the general idea.

Lagertha seems to be describing the movements of a fictional star cluster associated with the Vilulf clan, fortelling of a sudden, possibly dangerous event that would change the trajectory of her life (most likely foreshadowing meeting Eta/Ithaqua). 

As stated on the wiki, Ragnar and Lagertha are based off of Viking folk figures who were married. But in this letter, she seems to talk about him more as a younger relative than a spouse (I'm going off the wiki's old note on the chinese translation but I will come back to confirm/deny). The 'old man' could be another relative and also possibly a clan leader. 

I hope that when you gaze up at it, your spirit will be stirred to heed my guidance: Ragnar, do not attempt to conquer lands with ships. Our era has passed. Ragnar, gather our people and leave the Indian Ocean. Head north to Scandinavia, where you can rest and recuperate for at least a century.

The Vilulf clan is presumably Scandinavian. Lagertha in Viking legend is also from Norway. The Vilulf clan isn't explicitly stated to be Vikings, but they seem a bit inspired by general writing stereotypes associated with them.

They also engaged in some sort of "conquering".

Ragnar, I do not wish for you to abandon your beliefs, but please understand that the rationality and morality of humanity form the true foundation of a just society. A well-ordered world is the only environment where true freedom can thrive, and it is this discipline that will illuminate the world with the light of civilization.

Lagertha has clear and firm ideas about morality and order. She believes that people require a sense of structure and logic to adhere to, and sees civilization in a positive light. This is a detail I will come back to later with more context.*

Anyways, her ideas constrast Ithaqua's philosophy of giving up civility and humanity in general - he believes these things to be unhelpful, false, harmful. Ithaqua most closely associates them with the society in Leng, and the society that Nathaniel represented. But we now see that Lagertha was also a very order and structure oriented person, just in a different manner. 

[II] Back then, the old man often said that in the brief span of life, you and I would eventually be gone; he urged us to be bolder. I understood that he was imparting the values of our family—honor, freedom, adventure, and the spirit of resilience. Yet, his words also inspired me to explore an alternate path in life. I found solace by the shore, wisdom in books, energy in the city, and peace in the wilderness. Amid the winds of the grasslands, I discovered a different kind of faith that resonated deeply with my soul. Had the old man known, he would have deemed me a traitor and perhaps even broken my legs. But the call of the north was undeniable, and it held true transcendence and meaning, guided by the sea of stars.

The Vilulf clan values freedom, she also mentioned freedom in the previous letter. There's a degree of tragic irony given what eventually happens.

Lagertha followed the same faith as the other Vilulf clan members, but after travelling north, she converted to a different one. It is possible this is the same faith as the dominant, christianity-analogous religion in the Plateau of Leng. This detail is corroborated by the weibo description of her as "devout/god-praising" and Ithaqua finding it illogical and hypocritical to claim she was transgressing against it. 

However, my journey was far from smooth. The remote northern lands were as perilous as the sea, filled with their own brutalities and sins. Each time I offered seed pods to pregnant women or rowan berries to those in need, I felt the watchful eyes of the local church committee upon me. The already tense atmosphere became dangerously charged, forcing me to move on before I could linger too long.

I'll tentatively assume Leng is the product of a few creative liberties, because there aren't many countries farther north than Norway that are also a close match for the British-esque culture in Leng. 

Her practice of offering medicine and berries was most likely misconstrued as witchcraft, and her being an outsider also likely contributed to the distrust. 

Ragnar, you might think I am struggling. Lagertha, who once fought valiantly before you, now lives like a deserter, avoiding bloodshed. Yet, I find myself questioning whether my true self ever existed at sea. The concept of "my true self" is fluid, and the quest to "become my true self" is a journey without end.

*To expand on the aforementioned detail about valuing civilization and morality: Lagertha's past, and the Vilulf clan in general are no strangers to violence, conflict, and potentially disorder. At least some of this conflict arises from a practice of 'conquering' or otherwise invading other lands. There's not enough details nor do I plan on making statements on anyone's political views from this scant knowledge, but it's clear that Lagertha underwent a significant personal shift after leaving her clan, where she now adopts a less violent lifestyle, valuing order and civility.

EDIT: Brynhildr Vilulf's new weibo post gives some more context - the Vilulf clan was considered socially separate from the other clans, disliked for their isolation and rejection of other clans norms. However, this is not necessarily a negative trait, as they also did not have the prejudices of that time.

This is purely personal interpretation, but "true self" is very interesting considering the issue posed by Ithaqua and Nathaniel's birth - two identical people have drastically different personalities and values because of mostly environmental factors - implying a "true self" is not concrete, but rather a mutable identity that changes over time. The fact that Lagertha transitions from the lifestyle associated with the Vilulf clan to a much more peaceful one is another example of this concept. 

[III] I believe I have discovered a piece of the "meaning." I have named him Eta. The star η Ursae Majoris hangs in the northern sky, serving as my guide. 

Eta is the 7th letter of the Greek alphabet, and his character day is Dec 7. 

The star is also known as Alkaid, and Beidouqi in Chinese (North Dipper Seventh, as the star is considered the 7th star in the constellation).

Ursa Major is also related to the "mother bear" constellation. 

Remarkably, this star has led me to this young life. He is intelligent and tenacious, possessing the courage and strength to stand firm. Unlike you, his strength is deeply internalized, making him perhaps more like me. 

Ithaqua canonically not the beefiest guy around, but from his design that was probably inferable TOT.

The old man valued character above lineage, and he would surely recognize Ithaqua as a member of our clan. So, when you come to visit, please remember to address him by his name: Eta Vilulf. As for me, I might not be able to wait for your arrival, as the star atlas indicates I must travel far after three years. But he is still so young. Will a few years together be enough for him to learn to thrive on his own?

[IV] Dear Ragnar,I am truly happy to hear that your astrolabe is back on track! This is a promising sign.  This opening implies that she had gotten a response from Ragnar, but her letters were unsent, so I'm not sure if they communicated through some other way. Eta has kept me from stargazing for quite some time, possibly because he was worried about my strange behavior when I predicted that my star cluster would fall into the fourth house. He tends to treat me like a fragile being who can't manage even the simplest tasks. I wonder how he would react if he knew his mother was the second mate on the Medan. But I digress. You are on your way to the peninsula, are you not?

As stated on the IDV wiki, 'Medan' may be a reference to the ship 'Ourang Medan' which disappeared in Indonesia (this would've been in the Indian Ocean). 

Ithaqua has always been a bit protective of Lagertha… he also might be skeptical of Lagertha's astrological predictions, given he would rather her not stargaze. 

It also seems she predicted the event of the attack as referenced earlier, but chose to stay. 

This change has taken fifteen years longer than I initially expected. 

I have a tentative guess at Ithaqua's 'canon' age: In the previous letter, Lagertha said that she predicted she had to leave Ithaqua after three years. Adding this to her prediction, it's been at least 18 years since she found Ithaqua as an infant. However, this letter was also probably unsent, and most likely was written close to the time of the hunters attack. 

This is in line with Ithaqua's weibo post saying that the attack happened when he "became an adult". Ithaqua probably remained as Night Watch for any time between a few months - a few years, but this is a bit more evidence that he's a 'young adult'. 

Perhaps I should adjust my interpretation: everything has a natural trajectory toward improvement. "Disintegration" can signify both the end of one cycle and the beginning of another. By recalibrating the ego's inertial patterns, one can harness a powerful regenerative force. Just like the treasures controlled by Pluto can only be unearthed amid peril, as long as you stay steadfast in the face of danger, you will ultimately prevail. Perhaps the danger I foresaw is not destruction after all; it may nurture life and grant me a few more years with him. Forever your family, Lagertha Vilulf

As a final general note, this series of letters solidifies Lagertha as a character who's very spiritual, and has an open minded and optimistic viewpoint on her predictions even when they don't seem to bode well. But as the audience, we know what happens eventually

[d1xonss]

Desert Rose

Chapter 58 ~ As Deep as a Wound

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

✧ Era : Season 5

✧ Word Count : 4.4k

In this chapter ~ When the group settles down for the night after the torturous day, Daryl and Rose take a moment to sneak off away from the watchful eyes. Though emotions seem to run high when she is asked about the memories that haunt her, opening up to the one person she could truly trust.

Time seemed to move by quickly these days. But I guess being with the ones you love, catching up on all the many things you missed, it tends to speed up the process. Naturally we had all began slowing down throughout the hours that had passed, the world growing dark as we made it a mission to find a large enough space to sleep for the night. Though the one thing I couldn't seem to shake, was everything that went down at Terminus as I began hearing bits and pieces of the story.

I couldn't believe the things that they must've seen, and the fact that some of them were almost executed didn't sit too well with me. But I had Carol to thank for saving all of them, and believe me, I did so many times that I'm pretty sure she began to get a little annoyed at my gratitude.

And although I was going around and catching up with anyone I laid my eyes on, Daryl didn't let me wander too far.

It made sense to me however; I felt the exact same way. Because at one time or another, we thought the other was dead, leaving us to deal with a very hard and traumatic thing to process. The feeling of having each other close by, was just the kind of wake up call that we both needed to see the reality we ended up with. That we had both truly made it right back to each other, like we had promised in the very beginning of it all.

But the two of us still hadn't said all of the things we truly needed to say to each other. Not having a moment alone from the others since we were all reunited, only glancing at each other in silent agreement that we wanted to be completely alone when the day was done. An audience being present last time we had a vulnerable and intimate moment wasn't exactly ideal for either of us.

At the time neither one of us cared about that, only focusing solely on each other, but I was starting to feel the secondhand embarrassment the longer it lingered in my mind. Crying in public wasn't one of my favorite things to do, believe it or not. It sure as hell seemed like it with how much I was doing it recently though.

Currently everyone was starting to settle down for the night and tried to set up sleeping arrangements as we found a decent spot far from the destroyed community. And though we walked for hours to get away from the terrifying place, they all still seemed to be a little on edge as paranoia was creeping back into their minds. Especially the newcomers.

I still hadn't really interacted much with them, but they seemed nice enough from the very few glances that we had exchanged. There was a big guy with red hair who carried guns like they were his baby, and by the looks of it he was with the woman with the pigtails and short shorts. Then there was a guy with a mullet who seemed way too serious for my liking, and another girl with short brown hair and a charming smile. She seemed like the coolest to me.

The group moved softly and quietly as they got situated in the place we would be camping out for the night, a fire we had lit only minutes ago growing and providing a little extra warmth for us all. I sat there silently with my knees to my chest, watching the flames wiggle in front of me as I spaced off and let my mind run, mostly just exhausted from all the recent events.

But a simple nudge on my shoulder seemed to pull me out of my trance, looking up to see Daryl offering me his hand. I smiled up at him and gladly took it as he pulled me up to my feet with ease, not letting me go as he slowly dragged me away from everyone else. We walked away wordlessly, somehow not even catching any of their attention as we slowly slipped deeper into the forest to finally have a moment alone.

And the second we were far enough away, Daryl dropped his crossbow to the ground before wrapping his arms around me once again. I sighed in content as I instantly melted into his frame, craving the warmth he provided in the coldness of the night.

We rocked a little back and forth as tears began to pool in my eyes for the millionth time that day alone. It was partly because of how tired I was; I hadn't slept for a full night in about three weeks, and it was starting to have a really bad effect on me. But I would be lying to myself if I said the tears somehow weren't for the man holding me impossibly closer to him.

I still couldn't wrap my brain around the fact that I was with him, but he kept his promise, just like he said he would.

He pulled away suddenly and kissed me slowly, tears still staining our cheeks. My eyes fluttered, not knowing how badly I had needed that until it was happening. He then broke away to kiss away the tears that had fallen down my face, wiping away anymore that he missed with his knuckles. A small smile was brought to my face as I looked at him so lovingly, whilst he seemed to look at me as if I was going to disappear all over again.

"I'm...I'm just so happy." I said, not being able to find the right words.

He shook his head as he let out a breath of disbelief, "I can't believe yer alive." he spoke before his face then dropped, "I thought I lost ya forever."

"I'm here." I promised, "I'm not going anywhere...God, I missed you so much." I whispered, moving some of the hair from his face so I could easily see his eyes.

"Oh, you have no idea." he said with a light chuckle, "Never wanna feel that way again...not knowin whether or not yer alive..." he trailed off.

I shook my head, "You won't- we won't...I still can't believe this is real. You're really here."

"M' really here." he pecked my lips a few times, "M' here."

I nodded as my eyes gazed upon his face, frowning slightly to myself when I saw one of his eyes was completely bruised, cuts scattered all over his skin in various places. "What happened to you?" I whispered, a part of me almost not wanting to know the real answer.

His face faltered, but I watched as he took a small step back from me, nodding to himself before opening his mouth to speak again.

He filled me in completely, somehow not missing a single detail. How hard he tried to find me with Beth right by his side the entire time, briefly informing me about what happened to her only two nights ago, how they got separated from each other. It broke my heart to hear not only that, but how hard he tried to find her the moment he realized she was gone.

He then mentioned the Claimers, the same assholes that Rick and I had run into in the abandoned house, telling me the whole story about what they did to each of them. Why his face was still slightly beaten and bruised.

He didn't go into grave detail about Terminus like Rick did, but I understood completely. I couldn't even begin to imagine how horrifying it must've been for all of them, even watching him talk about it amazed me. But then again, he was stronger than anyone I've ever met.

By the time he was finally done, we were sat across from each other on the dirt, watching as he let out an emotional sigh, "I tried...I tried so hard to find ya-"

"You did," I interrupted as I gently took his hand in my own, "You found me."

He shook his head, "Nah...you found me."

"What's the difference? We're together, that's all that matters to me. You kept your promise love, you tracked me for miles and miles on end. That alone is enough to make me swoon all over again." I joked lightly.

He smiled a little and reached into his pocket, "Well...this kept me goin." he muttered, pulling out something to place in the palm of my hand.

I looked down in slight confusion until my eyes landed on the familiar picture he stole from me, feeling myself smile, "You still have this?"

He scoffed, "Course I still have it." he said, making a motion with his hand for me to give it back.

I rolled my eyes at the fact that he thought I would take it from him, but I handed it back regardless. He placed it back in his pocket so delicately like he was afraid he would rip it by accident or drop it into the mud somehow. Like it was the most precious thing in the world to him.

He then leaned the other way to fish around in his opposite pants pocket, and to my surprise, he revealed the purple clip that fell out of my hair what felt like ages ago. "You found it." I said in disbelief, delicately taking it from his grasp.

He nodded, "Was the only thing I could find."

"Thank you." I said, leaning up to kiss his cheek, maneuvering slightly to place it in my jacket for safe keeping.

When I looked back up toward him I found he was already looking at me, however he wasn't looking in my eyes. Instead his gaze followed the cuts that would be permanent my skin forever, and I braced myself for the next question that would fall out of his mouth. I was only surprised he hadn't mentioned something about it earlier.

He leaned closer and cupped my right cheek as he scanned the other, rubbing his thumb softly over my chin. I leaned into his touch, though he looked at me with a certain dread in his eyes.

"What happened, hon?" he asked softly.

I sighed and closed my eyes to try and keep myself together, ignoring the memories replaying over and over again in my mind. I felt him take the other side of my face as gently as possible, to try and avoid the wound that was still healing, offering me comfort to know that he was still right there. Waiting to listen, through fearing the answer.

I almost wanted to pull back and shake my head, go to great extents to not have to tell him what I went through that night. Not even daring to want to repeat the phrase let alone relive it. Wanting to brush it off completely, make up an excuse, anything to just desperately forget about that awful moment forever.

But the very second I looked back up into his eyes, seeing so much concern written all over his face, I knew I had to tell him.

I breathed in and out deeply before finally speaking, "When I got separated from Rick and the others...one night this random man approached me in the woods. I immediately knew what he was trying to do, but...this other guy came out of nowhere and-" I cut myself off suddenly, trying to swallow the lump in my throat that caused my voice to crack.

I closed my eyes tightly as I breathed shakily, "He...got on top of me...pinned me down...but when I fought back, he cut up my face, my neck." I stuttered, tears threatening to spill all over again, "He- he tried to-"

But he didn't let me finish, hearing enough of the horrible things as he brought me in closer to him, wrapping his arms around me tightly again.

He shushed me as I cried onto his chest, clinging onto him for dear life as I almost never wanted to let him go. I was so grateful he was there to listen, to comfort me when I told him. But I knew even the vague story would send his blood boiling.

I felt him tense up suddenly the longer he thought about it, "I'll track em down and skin em alive." he spoke in a low voice.

Shaking my head, I didn't pull away from him as I spoke, "I killed them...they didn't even get the chance to do anything, but...I can- I can still feel his hands all over me, it's- it's so haunting." I stuttered out.

I heard him sigh sadly as he gently placed a kiss on the top of my head, "I'm so sorry, baby." he whispered into my hair.

I only nodded as I didn't feel the need to say anything else, holding onto him tighter as I painfully pushed the images out of my head. He didn't hesitate to mutter reassuring things to me, how he would protect me from anything, and how sorry he was that he wasn't around when it happened. But in my opinion, I thought it was foolish that he was apologizing for something that he couldn't have stopped. He couldn't have predicted the events, nor could he have prevented them. All I really needed from him now was his support and comfort. I just needed him.

He then finally pulled away, almost abruptly to look me over once again, "Did I...did I do anythin to make ya uncomfortable?" he asked softly.

"Oh God, no." I said immediately, "Never. I don't think it's possible. You're about the only person who can make me feel the safest, and I just...I love you."

"I love ya more. Just tell me if anythin's too much, or too overwhelmin, alright?"

I nodded my head, "I will, I promise."

After that we just stayed in each other's arms for what felt like forever, but no amount of time would ever be enough. I could spend weeks on end not leaving this man's side, and I don't think I would ever get tired of it. He was so soft and careful after I told him what happened to me, not that I expected anything else, but I truly didn't know how he would really react. After all, how is one supposed to process something like that?

It all happened recently and was still hard to talk about, I could sense he felt a little guilty for bringing it up in the first place. But I knew I had to tell him eventually. My face was obviously a dead giveaway to something bad happening to me.

And though I would never admit it out loud, to anyone let alone him as well, the flashbacks replayed in my mind more often than I was ever willing to say. It was traumatizing, it was to be expected, but it was eating me up inside. I truly didn't know how I would be able to get past it, see though all of the haunting memories, it seemed almost impossible.

But I wanted to trust time. Trust that it would heal the things that I couldn't.

Eventually we made our way back to the group hand in hand, finding everyone pretty much asleep around the dying fire. I scanned the area around us to see who was on watch and noticed Maggie sleeping alone on a nearby sleeping bag.

I felt Daryl's hand leave mine as he set up a spot for us to sleep, but I gently grabbed his shoulder so he would look back at me.

"I'm going to talk to Glenn for a little bit, I'll be back soon." I whispered.

He grew a little concerned, "Are ya sure? Ya need to sleep, Rosie."

"I'm not that tired, plus we have a lot to catch up on. I won't be long, I promise." 

He hesitantly nodded his head before placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. I smiled up at him before turning around, stepping over snoozing bodies to see which way the man went. I followed the pattern of leaves his feet left behind before I eventually spotted him sitting close to the side of the road, a gun in his lap, staring at his surroundings.

"Don't freak out." I said in a quiet voice, just coming out of the tree line.

He visibly flinched and spun around to see who it was, but once he saw it was just me he relaxed and smiled tiredly. I returned the gesture as I approached, taking a seat right next to him with a soft huff.

"You scared the shit out of me." he whispered.

I couldn't help but laugh, "Some bodyguard you are."

He rolled his eyes, nudging me playfully, "Shut up."

I smiled a little at the banter, before we both let the silence linger for a moment as we looked out toward the darkness ahead. I leaned back on my hands as I rested my head on my shoulder, feeling more tired than I was willing to admit. But I missed him, willing to stay up for as long as I could if it meant I was able to spend time with him again.

"So...you just found those guys while you were looking for Maggie?" I asked, jerking my head back to where the group lied.

He nodded, "Yeah, Tara actually made it out with me from the prison. And we found those three a little while down the road."

"Tara? She's the one with the shorter hair, yeah?" I asked.

"Yep." he replied simply.

I nodded in response, though suddenly grew a little confused as the wheels seemed to turn in my head. "Wait...how was she with you at the prison?"

His eyes widened ever so slightly, his mouth parting as he tried to think of an answer but his silence was all the confirmation I needed, and I stood up abruptly. He called my name quietly as I turned around and began to storm back, but I ignored him, wanting to give her a piece of my goddamn mind.

"Rose, don't." he begged quietly, catching up enough to pull my arm back gently.

"Why?" I asked not so quietly, ripping my arm out of his hold, "She was with The Governor? And you want her to stay with us? She was fucking attacking us, blowing up our home, and you-"

"No, no she never shot at us. She never wanted that...she was scared and on her own and she helped me find Maggie. Just please...give her a chance like I did." he pleaded.

I glanced him over once, twice, trying to see if he was telling me the truth, or fibbing now to avoid a fight. She was on his side, but Glenn claimed she was a good person. Hell, I thought the same thing when I briefly met her until I found out she was with the man that broke all of us apart, took everything we had. But she helped him find Maggie and stuck right by his side the entire time, so I felt I had to give her a little credit.

With a sigh and a reluctant roll of my eyes, I finally nodded my head as he let out a breath of relief, gesturing for me to come back and sit down. I followed his lead as we plopped down together on the grass, thinking to myself silently for a few moments.

"I'm sorry," I finally said, "I just have had some trust issues when it comes to strangers lately."

He nodded, "Yeah, I noticed." he said, gesturing toward my face.

My eyes closed involuntarily as I pressed my lips together, still somehow being able to feel his eyes running all over me though I could no longer look at him. I clearly didn't have a mirror on me, but obviously the markings were very noticeable since nearly everyone kept pointing them out to me as if I wasn't aware. And in the back of my mind I knew these would slowly turn into scars over time, ones that I wouldn't be able to hide.

"Can I ask what happened?" he asked cautiously.

I stayed quiet for a moment as my eyes opened again, settling with staring at the ground below me, "Some assholes that shouldn't have ever fucked with me." I mumbled before meeting his eyes, "And they look worse than I do."

"Good." he said instantly.

I desperately wanted to change the subject, and I knew by the look on his face he could tell, "So... tell me a little more about that trio back there." I eventually pulled out of my ass.

He took a breath, "Well, the guy with the red hair; Abraham, is uh...well he's a character."

"I'm not really sure what that means but okay."

"He's just...well you'll hear some of the shit that comes out of his mouth." I nodded in understanding, "And um he's with the girl; Rosita, and she's pretty cool, I guess. But the last guy Eugene...he's something alright."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "Okay, you're being very vague about these people."

"Sorry, sorry, he's just...really smart and apparently knows how to stop this whole thing. I don't think they're staying with us for very long, they have to get him to Washington."

"He knows the cure?" I asked in slight disbelief, watching as he nodded his head, "Bullshit."

"It's true." he confirmed confidently.

I put a hand on his shoulder almost sympathetically, "Glenn honey, you are just about the most gullible person left on this planet." I stated, watching his expression morph into a slight glare, "And I say that with love."

He rolled his eyes and shrugged my hand off, "Whatever." he muttered with a small smile.

"And that leaves Tara...the girl who tried to kill us but then...saved your ass I suppose." I teased.

He nodded, "Yeah, pretty much."

There was a beat of silence before I asked, "Does Maggie know?"

He almost tensed at the question, not being able to meet my eyes as he continued to look out into the distance, as if I hadn't even opened my mouth at all. That was a good enough answer for me.

"Glenn," I said sternly, "She deserves to know about that. After what happened to her dad-"

"Stop." he cut me off with a shake of his head.

"No, you can't keep something like that from her. I mean do you really think she would want her around after knowing who's side she was on?"

He paused for a moment before finally meeting my eyes, "She saved me more times than I can count while we were out there. She helped me through everything and when the three of them wanted to stop, to get to Washington, Tara stuck with me anyways. She could've left, but she didn't. I know she's a good person."

"Okay, but honey, good person or not...Maggie needs to know." I said gently.

In the back of my mind, I knew that he knew he had to tell her eventually and obviously it was going to be hard, but it was the right thing to do. It just made me wonder who Maggie thought this random girl was and where she came from. What kind of story they cooked up for the time being, or maybe she just didn't care too much, focusing solely on Glenn whom she found after searching for ages.

Eventually after what felt like hours, he nodded his head, "I'll tell her."

"Good." I said simply, before giving his had a reassuring squeeze.

As we talked for a little bit longer, he told me that even after everything that happened, he still kept my drawing I drew of us safe and sound in his backpack. It warmed my heart not only that he still had the sketch I gave him, but that he held onto it, and it was one of the most important things to him. I wordlessly pulled out the necklace he gave me out of my shirt, and he smiled brightly at the sight. I always found myself playing with it randomly, a constant reminder that the man was always with me. I hadn't taken it off once since he first gave it to me, and I didn't plan to anytime soon.

After some time passed, I found myself yawning and he was quick to point it out as he gestured towards me, "That right there is a sign we need to stop talking." he said with a laugh.

"When do we ever stop talking?" I asked tiredly.

He shook his head at me, "Sleep. I'm gonna switch shifts with Rick in an hour or two anyways."

I couldn't argue much with that, knowing that I was getting closer to falling asleep sitting up the longer I sat out there to talk with him. I reluctantly stood to my feet, mumbling a goodnight as I slowly made my way back to the camp that was set up for the night.

As I finally found my way back through the trees, I noticed that the fire was still going, causing my brows to furrow and do a scan to see who the hell was still up at this time. But then my eyes landed on Daryl, still very much awake as he sat upright, waiting for me to come back. My pace seemed to quicken once I saw him staring off into space in boredom, his eyes shifting towards me once I was close enough, giving me a small smile.

"Hey." he said innocently.

I tilted my head in concern, "Love, you didn't have to wait up for me. I'm sorry I talked to him for so long."

He shook his head, "Nah don't apologize, I wanted to. Just in case ya needed me."

There was a hidden meaning behind those words, but for me I could see it crystal clearly. In the back of my mind, sleeping in the woods again after the attack did put me a little on edge and I didn't want to be alone. But I didn't even really ponder or worry over it until he said something just now. It amazed me that he knew me better than I knew myself sometimes.

When I didn't say anything to his sweet comment, he patted the space next to him a few times to invite me over. I smiled and walked over to sit next to him, the both of us then laying down together to try and get comfortable for the night. I rested my head on his chest to listen to the steady beat of his heart, though I felt that it increased the moment I got closer to him, and I let myself hum in content.

"Thank you." I whispered.

He moved his head to look down at me, "For what?"

"Everything."

In response, felt him place a lingering kiss on the top of my head, and my eyelids started to get heavier with each second that passed. For the first time in the past week, I was safe, I was calm, I was home. I fell asleep that night without tossing and turning, because of the strong arms that wrapped around me protectively. I didn't wake up multiple times throughout the night, because I knew that he was beside me the whole time. And I didn't cry myself to sleep thinking about the family I lost, because they were right here with me sleeping peacefully.

~ Thanks for reading! (Season five has officially started!)

Taglist - @justareader95 @hayley1998 @ryoujoking @sipsthecoffee @winterassassin1804 @marsmallow433 @catlalice @writingstreetspirit @silentlysuffering98

[coffee-fueled-cookie]

ᗩᗷOᑌT ᗰE

Hey! Thought I'd go ahead and make a more informed post about who I am and what I plan on doing with my blog!

You can call me Coffee, I'm 20 years old and currently in college obtaining a degree in criminal justice and I plan on going into correctional work!

I recently finished the Eltingville comics and in a desperate search for some x reader/OC content I made a tumblr blog.

I don't necessarily have a favorite character, I'm biased on Bill and Jerry, but Josh and Pete are always cool. And of course I made an OC named Becca! I plan on drawing the other girls but until then, let me just give you their info!

The girl's history

They go to a Catholic high school in Eltingville that's across town from the public high school the boys attend. They're much better about hiding their interests, but it can still sometimes slip through the cracks, and it's enough that they don't typically get asked to hang out with other people and can even cause trouble at school. They've known each other since middle school and have been stuck together ever since. It isn't until a field trip to the local museum that was a funded partnership between both schools, do the girls meet the Eltingville Club. Since students from neither school wanted to be a group with the 8 of them, their teachers kinda forced them to be a group.

**everyone is 17-18 and seniors, I don't plan on making NSFW so yeah**

𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒄𝒂 '𝑩𝒆𝒄𝒄𝒂' 𝑬𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒓

A movie and TV show fanatic, she's watched just about anything she can get her hands on

has started indulging in musicals, keeps a few burned CDs of her favorites

Can come off as entitled, especially since she's coming from the nicer side of town, will bat her eye lashes at her dad for some pocket money and then turn around and go full on bitchy, her friends consider her two faced. She just calls it putting on a show

When she meets the Eltingville Club, and figures out they actually meet up and do stuff, she can't help but want in and before the girls part from them, she finds a pre-made card on Bill and picks it off him (why he has this when they're so exclusive, noone knows)

Basically shows up with her name signed and constantly tries to force herself in, at some point after many failed attempts, she forms her own club with her friends and that sets Bill off, which results in an upstanding rivalry

Has sleek layered hair, she was brunette but in a fit of rebellion she threw purple dye on it. Her mom was terribly upset but the grounding didn't last very long

𝕮ᥲ𝗍һᥱrіᥒᥱ '𝕮ᥲ𝗍һᥡ' 𝕸ᥲrіᥱ 𝕵᥆ᥒᥱs

Raised by hippies, a total vegan, and can be kind of obnoxious when it comes to people who eat meat

Usually wears skirts and dresses with floral elements, she's very fascinated by historical fashion, especially the Tudor era

Is also VERY big on fantasy, but much more on the princess side of things, loves the Labyrinth (in a different way than Becca), definitely would've married the goblin king

Cathy is also a huge fan of the Princess Bride, Never Ending Story, rapunzel. If she was shown star wars she'd love Princess Leia

Forces the girls to LARP fantasy scenarios, refuses to call it roleplay or consider the fact it's roleplay, she just calls it make believe

She's pretty reserved, with an airy voice, is mostly fidgeting with her long blonde hair

She is definitely a 'fake hippie', she does live uptown and down the Street from Becca, although you can't blame her too badly, it's just how her parents raised her

Will fall onto the floor and cry, don't try her, she'll do it

ᴍᴇɢʜᴀɴ 'ᴍᴇɢ' ᴇᴠᴀ ᴀʙʀᴀᴍs

Crazy curly hair, super thick mane that she has a huge routine for, and super big on self care

DO NOT CALL HER FAT, she will clock your tea (if clocking tea was taking her fist and shoving it through your nose) she is simply tall and broad, she's the youngest of four brothers and her dad is a wrestling coach, she's simply built

Lives on the outskirts of the neighborhood Becca and Cathy live in, it's near the public park so the girls are usually over at her house

A big music person, loves any and all kinds, although she's been more into Rap Rock

Burns CDs for everyone, it's where Becca get most of hers from, chronically carries a Walkman

Has music posters all over her walls, from Tupac to ABBA

The only one with a car, it's used but still kinda new and reliable, it's one of the numerous things the girl's have over the guys, Bill has considered throwing rocks but has surprisingly refrained

𝔏𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔞𝔫𝔞 '𝔏𝔦𝔩' 𝔎𝔞𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔥𝔦

Got in on a scholarship, and actually lives near Pete! Surprisingly, they've never run into each other, maybe that's for their own good

Has one older brother who works and her single mom who is a CN so she's usually left on her own, they live in apartments downtown, sometimes Meg will pick her up for school but most times she has to take the city bus

A trad goth outside of school, has the teased black hair, white makeup, all the nine yards. However, her mom hates the look, and often she can only wear it when she knows she'll be out and not coming back same time as her family

Not into gore but very into the vampire scene, likes most supernatural creatures and enjoys a good conspiracy theory

Big on poetry, writing, literature, it's how she got into the school. Not very big on the school uniform though...

Doesn't talk very much, or at all, sometimes she'll whisper and surprisingly Becca can hear her, but other than that no dice

Well! You'll guys have to let me know how you like it, I've been sitting and thinking on them for a very hot minute and wanted to share them somewhere!

[hyzenthlayroseart]

I wanted to save these for when I was done with the whole project but I have a feeling the next few entries will take a long time to make since each era has so many movies (Renaissance Era, Experimental Era and the Modern Era) and I got impatient with myself so I'm posting what's done so far.

So I decided to do a project where I draw films from each Disney era together. For those who don't know about Disney's animation eras, here's a good guide: https://www.bfi.org.uk/features/many-merry-eras-disney

FINALLY GOT TO THE END! I won't be making more after this, this is the last one.

One things that was unique to this era was the COVID-19 pandemic, which resulted in films being delayed, wide releases being cancelled and sent straight to streaming, or releasing both in theaters and straight to streaming simultaneously.

A common theme in this era is that a lot of the films are sequels, and this includes the first film, the Wreck-it Ralph sequel Ralph Breaks the Internet. Two months before the first film's release, director Rich Moore stated that there were already ideas for a sequel, and in 2013 Moore revealed that he and Disney had ideas about a sequel that would bring the characters up to date and explore both online and console gaming. When the film's title was revealed in 2017 it was initially called Ralph Breaks the Internet: Wreck-It Ralph 2, but in 2018 the name was shortened to simply "Ralph Breaks the Internet". The story went through several revisions, one with the internet was essentially the antagonist of the film, being regarded as a threat to the arcade's way of life. Another version had Vanellope get sucked into the internet and become the leader of her own website, and another had Ralph become an internet sensation corrupted by fame and fortune. The film's final plot ended up being about Ralph and Vanellope traveling into the internet to get a replacement part for Vanellope's game to avoid the arcade game being disposed of. Like the first film, the sequel features a number of cameos of video game characters, however this one also features a number of cameos from Disney's own characters and characters from various properties Disney owns such as Star Wars, Marvel and the Muppets. A notable scene features Vanellope meeting all the Disney princesses together and bonding with them after she reveals she's a princess as well. The princess scene was the idea of screenwriter Pamela Ribbon when she was working on Moana while Disney was still pitching ideas for a Wreck-it Ralph sequel, leading her to realize that Vanellope fit the definition of a Disney princess much like the character of Moana did, and when work on Ralph Breaks the Internet officially began, she pitched the idea for the scene. The other inspiration for the scene came from a "Which Disney Princess Are You?" quiz from Buzzfeed. The film even got Mark Henn, the original supervising animator for Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, Mulan and Tiana as one of the animators who helped bring the princess characters into CGI animation. When the film premiered in 2018 it was a financial success and received mostly positive, however some have criticized the product placement in the film and meme references that would end up making the film feel dated.

The next film was another sequel, Frozen II, set three years after the original film and focusing on the film's characters venturing into an enchanted forest to discover the origin of Elsa's magic. In a 2014 interview with Disney CEO Bob Iger he revealed that the company wouldn't force the development of a sequel due to concerns it would be perceived as inferior to the original film. While working on the 2015 Frozen short film Frozen Fever, directors Chris Buck and Jennifer Lee realized how much they missed the characters, and in the same year a sequel was greenlit. The film team went on research trips to Norway, Finland and Iceland, and the filmmakers collaborated with Sámi experts on the depiction of the fictional indigenous group Northuldra,n advisory group which was the result of an agreement between the Walt Disney Company, the transnational Saami council and the Sámi parliaments of Norway, Finland and Sweden. After the film's first test screening, the story underwent significant revisions when it was discovered that while adults liked the film, children found it hard to follow. Due to the changes, the animators needed to create 61 new shots and redo another 35. When the film premiered in 2019 it became the second highest-grossing animated film and got mostly positive reviews, praising the film for its beautiful animation and themes of colonialism, however some were critical of the film's narrative, music they considered to be of lesser quality compared to the first film, with some stating they believed the narrative relied too much on mythology and backstories.

The next film was Raya and the Last Dragon, the first original film in the era about a Southeastern warrior princess named Raya who sets out to find the fabled last dragon to save her father and the fictional land of Kumandra after they've been turned to stone by evil spirts known as the Druun. The film was inspired by tradition Southeast Asian culture, and for research the film crew travelled to Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, and the Philippines; they were inspired by the local sense of acceptance, unity, and trust, which they adopted as themes for the film. Each kingdom in the film's fictional land Kumandra was designed with unique climates and characteristics to reflect the diverse beliefs and culture of their people, and each each land and its people represent a mandala icon revolving around Kumandra, inspired by local religious teachings that everything is centered around a common belief system or cosmology. The kingdom of Tail was intended as the wild west of Kumandra, drawing elements from fantasy plateaus and sand waterfalls. Talon was inspired by Southeast Asian floating markets and night markets. Spine was inspired by bamboo and a focus on natural forms and textures. Fang was designed with brutalist and strong, rigid geometric elements to reflect its strong commitment to strict principles. The film was originally scheduled to be released on November 25th, 2020, but was postponed to March 12, 2021 due to the COVID-19 pandemic. When the film did release in 2021, it was released both in theaters and onto Disney Plus simultaneously. While it was unfortunately not a box office success due to obvious reasons (the pandemic), however in the first three days of it's release on Disney Plus it became the fourth most-watched film of the week, and when the Deadline Hollywood list of most-watched streaming titles of 2021 was released in 2022, the film was revealed to be the third most-streamed film of 2021 being Pixar's Luca and Disney's other film Moana. The film got postive reviews, with praise for the film's imagery and themes along with its beautiful animation and engaging storytelling, although some were critical of the film homogenizing various Southeast Asian cultures.

The next film was Encanto, another original film and a musical with original songs by Lin-Manuel Miranda, who previously wrote original songs for Moana. The film took place on Colombia and centered on an intergenerational family lead by a matriarch whose children and grandchildren all received magical gifts which they use to help their community, all except for the main character Mirabel, who never received a gift. Mirabel learns that the family is losing their magic, so she sets out to find out why and save her family. The film team went on a research trip to Colombia and met with architects, chefs and artisans to immerse themselves into the culture. They also visited big cities like Bogotá and Cartagena, and found inspirations in small towns such as Salento for its terrain and Barichara for its architecture. One of the film's directors Jared Bush stated that he noticed how every town they visited had its own very specific personality because of how the country's mountainous terrain divided and isolated them. In Barichara, the team befriended Espinosa Uribe, who showed them around and was later hired to consult them on the film's cultural and historical authenticity. She ended up being inspiration for several of Mirabel's physical traits including her curly black hair, glasses and gestures. Encanto was the first first Disney Animation film to have choreographers involved in the development process from start to finish after they learned that dance, music and rhythm are core elements of everyday life in Colombia. This was in contrast to previous Disney animation films in which the story is already in place by the time choreographers are hired to consult on specific scenes. The film was released in 2021 with a 30-day theatrical run before being released to Disney Plus due to the pandemic. The film was both a major critical and financial success, becoming a cultural phenomenon much like Frozen did in the previous era.

Their next film was Strange World, another original which was a sci-fi adventure film about a legendary family of explorers who must set aside their differences as they embark on a journey to a mysterious subterranean land inhabited by surreal lifeforms, in order to save the miracle plant Pando, which is their society's source of energy. The film takes heavy inspirations from pulp magazines as well as classic science-fiction works such as Journey to the Center of the Earth, Fantastic Voyage and King Kong. The film featured Disney animation's first openly gay character, which resulted in the film being pulled from theatrical release in some regions. When the film released in 2022, it was a box office bomb, but when released onto Disney Plus became the most watched movie on the platform for the last week of 2022 and the first two weeks of 2023. Reviews were mostly postive, praising the diversity and visuals of the film, although many found the story underwhelming.

The next film was Wish, released during Disney's 100th anniversary. The film was about 17-year-old girl named Asha, who makes a passionate plea to the stars in a moment of need. She meets a living, magic fallen star, and together they face the kingdom of Rosas's devious ruler, the sorcerer Magnifico. Development on the film began in 2018, but wasn't publicly disclosed until 2022. The film was originally intended to be traditionally animated but was later changed to be traditional animation blended with computer animation. Disney's own films Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and Sleeping Beauty were inspirations for the design of the film's characters and settings, and the film's whole theme os wishes coming true was meant as a tribute to the studio's animation legacy, as wishes coming true was a common theme among their films. When the film premiered in 2023, it was a box office flop and received mixed reviews, with common criticisms being that the film relied too much on nostalgia and callbacks to previous Disney animation films while failing to have an identity of its own and the story and characters being wasted potential. The film's unique style of blending traditional and CGI animation was a specific source of mixed reactions, with some praising it and others saying it looks unfinished and wishing it had been traditionally animated instead.

The next film was Moana 2, which as you can tell from the title was the sequel to Moana. The film was originally developed as a miniseries on Disney Plus, but was later reworked into a film. The story's set three years after the first film and follows Moana reuniting with the demigod Maui and assembling a wayfinding crew to find the lost island of Motufetu, break its curse, and reconnect the people of the ocean. While the film was a musical like the original, Lin-Manuel Miranda didn't return to create the original songs due to him being too busy on other projects. When the film premiered in 2024, it was a box office success and became the second most profitable film of 2024. The film received mixed reviews, with the animation being praised, the music being praised by some and considered not as great as the first film's soundtrack by others. The film being reworked from a series into a film was cited as a reason for the film's criticisms such as pacing and underdeveloped characters.

Finally, the last film is Zootopia 2, the upcoming sequel to Zootopia. I considered ending this with Moana 2 since Zootopia 2 hasn't come out yet and therefore there's nothing for me to write about here, but I felt like including it anyway.

So yeah, at last this project is completed ❤️

[iamnotawomanimagod]

The FMLT tour was so beyond my expectations. I feel very, very lucky that I got to go, and that I was at Red Rocks in particular. Halsey loves Red Rocks, and I think they made the show really special because of that.

Here's my full experience - every little bit I can remember. This will completely spoil the show, so please proceed with caution!!

It's also very, very long. Mostly for me. But feel free to read it if you want to know about my experience!

tl;dr - this show is an unreal and completely different experience live, and I take back basically all the criticisms I had about it before I saw it.

I was one of the first to complain about this tour including dancers, set changes, different costumes, etc. What a fool I was. An absolute clown.

The first half of the show is so special, it tells such an emotional and gut-wrenchingly beautiful story. The video packages do a wonderful job of adding context to what's happening on stage - they also act as a clever way to distract the audience from the set changes. The way Halsey weaves the "Alice in Wonderland" motif into the setlist is brilliant. Each scene is carefully and deliberately designed. In "alice wants to be big", the first scene, Halsey plays some of their bigger hits from their pop-iest era - "Alone" and "Bad at Love".

But it's not like I've ever seen her play them before. Halsey seems confused and put-off by this bombastic, showgirl-esque performance. At moments, the way they dance and sing seems out of their control, and you'll see this breakthrough of the "real" Halsey come out. She literally tells a camera person "will you fuck off???" at one point, and frequently asks "what is happening?" and "where am I?" It makes "Lucky" especially heart-wrenching, because you see how genuinely sad and trapped they feel by fame and performance. And that carries through into the next bit.

The next scene - with the sort of chessboard floor and BDSM gear - Halsey is chained to the floor, trapped by the performance. I changed my mind about Dog Years. When you watch it in context, with the previous bubblegum glittery scene as contrast, it's incredible. When they realized they're collared and chained to the floor, they get angry. Which is always the tone I associated with Dog Years. The interpretation that one user posted that Halsey reblogged was spot on. It's sexy, because Halsey is hot as fuck, but it's also...... not sexy at all. It's almost painful to watch.

"I am not a woman, I'm a god" had some really incredible choreography, some of my favorite in the show. I will also say - Halsey let her dancers do most of the really intricate dancing, and it paid off. They are a very talented and lovely group of women, and added so much to the show.

"Control" definitely keeps up with the theme of performance, of being trapped and hypnotized by their need to be in front of a crowd. The first bit of choreo of one of her dancers swinging the microphone in front of their face like a pendulum. Halsey can't look away. By the end, they're wrapped up in ropes that keep the microphone pinned close to their face.

The final two set pieces are gorgeous and dreamlike. The set with the forest was really lovely, and it worked so well for Angel on Fire. And putting AoF next to Lie worked out really well - it felt like "Lie" was about her fans and the audience. Same with the next set piece. The whole first half just feels like this plea to the audience for understanding and acceptance. Exposing their resentment and fear about fame and their fans while also expressing just how desperately she feels she needs us.

I ended up liking "Panic Attack" live a lot more than I would have, because there's this very lovely romantic dance with two women. I have to reiterate how good the dancers were, and how much they added to the show. "Only Living Girl in LA" feels very sweet and grounding after such a visually diverse first hour. The stage gets stripped back in front of the audience (Halsey went "where are they taking the moon??") and it's just H and their guitar.

I loved the first half so much, but of course Halsey absolutely kicked ass when doing a more free-flow show, more typical of their usual style. LITM and Gasoline were SOOOO good, and I really loved the rock version of Colors - I want a studio version of it so bad. Closer was really fun - the crowd was deafening during the Boulder line, of course. Nightmare was incredible as always.

I have been dreaming of seeing Young God live since I first heard it, so it was so amazing and perfect for it to happen last night. And then, Life of the Spider. God. I'm still not over it. I feel so lucky they chose us for it. Part of me hopes they do never play it again live, so we get to keep it, but also........ everyone should hear that song live. It's so powerful and heartbreaking. I truly sobbed.

Afterward they said something like "that was a special moment in my career. I wrote that song on my bathroom floor and just got to perform it in front of a sold-out crowd."

And I was just so overwhelmed with gratefulness and joy that they're still with us, and that she got to get back on that stage, and that I got to see it.

I was so happy I joyfully sang along to Without Me with everyone else. Me, the number one Without Me hater. I still know every word and so did all the people nearby.

I'll talk about this more in another post, because this is long enough and I wanted to focus mostly on the show itself. But I got very lucky in my place in the crowd. To be fair, I paid well for that privilege, but it was so, so worth it. Everyone around me fucking loved Halsey. Everyone knew basically every word to every song. There were moments when I just looked around at the crowd nearby and saw so many different kinds of people singing every song from Alone to Lonely is the Muse and beyond. People dancing and jumping and losing their minds. And it's just so fucking cool how Halsey plays so many different genres and shows that genre really does mean nothing at the end of the day. It's the soul of it that counts.

If you get to go to this tour, I promise you'll enjoy it. And if you don't, maybe when it's over, consider watching a full show on YouTube. It's so special. I know I'll be rewatching my show (thanks to John Gump on YouTube!) many, many times.

<3

[daryl-dixon-reedus]

Omg can I get a glenn x reader with prompt 12 and 24 😌 where he’s crazy overprotective of you and your kinda sick of it, so you go on a run with Daryl without telling Glenn and get stuck out there, so the next day you and Daryl return and Glenn quickly runs up to you, thinking you go injured and then when you two are alone he blows up on you telling you to be more carefu, maybe confessing his love 😊😊 (thank you ✨)

prompts: 12-  "I told you to stay put." "And I told you that you don't control me." 24-  "Where's Y/N?"

pairings: Glenn Rhee x Reader, Daryl Dixon x Friend!Reader

summary: Set in the Prison era. When Glenn's overprotectiveness is too much, you decide a secretive supply run with Daryl is a good idea. But when a herd of walkers lock you and Daryl in a store until the next day, Glenn loses his shit and finally tells you how he truly feels about you.

warnings: Just common TWD violence and described walker nastiness. Angst with a fluffy ending. Glenn is suuuuper overprotective over the reader, it makes reader feel like she's suffocating basically.

notes: Prompt list is pinned on my page! Please send in requests! This is pretty short, with a lot packed in it, but I'm not too good with writing long stories just yet, so I apologize!

The morning was warm and bright in an eerie silent way, the type of morning that the dead world always seemed to offer up. Birds chirped somewhere beyond the high fences, a faint reminder that the world outside still had some innocent life in it. Inside the prison yard, you were kneeling in the overgrown garden beds, your fingers deep in the dirt trying to distract yourself from the ever-growing tension in your chest.

Glenn has barely spoken to you that morning. You were just met with a quick "Don't go far," over breakfast, his eyes constantly flickering between your face and the doors that lead outside. He was always watching, always worrying. Having not been settled in the prison long, he was constantly on edge for potential threats.

He used to be subtle with it. Gentle reminders, really. Extra ammo slipped into your pockets before a run. Quiet glances across the fire when he thought you weren't looking. But ever since the group made it to the prison, things had shifted. His protectiveness had sharpened into something that was more territorial. And you were beginning to feel more like a caged pet than his best friend.

So when you spotted Daryl moving his motorcycle towards the prison gate with his crossbow slung across his back, something inside of you lit up.

"Where you heading?" you asked, brushing your dirt covered hands on your pants. Daryl glanced over, stopping in his tracks and nodding to acknowledge you. "Store a couple towns over. Formula run. Kid's running low."

You hesitated for a moment. "Need a second pair of eyes?"

He raised a brow. "You sure Glenn's gonna be okay with that?"

You could feel your jaw clenching. Could everyone notice the tight leash that Glenn has you own? Since when did everything have to be run by him first? "Glenn doesn't need to be concerned with what I do."

Daryl let out a low grunt of approval and nodded. "Alright. It's a quick run anyway. Get your stuff."

You didn't even look back toward the cell blocks. If you did, you knew you'd want to go back on your decision.

The ride was rough. You clung to Daryl's waist as the wind whipped against your face and the sound of the bike echoed across the trees. It was the most freedom you had felt in weeks. No wall. No watchtowers. No one watching your every move. Just the road, the woods, and the thrill of doing something on your own terms.

The store was half collapsed. Overgrown with vines and cobwebs, but still standing. You and Daryl slipped inside through a broken window on the side of the building. The place was mostly cleared out, but behind a locked cabinet in the pharmacy section, you found it. Four cans of powdered baby formula.

You had no time to celebrate before Daryl froze by the front door, his body tense and focused.

"Shit." He muttered, his hand moving to hover over his crossbow.

You followed his gaze from behind him and peeked outside. You weren't prepared to lock eyes with a herd of walkers. A slow moving, moaning mass of rot and death, limping towards the store from every direction. You and Daryl backed into the shadows that were offered up from tall shelves in the aisles. Keeping quiet, and waiting.

"No way out?" You whispered, shoulder to shoulder with the older man.

He shook his head. "Not unless we want to end up lunch. Gotta wait it out until they get distracted by somethin else."

You slumped against the wall, heart racing like it was trying to thump out of your chest. You didn't tell Glenn where you were going. You didn't tell anyone. And now you were stuck. Not knowing when you'd be able to get out. Alone with your thoughts and the deafening sound of groaning walkers just beyond the cracked windows. Any sudden movements and they would make their way inside.

Back at the prison, Glenn paced in his cell, the sun casting long shadows across the concrete floor. He hadn't seen you since breakfast. It wasn't like you to miss lunch, or to not be hanging around close by.

He checked the garden. Nothing. The library. The watchtower, maybe you took an early shift. The showers. Still nothing. It was like you vanished.

Panic clawed at his chest as he finally ran out into the courtyard, spotting rick by the pens.

"Where's Y/N? Have you seen her?" Glenn asked, trying to sound casual, but failing miserably. "I can't find her anywhere. I don't know where she could've went."

Rick nodded. wiping a forearm across his forehead. "Saw her leave with Daryl. Headed out a few hours ago. Daryl said he thinks he knows where to get some formula for Judith."

Glenn's mouth went dry at the thought of you being outside the walls without him. "She...she what?"

Rick looked up at him, eyes squinting from the sun. "They left right after breakfast. You didn't know?"

"No," Glenn muttered, running a hand through his hair, eyes darting to the tree line beyond the fences. "She didn't tell me. I don't think she told anyone. She-"

"Calm down." Rick said, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. "They'll be back before you know it. They know what they're doing."

"That's not the point," Glenn snapped. "She didn't say anything. What if something goes wrong out there? Do we even know where they went specifically?"

"They'll be back," Rick said again, firmer this time. "And we need that formula. Judith's almost out."

Glenn swallowed thickly, the image of your smile flashing behind his eyes, then your bloodied body, then nothing at all. He nodded stiffly, his lips in a thin line, before heading back inside. He knew there was no point in trying to argue against Rick. He just needed to keep himself busy until you made your way back to him.

The next morning, sunlight bled through the dust covered windows of the pharmacy. You awoke to the feeling of someone nudging you awake.

"They're gone." Daryl said gruffly. "Car came and lead them down the road. Just a few stragglers left. Nothing we can't handle."

You both moved quietly and methodically. You took down two walkers with your knife to the base of their skulls while Daryl handled the rest with his crossbow. Blood sprayed against the cracked concrete, and the air smelled like rust and rot by the time they were all taken care of.

You climbed on the bike behind Daryl, your heart still hammering in your chest. You were leaving one chaotic scene, to dive head first into another.

Carl opened the gates as soon as he saw Daryl's bike rumbling towards the prison. Rick, Glenn, and a few others were huddled around a map, discussing a rescue route. Glenn's head jerked up at the sound of the motorcycle, and the second he saw you, he broke out into a sprint.

"Y/N!" he shouted.

You barely had time to swing your leg off the bike before he was in front of you, eyes frantic, his hands running over your arms, your face, your waist like he was checking for any injuries you might have.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened out there? Why didn't you say anything?!" His voice cracked with emotions, and his eyes were starting to get glassy.

"I'm fine-"

"You're not fine. You didn't come back. You were gone all night. We were about to send out a damn search party to find you. I thought...fuck, I thought-"

"She's fine," Daryl cut in, pulling a sack from his shoulder. "We got pinned down. Damn herd outside the store. Couldn't get out till this morning." He pulled out the cans and handed them to you. "But we got these."

You stepped forward and held the cans out to Rick. "Four cans of formula. Should hold Judith over for a little bit. Just until we can find a bigger stock."

Rick gave you a grateful nod and looked to Glenn. "I told you they'd be back."

But Glenn was staring at you, his face unreadable. "I need to talk to you. Alone."

All you could do was nod, nerves twisting painfully in your stomach.

Inside the prison, Glenn's cell door slammed shut behind you.

"I told you to stay put." Glenn said, his voice sounding low and dangerous. You turned to face him, not trying to hide the distaste across your face. "And I told you that you don't control me."

The silence that followed was thick with heat and fury.

"You didn't tell me where you were going. Not even a heads up before you went on a joyride with Daryl. Do you know what that did to me? I thought you were dead!"

"I can take care of myself, Glenn! I've been doing this shit as long as you have."

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is it?! That you're scared I'll die? We're all going to die eventually, Glenn! Every single day is a risk!"

"I can't lose you! Have you thought that?!" He shouted, his voice breaking with emotion, and his cheeks flushing red. He was breathing hard, his hands clenched at his sides.

"I can't..." he whispered, barely above a whisper. "You're my world, Y/N. You're everything to me. And if something happened to you, if I lost you? I wouldn't survive that. I wouldn't want to. I've already lost too much. You're the only thing I have left that feels...safe. You're the only thing that keeps me going."

You could feel your throat tighten and could hear your heartbeat in your ears. "Glenn..."

"I love you," he said. "I love you, and maybe I've been too scared to say it. Maybe I thought if I didn't say it, it didn't make it real. But I love you so damn much that I feel like I'm losing my mind."

You stepped forward slowly, placing your hand on his cheek.

"I love you too," you whispered. "You idiot. I've been waiting for you. I didn't know."

He let out a shallow laugh, soft and shaking. "You're still not allowed to scare me like that again. But I'll do my best to not be so controlling. I know you know how to handle yourself out there. Just please...let me know when you're going out like that."

You smiled through the tears that were starting to form in your eyes. "I'll do my best."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you like you were air, and without you he would be suffocating.

That night, you lay curled in Glenn's bed, his arms around your waist, and his breath warm against the back of your neck.

“We’ll be careful.” Glenn muttered softly in your ear, giving you tiny goosebumps across your whole body.

“Always.”

“Promise me, Y/N.”

“I promise, as long as you promise, too.”

His hand found yours beneath the blanket, your fingers intertwining. “I promise.”

The world outside was still dangerous. Was still filled with darkness and death. But you knew, wrapped in Glenn’s arms, you’d forever know what peace and safety felt like.