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[rehauindia]

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[msklebstoffe]

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[gfguren]

pro hero!bakugou x fem!reader | fluff, suggestive, husband!katsuki, katsuki implied as being taller than reader, implied age (~late 20's, early 30s~), light-hearted bickering, an excuse to write more domestic!kats, 1.8k | cw: cursing, suggestive

-your husband comes home late, soaking wet and a little bit handsy-

Katsuki is late; you hope traffic isn't too bad. Outside your window the sky is overcast, steely shades of grey over a slate canvas. The roads are dyed an inky charcoal, pooling at the surface where rain drip-drip-pours in endless streams.

You've taken up residence in the foyer, between the linen closet at the end of the hall, and the umbrella Katsuki left by the front door this morning. The very same one you reminded him to take with him at breakfast, and twice again before he left in the evening. If you loved him a little bit less, he might listen to you one day.

But you do—love him—right down to his bad habits and stubborn disposition.

So you wait for him the same way you have for years; perched at the breakfast nook in the corner with a warm cup of tea and a paperback that's been gathering dust for half-a-year now at least. The bar table is worn at the edges, legs wobble if you lean too far forward—frankly, you should have gotten rid of it years ago—but it was the first belonging that wasn't yours, or Katsuki's, but ours; a piece you thrifted when you were both still twenty-something and broke.

The years have changed a lot—our table, our bed, our house, our life. Your Katsuki.

—His wife.

The band around your finger is white gold; it clinks when you put the mug to your lips. Honey, ginger. Sweet. Rain hits the window and falls; two trails meet at the middle, and stick to each other like glue. Katsuki would laugh if he found you right now, smiling into your tea like a lovestruck fool.

You let the ceramic rest, turn to page thirty-or-something of a book that you totally-intend-to-finish. An hour passes before you hear the telltale rumble of an engine.

You spot his headlights first, misty pools of sunlight spilling onto the pavement when he pulls into the driveway. It's well past midnight now; Katsuki is a shadow against the porchlight, long strides and a hand over his crown. You have half a mind to bring the umbrella to him, but he's quicker, ascends the four steps to the veranda in two big leaps; you barely register the rustle of keys before he's stepping into the house, pooling rainwater at the welcome mat.

He's soaked at the shoulders, a grumble in his throat when he kneels to unlace his shoes—black leather, designer and sharp, same as the suit jacket around his shoulders. Tailored to fit him just right.

Katsuki's always been handsome, even as a hero in training renting hand-me-down suits from the little mom-and-pop shop down the street. But it really strikes you just how beautiful he is when you look at him now, dressed to the nines. All the years of hard work paying off in more ways than one.

You go a little fuzzy when he lifts his head to catch you staring; red eyes kindling the air and making it hard to breathe. He's the spitting image of a number two hero, just returned from a long night at some fancy-pants gala; sometimes you forget that's exactly what he is. Even more dumbfounded that, somehow, he's yours.

"I know," he grumbles, moving his shoes to the cabinet and meticulously hanging his jacket over the chair to dry. He briefly eyes the umbrella. "I f'rgot, kay?"

So have you, suddenly.

There's a pause and—"I didn't say anything."

He meets you at the table, one hand at the surface and the other at the knot of his tie. "Y've got that look."

You tip you chin to glare at him playfully. "And what 'look' is that, Bakugou Katsuki?"

"Like y'r about t'chew me up." He pulls the fabric strip from around his neck in one fell swoop, pops the first button of his dress shirt with his thumb. Your eyes fall for only a moment—barely a second—but Katsuki grins with the self-awareness of a man who's known you half his life. "Or about t'jump my bones, hah?"

He looks entirely impish in his revelation, ego flaring to rest in his cheeks; you have half a mind to nip at them like candy floss, instead you reach for the cuffs of his button-up, tidy the sleeves one fold over the other until the rainwater and well-kept muscles catch at the seams. You feign a sigh when his stare becomes too insistent to ignore, hand falling to rest at the peaks of his knuckles. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah." A spark of firelight flashes in his eyes, deep carmine and coy; teasing him was so much easier a decade ago. "I'd let'cha."

You roll your eyes. "You're so unsexy, y'know that?"

"Hah," he barks with all the disbelief in the world. "What? Want me t'do that dirty talkin' shit instead? Jump y'r bones right here at the table? D'n think she'll hold up, baby."

He lets a fraction of his weight fall against the corner and the old wood immediately cries out, splintering oak and creaking hinges and the real, immediate threat that the poor thing might actually collapse at your feet.

You spring up defensively. "Katsuki!"

A once neatly-folded towel tumbles from your lap to land at your toes. His gaze falls; grin widens.

"Said y're gonna make me 'deal with it' next time I forgot the stinkin' umbrella, didn't'cha?" His fingers pinch the fat of your cheeks teasingly. "Love me that much, hah?" Your eyes narrow, fingers dive with intent for the space beneath his ribcage. He's quicker, wraps five fingers around your wrist and pulls you in with a hand at the back of your neck. He breathes, warm against the top of your head—"Missed y'tonight."

You hum against his chest, damp fabric sticking to your cheeks, flush and warm with surprise. You can count the number of times he's been this blunt with his affection on one hand; at least twice being in the presence of an empty champagne glass, or five. "Did you drink?" He gruffs at that—the only indication that he heard you at all. "Katsuki?"

"Come with me next time."

You tilt your chin, brow creasing. His head dips at the sight of the first wrinkle, the way it always does when he's trying to change the subject, or sweeten you up, or get his way in any way, really—a habit you must have taught him because you let him get away with it every single time. It's probably why he looks so offended when you pull back suddenly with a click of your tongue.

"That's not an answer."

"Not a drop," he finally says—huffs—with an almost boyish scowl.

You find yourself stifling a laugh, hand over mouth, and he glares, even as you step away to rustle through the linen closet. His eyes are red hot, brow downturned, downright grumpy, only cooling to a simmer when you're toe to toe once more, fresh towel in hand and lightly waving him down to your level. His spine bows, head dips until you're massaging the soft cotton through his hair; you would have had to fight him on this once—years ago—before time weathered his sharp edges, doused the wildfire raging in his heart until he became the man he is now—irritable, arrogant, stubborn, still, but willing—to make amends for who he was before, to extend a hand where he's able, to let you offer him one in return.

"Chose this one on purpose, didn't'cha?" Katsuki's voice is lukewarm, a tepid grumble at the back of his throat, an almost purr when you dip your fingertips against his nape.

"No idea what you're talking about."—but you do. The towel in question, he means, is from the left side of the closet, your side, all soft cotton and fluff; the same ones he refuses to use, for those very same reasons. "Said they 'd'n dry a damn thing' but-" you drape the supposed 'overrated, overpriced pile'a'fluff' around his shoulders to ruffle his bangs, more wily than usual, and barely damp. "Would y'look at that?"

He snorts, hand falling to the small of your back. "Don't get smart."

"Or what?" you keen up at him, at the balls of your feet, tip toes and still barely nose to nose; they bump once on accident, and twice on purpose. "Huh?"

Warm, exasperated breath fans across your cheeks. "Tryna start somethin' t'night, are ya?"

You bat your lashes, head tilting and fingers splaying across the 'v' of his neckline. "Me? Start something?" Your grin betrays your facade. "And what if I am?"

He pulls you in at the waist, holds you steady with one, strong arm, warm lips at your jaw and low, deep voice in your ear. "Better be ready t'finish it, then."

His right hand comes to rest at the back of your thigh, teases the skin right where your skirt ends; gooseflesh blooms all the way up your spine and you shiver. "Who's jumping bones now, huh?" you bark—yap, like a scaredy-pup with it's tail between it's legs—bite lost somewhere between the callouses on Katuski's fingertips and the press of his hips against your own.

You straighten your shoulders to get a good look at the ego washing over his face like miles of trumpet vine. All consuming, a force to be reckoned with. And devastatingly pretty.

"That'd be me, pretty lady," he says, all kinds of smug and annoying.

You hold him with your stare for an entire second—two, just so you can get a real good look at his stupid, handsome face—and then you're pulling him in by the collar, wrinkling the shirt he'll spend too much on dry-cleaning tomorrow. Not that he seems to mind when your tongue meets his, honey mingling with the mint on his breath and making his head swim, all but forgotten when a hand comes to rest at your waist, heated fingertips beneath your sweater, licking softly at your skin.

He walks you back 'til your thighs hit the table—(it rocks, precariously); one of your hands fall against the surface, the other to his heart that thump-thump-jumps when thunder rumbles through the house, and stills. You smile, soft against his lips, thumb tracing the precipice of his collarbone until your fingers can curl around his spine. The next kiss against his mouth is featherlight, barely there; you sigh, contentedly—"I love you."

Katsuki goes a little hazy, eyes the color of early Autumn; the blazing summer sun reduced to a tealight candle, flickering in the palms of your hands. "Yeah," he chokes. And you know just what he means.

You kiss him then, once more, a little more playful this time; mischievous and coy with a cheeky, "—even though you're totally unsexy."

"So help me, y/n, I will howitzer this table."

[balljointedpup]

Rundown

Warning: dubcon/noncon themes in part one, dirty talk, scummy Price, implied age gap, babysitter! Reader, Wife is named, cheating, Price has a chronic need for a wife that makes him happy, nsft, brief breeding kink, one usage of daddy, p in v, no protection

Original prompt by ceilidho

Reblogs, likes and comments are much appreciated!

Part 1 | part 2

"Mr Price- I tried to-" You were stammering, a whole new tremor running through you. As you started with big watery eyes. "I tried to tell you..."

But you gasped as you felt another roll of his hips stutter forward. John guided your frozen body to twist around, pressing your back to the mattress as you hiccuped. Apologizing over and over as your eyes recoiled from his unwavering gaze. Pressing his cock back into your tight heat with a deep groan from his chest. His eyes glazed over as he stared down at your meak form.

Another rut made you preen. Blinking through thick tears as your lips parted. Hands reaching up and tugging on his shirt. "Please- I can't-"

"ssh." He silenced, squeezing your cheeks so your lips smooshed together. Forced to pucker as you sniffed. "Quite pet."

He was thinking with his dick. He knew. Months upon months of nothing but his hand and itchy pillows. Not even twenty men could pry him from the clench of your sobbing pussy. He wasn't lying; you felt like heaven. John leaned down as he pressed his nose to your cheek. "Feel good?" He whispered, adjusting his grip on your face.

You hesitantly nod. Because it did. If felt amazing. Felt wicked. It was. This whole thing was wrong yet nothing has felt more right.

With that, Price let out a huff as he nodded your head for you. "Yeah?"

"ah huh.." was all you could breath out as you laid there. Hands grasping at his arms, nails scratching along the hair that covered them.

And your eyes rolled back as his hips picked up pace once again. His fingers threaded between yours as the press of his wedding band burned against you. Missing the way way his fingers pinched at your ring finger.

-- -- --

Neither of you talked about it. It was like it never happened at all. As it should have been. It should have never happened. You knew that and you were sure John knew that. It felt wrong to look at Colleen knowing that you left their house with John's cum drenching your underwear and threatening to roll down your legs. The peddle back home was agonizing as you felt the the squelch of your combined juices with each shift against the bike seat.

You considered quitting. It would be the right thing to do. It should be what you're doing instead of entering their house with a smile on your face and baby James gifted back into your arms. Accepting paychecks from manicured fingers as if the scent of her husband's sweaty cock hasn't stained your palm. How he's come home early, spotting you and asking in a hushed voice if the 'other misses' was home.

You should be sick with yourself. Disturbed how easily you fell down this rabbit hole. So willingly. Yet some part of you felt justified. They were miserable together and clearly only stayed for the baby. But even then, with how often Colleen left the house and called you up to do her duty as a mother you were beginning to doubt James was going to be their glue for much longer.

Did she know? Was she able to smell her perfume on your neck. The scent of her husband's cock on your breath. Did she see the missed specs of cum still in your hair? Did she care?

So many questions that gnawed at you more than any guilt did.

-- -- --

John's stubbornness was a double-edged sword. Once fixated on finally repairing his failing marriage now became an unbreakable wall to rip it to shreds. Not telling you about obvious signs of what remained of your debauchery, cooing to James late at night how his new mommy was going to be just so sweet for them both. Grinning at his son's small hands grabbing at you whenever you came over. The kid knew what he wanted just like his father.

It was a pride thing. He knew deep down. He's stopped enjoying the touch of his wife years ago. But he was a man of his word; he was committed to her happiness. Through sickness and in health. It's why he let her speak so coldly to him when her mood soured like a ripe lime. Why he kept his ring on her finger despite her tantrums and wails. He wouldn't stand for the mockery his men would snide at him being unable to keep his bird in check. Unable to keep her tucked under his arm.

But now, with you in the picture, that stubbornness could be shifted to a new track. He knew he was in trouble the minute he saw you. You weren't the most overly qualified, and your face had a glow that could have melted even hardened men such as him. He wouldn't doubt even Simon would relent to that shine in your pretty eyes.

James loved you. He seemed to crave your nurturing more than his own birth mother. And who was he to deny his son? His world.

So when Colleen was having another one of her fits; the only way you could tell James was even hers. So similar to the two, John had to cover his mouth as a smirk threatened to quirk on his lips. She slammed down the divorce papers and dared him with that glare of hers to finally give her up.

He just uncrossed his arms, nodding as he leaned forward, elbows perched on the table as he held out his hand. "Got a pen?"

"what-?!" She barked. Colleens eyes wide with shock.

"pen, love, do you have one?"

His wife knew when he wasn't joking. She's been with him long enough to see the signs. He wasn't calling her bluff this time. Her lips trembled for a moment before forcing themselves into a firm line as she slapped a pen down into his hand. Watching as how easily he wrote his signature and checked through each page.

As soon it was done she snatched the papers from him, thrusting her ring down up on the table with a noisy clatter. "I hope you enjoy that little skank of yours." Was all she could hiss before turning on her heel and storming out. Grabbing her purse and jacket and fumbling for her phone.

-- -- --

You got a call to return for another day on the job sooner than you expected. When you knocked on the door you were greeted with John's build looming over you. Expectant of your arrival. Grinning beneath his bushy mustache as he guided you into the home.

"where's Jammy?" You coo out, awaiting to be greeted by the baby but John just shook his head.

"just us, hon, she's taken him out today."

"then why-"

But he didn't let you question, cupping your jaw as he tilted your head up. And you knew instantly what you were here for. Swallowing as he led you to the couch, taking you right there. Pinning your soft body beneath his as your ankles dangled at his ears. His cock plunged ruthlessly into your needy core, heavy balls smacking against your ass as he grunted.

"gimme your hand, sweetheart." He coaxed, prying your hand from gripping his forearm as he pulled the ring from his pocket, his trousers hanging around his meaty thighs, slipping his ring around your finger and immediately letting out an almost pained coo. "Don't worry, we'll get it fitted. Looks so pretty on you."

But you were barely even able to moan from the air being punched out of your lungs with the way his cock was barging straight into your womb. Too fucked out to fully process what he was saying as your brain was replaced with cotton.

"my pretty little wife, gonna give me another one, ain't ya? Give your son a little brother, hm?"

You could only dumbly nod, probably agree to anything he said like this. Something he was going to keep a note of. Your pussy twitching at just the thought. The coil grew tighter and tighter. Your walls choking his cock making him groan.

"that's it, mama. Come for daddy-"

[florencemtrash]

Club Rats and Cigarettes: Part I

Azriel x Modern Reader

Summary: When Azriel stumbles into a new world with his brothers, the last thing he expects to find is a mate. But she has a hell of a way of making a first impression, and Azriel can't help but fall in love with someone who feels familiar in a strange world.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of drug use

Masterlist of Masterlists

Author's note: I had a thought. I wrote it. Here ya go!

Y/n leaned back against the motley wall covered in indie movie and band posters 10-layers deep. Humidity caused the paper to lift away from the brick, curling like steam off coffee before being frozen in place by the next slather of paste. Y/n felt the sharp, glue-soaked edges poke through the mesh of her shirt. 

Looking left and right she saw a few stragglers heading towards the club — three girls huddled in fake-fur coats with freshly-shaved legs trembling in the October air, and a group of college boys dressed in the same jeans, sneakers, and pale collared shirts. They flickered in and out of the darkness as the streetlights hummed with the effort of keeping their failing bulbs alight. A handful of skeletal cars sat beside busted parking meters or half-hidden in the employee parking lots of the closed down street. During the day when the restaurants were open, inoffensive jazz battled it out with the reggaeton blaring from the trendy taco joint at the end of the block, and Kpop dancers pressed themselves against the screens posted by the corn dog restaurant’s windows, neon lights announcing that they were “OPEN!” But right now the neon was just another sad shade of grey. Even the sky’s colors were muted by packed clouds threatening rain. 

Music shook the pavement, but it came up from the sub-basement club deep and muffled. Y/n felt its vibrations pass through the soles of her boots, up her stocking-clad legs, and into her chest where her heart rumbled like a car without a muffler. 

A flash of flame revealed her glitter-coated cheeks and cobalt-blue eyeshadow. The color slipped and slid across her skin still tacky from club sweat until it was a pale wash of blue extending up to her temples and down to her cheekbones. A cloud of smoke covered her soon after as she lit her cigarette between nail-bitten fingers. A fresh coat of black polish glittered like stones, already chipping towards the tips. Menthol crisp bled into her lungs along with a breath of cold air perfumed with car exhaust and day old restaurant grease. She licked her lips and found that she did not mind the taste of lip gloss, mint, and char. 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a boy with salt-white hair and shy, bent shoulders slink over to her trying to make himself as small as possible. “Can I bum a cigarette?” He asked, shockingly polite despite the black band t-shirt that read “Anarchy now!” and the careful spikes gelled into his hair and tipped green and black. 

Y/n wordlessly held out her pack and he plucked one out before hesitantly reaching for a second. She held out her lighter next and soon there were two plumes of smoke wafting into the air as music faded in and out with each body that passed through the rusted paint doors. Drunk giggles followed voices hoarse with drink and screaming. Heels clicked down the street, some heavy as a bass drum and others high and piercing like castanets. 

A quick flash of lightning splintered over the sky, followed seconds later by a dull crash like furniture toppling over. 

“One mile,” The boy said, leaning over. He smelled like bleach, aftershave, and surprisingly, cherries. The overly sweet ones that came out of a jar and decorated the tops of ice cream sundaes. 

“What?”

“You can count how far away lightning is from the thunder. Every five seconds between lightning and thunder is one mile.” 

Another flash painted the sky purple followed shortly by crumbled eruptions of noise. 

“That one was close by.” 

Y/n took one last drag before putting out her cigarette on the wall. The paper smoldered and was scarred black, but never burned. “Guess that’s my cue to go back inside then.” 

The boy nodded, smiling and looking her up and down a little too closely. Then his eyes sharpened, red-rimmed and squinting, as he glared into the street beyond her. 

“Do you see that?”  

Y/n twirled around on her heels, staring down the street to where it ended in shadow. It looked… darker than it should, although she couldn’t explain why. Like she stood before the throat of an animal. The darkness seemed to pulse and writhe, muscles clenching down on invisible meat. Then she felt stupid for having listened to him at all. 

“Don’t fuck with me,” she growled, pushing the salt-haired boy aside and slipping back inside the club. 

The music and heady scent of perfumes, cologne, and sweat punched her in the face, and she remembered why she’d chosen to stumble outside to begin with.

She moved in between bodies sparkling like disco balls, stealing body glitter as she went. She felt the tiny particles stick to her skin, tacky with sweat. Someone’s hand brushed against her wrist, but she swatted them off, pressing forward in search of her friends. She didn’t trust them to stay still, not in a place like this, nor did she trust them to check their phones, so she just kept searching the packed dance floor. Raised platforms crowded with plastic couches and spray painted tables hit her at eye level, but none of the platform heels and combat boots looked familiar. She thought a head of red corkscrews might have belonged to Cecelia, but it was only the changing lights reflecting off bleach blond hair. 

She dipped into the corner where a line of scantily clad girls with lanky legs waited for the bathroom. Ducking beneath the overhead speakers helped dull the noise, and if she climbed up two rungs of the barrier surrounding the DJ’s booth like a fighting ring, she could make out more of the crowd. Four stationary spotlights lit up the corners of the club pulsing red, blue, pink, and purple. A man in leopard print briefs was climbing onto one of the poles there, shredding his policeman’s shirt down the center as a woman in a zebra-print coat eagerly shoved a handful of dollar bills into his underwear. A drag king had his hot pink fedora knocked off by a drunk college student stumbling towards the bathrooms with a hand over his mouth. All over there were faint pinpricks of light followed by subtle releases of vape pen air, adding hints of watermelon and strawberry to the air. 

It was because she stood half-hanging off the DJ’s booth that she caught sight of the three men that entered one after another like the mob. Dressed in all black, they were better suited for a funeral than a club, save for one thing… their wings. 

Y/n blinked in confusion. There had been flyers hung up around the library and grocery stores about some anime convention being held in the city, but this place was a little out of the way for hardcore cosplayers. The most severe looking of the three lifted his nose to the air, then stumbled back in shock. As the strobe lights passed over his awe-struck expression, Y/n caught the glint of knives sheathed across his chest and at his side. 

Fuck. She looked up to the booth, but the DJ and the guys in ripped t-shirts bobbing their heads around him didn’t seem to notice. 

“Hey!” She dropped back onto the floor and tapped the shoulder of a barrel-chested man with the word “security” printed over his shirt in all caps. “I think those three guys brought knives in here.” She pointed in their general direction with one chipped, black fingernail. 

“The fuck?!” He gently pushed her aside, shouting something into his earpiece as he shoved his way into the crowd. People took a second to read the sign on his shirt before parting to make way for him. One guy with bright pink hair and studded lips even tried to kiss him on the cheek as he passed. 

Suddenly, this corner of the club didn’t seem so safe anymore. There was a splash of pale light on the floor as a bottle girl in a black leather catsuit slipped out of the kitchens. She swayed her hips back and forth, a bottle of tequila swishing in its frost-rimmed bottle against her hip. She moved up the stairs to the platform where a private bachelor party was going on, heels clicking like beetle wings rubbing together. Y/n slipped into the shadows closer to the kitchens and waited for someone — anyone — to answer the text she’d typed out with shaky fingers. 

Azriel had never heard music like this before. He didn’t even know such a sound could exist. Someone had weaponized the bass tones so it felt like a punch to the gut. A male’s deep voice, grainy and harsh, was indistinguishable from the crashing of cymbals and a strange, high clang that skittered over steady drums like a stone over water. Through layers of sound he could just make out the soft sighs of a female as she tried to tie the chaos together with her voice. 

All around him were sweaty humans decorated in shiny, colorful clothes that sparkled as they spun and jerked about. He stood a head above most, although every so often a male or female in eight-inch heels would pass by at eye level, looking him up and down like he was a meal and they were starving. 

“Hey there handsome.” Someone had found the courage to slink up to Cassian’s side — a male with pupils blown open wide enough to swallow his pale blue irises. There was alcohol on his breath and something else, something sweet and bitter at the same time. The human male smiled, teeth white and straight. Azriel had never seen a human with teeth so perfect. He was handsome — wiry and slim with a flush to his cheeks that accentuated the smattering of freckles across his tan skin. “Did you come here alone?” Rhysand and Azriel’s presence did not seem to deter him. “Did you want to leave here alone?”

Cassian sputtered in surprise. He’d never been propositioned by a male, let alone a human one. 

“I’m-I’m a mated male.” 

The male raised his brow, taking full stock of the skin-tight leathers Cassian wore. He took a deep drag of an oddly shaped pipe that lit up in the dark. “Ok. If that’s what you’re into.” A cloud of smoke spilled from his mouth — the source of the sweet and bitter smell on his lips. His eyes slid over to Rhysand, who only smirked and stuck a hand into his pocket. “And you? It doesn’t look like you’re into the leather stuff.” Then he seemed to reconsider what he’d said, looking between Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel like he’d figured out the final piece of the puzzle. He blinked in surprise, tipped back his head, and laughed. He was still laughing as he turned and walked away into the crowd. 

“What the hell was that?” Cassian asked. Azriel shrugged, shaking his head. 

“It’s a strange place we’ve landed in,” Rhysand remarked, although the comment was unnecessary. “I expect the strangeness touches everything here. Even the people.” He marveled at the scene before him. The only comparable place in Prythian was Rita’s, but even that paled in comparison to the sight before him. 

Rita’s was a pleasure house with music and drinks to spare, but everything here was… more. The music was louder, the smells an assault to the senses, and the lights changed every second and made the dancers flicker in and out of existence. Even the people seemed to have more substance to them, more color. 

Azriel loved it.

He loved the uneven floors that sucked at the bottoms of his shoes, the pulsing lights that made his eyes swim, and the sound blaring in his ears that drowned out all other thoughts. And something in the air smelled crisp and sweet to him, despite all the other competing scents that had Cassian and Rhysand wrinkling their nose in distaste. 

He strained his neck to catch better hold of the scent. His shadows clung to his body like children, hiding in the folds of his leathers. This world was not made for them, and they worried that if they strayed too far they would be left behind. 

Amren had warned them that this world was different, that its magic was different. But she hadn’t been here in thousands upon thousands of years. Who was to say what had changed in her absence and what had stayed the same?

Get in. Find what you need. Get out. Had been Nesta’s command before strumming The Harp. That’s how the three brothers had found themselves at the end of a narrow lane with boxes of metal and brick on either side. The club had been a logical next step — it was the only establishment that still whispered of life in the otherwise dead neighborhood. 

One shadow dared to explore the club, slipping past a broad-shouldered man with a scowling face and sniffing at half-full glasses of liquor with bright umbrellas laying against their salt-coated rims. Then it had caught sight of something that had it scurrying back to its master. 

Mate. The lone shadow hissed into Azriel’s ear. Mate. 

Azriel’s fluttering bird heart dove into his stomach, carrying with it all reason and restraint. There was no possible way… no. No? Right? 

Az? Rhysand steadied his brother as he stumbled back. 

She’s here? Azriel breathed. If it weren’t for his powers, Rhysand would never have heard the soft sigh escape Azriel’s lips as he searched the crowd desperately. Azriel tipped his head back, breathing in the comforting scent that held new meaning. My mate. She’s here.

What?!

Azriel ignored Rhys and dove into the crowd, head swiveling this way and that as he tried to find a familiar face he’d never seen before.

Az! Wait! But his brother was gone, and the crowd closed over the empty space he’d left behind like a healing wound. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Rhysand cursed. 

“Hey man! Where did you get your wings? They’re fucking awesome!” A plump male with cornflower blue hair and matching eyeliner piped up from behind Cassian’s back. Cassian whirled around in anger, feeling the ghost of a finger slide down his spine. No one touched his wings without his say. No one. 

The male startled back in fear. Upon seeing Cassian at his full height, he cowered against the wall, clutching a crinkled red cup against his chest. Cassian blinked in surprise. The male was wearing a black and white dress, the starched apron and collar crisp and clean. 

“Someone call the police. Now!” Someone hissed behind him.

“What seems to be the problem?” Rhysand spoke coolly. At the moment Cassian turned back to Rhysand, the maiden-male scuttled away and upstairs into the cold night. Rhysand examined his fingernails, an action that had the guard’s ruddy face turning white as he saw they were armed to the teeth.

The male’s arms hung loose and ready at his sides like two boulders, fists opening and closing slowly. “You guys need to leave. And before you say anything — I don’t give a shit if those weapons are fake or part of some Halloween costume, you can not bring them here.” 

“What fool would carry fake weapons?” Cassian asked seriously. 

The male’s face lost even more color. “Out. Now.” 

“There’s no need for—” Rhysand’s brows shot towards his hairline, violet eyes flickering up like a cat’s. Cassian, I can’t control him. 

His brother’s eyes widened. What do you mean? 

His mind — I can’t get into it. 

He’s only human!

Clearly.

The male moved forward then to grab at the knife hanging from Cassian’s side and on instinct, Cassian swung. His fist met the corner of the male’s jaw cleanly and he sank like a stone, crumbling to the floor. 

A female with glowing white lips nearby let out a strangled shriek, twisting her ankle as she grabbed her friend and sprinted towards the glowing red exit sign. All around her people began taking notice of the guard’s dark shape on the black floor and the two males that hovered over him, knives sparkling in the ever changing lights. 

I had hoped that the humans would not notice, Cassian explained. More alarmed cries erupted around them. He leaned down, carefully checking the male’s pulse. He was still alive, just knocked out cold. 

The music dimmed and then went out completely leaving an empty hole in the air that blew against the back of Cassian’s neck. Overhead lights turned on shortly after, burning with a fluorescence that had everyone hissing in pain. 

Things looked much better in the dark. In the dark no one noticed the sticky stains littering the floor, or the gum wrappers, and plastic straws, and crushed cups; the dusty strobe lights and haphazard paint jobs that left the walls bubbling with air pockets. They were also less likely to notice the three fae in their midst — 6-foot-everything and looking like they stepped out of the world’s most expensive LARPing tournament. It didn’t help that Cassian was kneeling over the man he just rendered unconscious. 

Confusion led to confused panicking, and then plain panic as people began pushing towards the exits in droves. 

I think they noticed. Rhysand looked over the crowd as they fluttered around him, but try as he might, he couldn’t enter anyone’s minds. Not even one. He didn’t like the oily vulnerability that followed, naked and unnerving. 

Cassian slung the unconscious male over his shoulder before he could be trampled beneath pairs of dusty white sneakers and stripper heels. Then it would seem it’s time for us to leave.

Where are you? Azriel cursed at no god in particular. He didn’t know which of them existed in this realm, if any did at all. 

This way. His shadows whispered, urging him towards the back corner of the club.

A battered door swung open and shut to the rhythms of females in skintight leather carrying chilled bottles in their hands. Thousands of signatures had been scrawled against the door in neon paint, and Azriel watched one of the females sign her name — Ava — in bright orange before kissing the door and slipping inside to grab another bottle. 

Just to the right of the door stood another female in ripped stockings. Bright blue glitter painted her eyes and cheeks. She bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet, playing with a hole in her sleeve as she held a shiny black box up to her ear. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU ALREADY LEFT?! I’M THE DESIGNATED DRIVER!” She yelled into the box. Her eyes kept shifting over the club. Her lipstick, already blurred from time and dancing, smeared further as she bit her lip. A swipe of her sleeve on her cheek left a faint trail of plum-colored lipstick. She slammed her finger down on the box and for one moment, the glow it let off shot across her eyes. She looked close to tears. 

Azriel froze, feeling a pressure in his chest tighten and then burst apart. He felt her fear — her anger at being abandoned by her so-called friends. It was more overwhelming than the music. If it weren’t for the thin crowd of strangers in front of him blocking his path, he might have dropped to his knees and crawled to her. 

Mate. The bond sang in his chest. Mate. 

Screams broke through the music, high and panicked, and the magic of the moment crashed all around him. The darkness broke, harsh white light colliding with them and rendering the glitters and colors the humans adorned pale and lifeless. But not his mate. She sparkled brighter in the resulting chaos, eyes narrowing in a dare as she caught Azriel staring. She was a prey animal ready to bolt. A worm preparing to turn and reveal its teeth. 

Sharp cracks of plastic on linoleum rattled the ground as leather-clad women sprinted for the kitchen door brandishing empty bottles like weapons. Y/n raced after them. 

The door flapped shut behind her before Azriel had the sense to move his feet and follow, calling out, “Wait! Please!” 

He was doing this very poorly. He knew better than to chase a female like this. Sickness twisted in his stomach as he slammed into metal doors and ran through hallways crowded with glass bottles, aluminum cans, and wrinkly lemons stacked precariously in wooden crates. 

To your right. A shadow whispered in his ear.

Azriel slid to a stop in front of a heavy metal door, its edges frosted over with cold. 

It locks from the outside.

Azriel ripped the door off its hinges and was blasted in the face by a wave of cold. Frigid air curled out of the edges of the room and slithered over the floor like smoke. A young female in a pink tutu yelped in surprise and dove for the corner of the room, hiding behind racks of beer bottles. It wasn’t his mate. 

She was just a frightened female who’d hidden in the fridge, not knowing she was trapping herself in the process. 

“Here.” Azriel said, quickly ripping a coat off the wall hook and tossing it towards her. She reached for it with shaking hands and lips, mumbling out a confused “Thank you?” as Azriel turned and hurried away. The door was no more. She could walk out of the freezer whenever she pleased now. 

Azriel chased after his mate’s scent, stumbling through grey, blank hallways that belonged to the insurance company next door. He strained his ears to hear the tell-tale pounding of her boots, but came up empty. A dull red light told Azriel to “EXIT” as he pushed against a door groaning from rust and disuse. 

He was outside once again, breathing in car exhaust and restaurant refuse.

And something sweet. 

He heard the rush of air a second too late. 

A bottle slammed into the side of his face, cracking and cutting his skin. Tequila washed over the wounds. It burned like a bitch. 

Azriel didn’t let out a groan of pain, but he did stumble, landing on his right knee with a twinge of soreness.

The female — his mate — stared at him in horror as blood began to pool at his temple and drip down the line of his jaw. She held the shattered neck of the bottle in her hands. Her shoes were gone, toes curling against the pavement with cold. 

Gods, she was beautiful. 

Cassian was a blur of movement, knocking the bottle out of her hand and wrapping his arms around her arms. She screamed, squatting down before shooting back up and locking her knees. The top of her head slammed into Cassian’s nose. A brutal, bloody crack had Cassian stumbling back, gripping his nose.

“FUCK!” He swore. 

She whipped around and sprayed a mist in his eyes that had him cursing like a madman and slapping the palms of his hands over his eyes. 

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” 

Rhysand stepped forward and cornered her against the wall. Violet eyes glittered with something bordering fury and amusement. 

“No.” Azriel moved between Rhys and his mate before she could spray him too. “No one touches her.” 

Rhys backed up immediately. This is her?

It’s her. 

He could hear her heartbeat quicker than a rabbit as she flattened herself against the wall, holding her spray out in warning. Cassian moaned in annoyance, wiping the tears that kept leaking out of his eyes.

I do not like the humans in this world. Cassian complained, sniffling. Even his nose burned.

As if Nesta wouldn’t have done this given the chance. Rhysand said. 

…I see your point. Cassian muttered. 

Be careful around this one. 

Because she’s a menace?

Rhysand smirked, flicking dust off the sleeve of his jacket. Because she’s Azriel’s mate.

Cassian straightened. His eyes darted back and forth between Rhysand, the blood dripping from Azriel’s head, and the human female. 

Oh. Cassian thought, suddenly embarrassed. We have… not made a good first impression. 

You think?! Azriel all but growled. 

Her fight or flight response was running out — her energy draining. She could feel it in her leaden limbs and the faint slowing of her heartbeat as the three men kept looking around like they were seeing each other for the first time. 

And they kept looking at her in mixtures of shock, concern, and — surprisingly — affection. 

What sick fuckery is this? She dug her fingernails into the brick, searching for cracks like she might be able to pull out a piece and throw it at them, or find some hidden portal through the wall and back into the safety of the inside. 

Were they going to kidnap her? Was she about to be shoved into a bag and tossed into some dingy trunk? But then why the wings? It was too dark to see them in their entirety, but they looked meticulous and expensive and very memorable — not ideal for kidnapping. Was this a LARPING thing? Were they Satanists? Was that how this worked?

The one in front turned. The one she’d attacked with a bargain bottle of tequila. The blood had stopped flowing and darkened against his tan skin. Hazel eyes, bright and piercing as a copper penny, looked out from a face made of elegant, serious lines. His was not a face that smiled often, beautiful as it was. The burly, rugged one looked like he was made for laughing. Smile lines gently graced his cheeks and temples. But maybe those were scars. He sported many of them, like pale whiskers over his skin. The third was the most put together of the three. Instead of strange, leather armor, he wore a suit of velvet over something stiff and protective that hugged his trim waist and broad shoulders, and his eyes were violet, not hazel. 

The elegant, unsmiling one coughed awkwardly, shifting to hide his wings. Shockingly, they slid closed behind his back, the movement so smooth it looked real. 

“I am…” His voice was a deep, gentle caress. “I am so very sorry. I did not mean to frighten you as I did. Please, forgive me.” He was… alarmingly polite, and his accent was… pleasant, although impossible to place — all soft rolls of the tongue complimented by the rich timbre of his voice. “ Please.” He spoke the last word quietly, urgently. 

Y/n said nothing. Her arm was beginning to get sore from holding out the bottle of pepper spray. Although, it can’t have been that effective if the rugged one was already recovered. Maybe it had expired without her realizing? 

“My name is Azriel,” the man spoke again quickly and gently. Even his name sounded odd. “And this is Cassian—” He pointed to the burly one,“And Rhysand.” The last of the men tilted his head in a mock bow. 

“A pleasure.” The violet-eyed one said. Rhysand’s voice was weighed down with sultry charm. He purred the words more than spoke them. 

“Pleasure,” Cassian copied, gruff but kind. 

Y/n remained silent. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. The pretty one — Azriel — stepped forward and pulled out a sleek, small blade from the belt about his waist. Y/n was about to spray him in the face when he twisted the blade so that the handle faced her.

“This will do more damage than the little bottle you carry,” he promised. “I hope this will make you more trusting of me. I swear to do you no harm. I’ll even make a bargain, if it would make you trust me long enough to explain.” His wings twitched nervously and Y/n found she couldn’t draw her eyes away from them and how real they looked. 

The three men kept looking at each other furtively. Conversations, complex and unknowable, hide in every twitch of their eyes.

“Speak out loud,” Azriel snarled at them finally. “You’re frightening her.” 

Rhysand smiled apologetically at the female. “We need to leave. Now. You can hear the humans coming as well as I can.” 

Y/n bristled at that, and a detached feeling of horror came over her. “Are you not… are you not human?” 

Cassian gawked at her, speaking his wings out far and wide. “Do the humans of this world have wings?” 

She sputtered to answer, fear giving way to curiosity. Azriel took advantage of that, moving close enough that he slid the blade into her hand. It was a cool, welcome weight against her hot, sweaty skin. Up close she saw he had freckles dotting the high corners of his cheeks and that his hair came alive with dark tendrils of smoke that wafted off his skin like steam. They wrapped around her and she heard their strange whispers in her ears like white noise. 

“We’re not human. We’re not even from this world.” The sirens were only a block away now and Azriel swore beneath his breath. More of those dark tendrils shot out like shadows and dulled the noises of incoming fire trucks, cop cars, and EMTs. “I swear to you that I will explain more, but we must go. Please.” He took hold of her wrist, angling the blade he’d given her right beneath his last rib. 

It was a dramatic declaration — if she wanted to kill him and run away, he would let her. 

Y/n swallowed thickly, her mind thick with fog and the dying embers of adrenaline. “I—I parked a few blocks down that way. I can take us somewhere else.” 

Azriel breathed a sigh of relief and she pulled away from him, taking with her any shred of comfort he’d felt since coming to this world. 

Somehow they managed to walk the quarter of a mile to her car without being stopped once by another living soul. She suspected it had to do with the shadows that now poured off of Azriel’s skin and trailed after her. She could feel them licking at her heels like curious dogs… or blood thirsty wolves. 

She gripped the knife tightly in her hand, stretching her fingers to wrap around the steering wheel as she drove through familiar roads on autopilot. Azriel watched her curiously as she stopped at a red light and clicked her blinker on. 

None of the men looked comfortable squished into her tiny sedan, wings tucked in so tight they cramped. Cassian’s boot was stretched out on the center console, almost reaching the gear shift. Rhysand was hunched over in the back seat, pressing his forehead against the cool metal of the headrest in front of him to keep from getting sick. 

“What is this cursed thing?” He grumbled, then promptly shut up when Y/n took them down a local road with craters that had them jolting and jerking for a mile. “This metal box… I do not like it.” 

Azriel and Cassian ignored their brother. Az was too busy paying attention to his mate and politely explaining the complexity of their situation, and Cassian was too busy looking out the window at the houses that passed by. He could hear the unfamiliar hum of electricity like a dragonfly's wings. 

By the time she pulled the sedan down a beaten road to a quiet, homely one-bedroom house, her mind was swimming with words and phrases she could barely string together — Koschei, fae, Illyrians, seers. It was worse than when she’d spent two all-nighters cramming for an exam in college fueled by nothing but Red Bull and desperation. 

Before the keys were even out of the ignition, Rhysand was spilling out of the car and breathing in gasps of clean, woodsy air. Gravel crunched under his feet. Once this road had been paved, but time and weather had broken up the asphalt until only chunky black rocks remained. Green grass, not yet killed off by Autumn frost, grew in uneven tufts up to Y/n’s squat, brown-sided house, skirting around the makeshift garden in the backyard before disappearing into the woods beyond. Neighboring homes inched as close as they could to the main road, half-submerged in golden brown trees that trembled in the wind. 

The porch steps creaked, flexing in the center like backs ready to break, but they’d recently been cleaned and painted over with a fresh coat of white. The front door had been given similar treatment, although it was painted green. A small Autumn wreath hung from a nail. 

Y/n fumbled with the keys, fingers shaking and numb from the cold. 

“Here,” Azriel murmured, gently taking them from her. His shadows could have unlocked the front door in less than a second, but he was in no mood to test his mate’s patience and understanding. The fact that she’d driven them to her home in the dead of night was testament to the uneasy trust she’d placed in them. 

A disgruntled meow greeted them as they filed into the short and narrow entryway. Cassian bumped into the entry dresser with his wings and nearly jumped out of his skin when the dark monstrosity that sat by a ceramic dish full of rings hissed. 

It was the fattest cat Cassian had ever seen. 

Acidic yellow-green eyes narrowed at him, as if sensing his judgment, and the cat’s whiskers twitched along with its pink button nose. 

“Jefferson, be nice.” Y/n reprimanded the cat, scooping up its rotund body into her arms. The cat swatted her shoulder once, then consented to being held. He did not like strangers in his house, even if they were Y/n’s guests. “This is Jefferson.” She looked behind her back to the rest of the house. “And this is my home.” 

She busied herself preparing for her unexpected guests. She scoured the bathroom closet for spare toothbrushes, towels, and lotions, and pulled out the thickest blankets she could find. One person could sleep on the pull out couch, the other two would have to fight for the best spot on the floor. 

Azriel watched her as she moved. It was not a large house — it was barely even a cottage — and it took his shadows a short time to familiarize themselves with your home. 

A lumpy couch, wicker armchair, and coffee table made up the living room, tied together by a retro rug that may have once been white, but was now a respectable beige. Four mismatched chairs huddled around a scratched wooden table near the kitchen, one of which carried a stuffy cushion that held the imprint of Jefferson’s soft body. 

The cat watched them from the kitchen counter with its piercing eyes, and did not seem at all concerned when a stray shadow wound around its tail. 

Pathetic. All of them! Were the cat’s thoughts. Master will not like this.

His eyes did soften when Y/n returned from her bedroom, arms heavy with blankets and sheets and pillows. Azriel quickly relieved her of her burden, promising that they’d spent nights in worse conditions than a heated house with bedding and clean floors. 

She seemed charmed by that and almost smiled. Almost.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry, and the bathroom’s by the front door. I’ve already put some toothbrushes and towels in there if you need them.”

“Thank you,” Azriel said softly, tilting his head in a faint bow. His brothers followed suit before busying themselves laying out blankets and pillows like they’d done this a thousand times before — which they had. 

Y/n nodded curtly and swept a judgmental Jefferson into her arms before disappearing into her room. Azriel heard the lock click into place and the rummaging of drawers as she pulled out an extra can of pepper spray, a pair of scissors, and the three knives she’d taken from the kitchen. She bolted her windows and drew the curtains closed and even stuffed a towel into the space beneath her doors just in case.  

She was meticulous and careful despite her generosity, and Azriel found himself smitten at her resourcefulness. 

Stop thinking about her and go the fuck to sleep, Az. Cassian grumbled. He could feel the longing dripping off of Azriel’s shoulders. She’ll feel more comfortable if she knows we’re asleep. 

How much would you like to bet she kills us in the night? Rhysand asked, and then seemed amused by the prospect of it. 

I’d worry more about the cat. Cassian chuckled. Then he turned over onto his stomach and was out like a light. Centuries spent in war camp barracks and makeshift battlefield tents had taught him to steal sleep wherever and whenever he could. 

Rhysand was quick to follow suit, although centuries as a High Lord had pampered him just a little. 

Azriel stayed awake, waiting to hear your heartbeat and breathing slow to a comfortable pace. But it never happened. Not even as the sunlight trickled in and touched the light-bleached floors. 

[dognonsense]

Question...how do you make your patches? They seem so fuckin cool. I'm working on a vest and a jacket atm, and I'd like for them to be done by the time a pride fest rolls around next month.

Main technique I use for making patches nowadays is linocut. Its best suited for mass production of patches.

Make sure to remember your carving the mirror image so you have to flip all the text. Using tracing paper to flip the design is a good trick, as well as leaving graphite marks on side, then pressing that to the lino to leave the marks in the same spot. Another trick with pencil is to view what ur carving in negative space quickly, put a paper over your design and shade over it with pencil, darker marks will be where you haven't carved yet.

I use speedball fabric ink, it takes 1 week to set then will be fine to be washed. I have magenta, violet, turqouise, and white. They have a limited range of fabric colors at the store. I have seen gold and silver fabric paint for sale and I will investigate it one day.

I use a speedball roller, i find the smaller one to be better than the big one as I can be more precise and waste less ink.

I got a fancy handle for $40 but the screws fallen out so its broken now so just get some heavy books. I used to use a mug. Whats important is pushing your whole body weight into it.

I got a speedball carving tool with different heads I can swap out so I can cut into the lino at different deepness and widths. The heads are stored inside the tool since its hollow and has a screwable removable bottom. I use linocut or dollar store erasers for my carvings. Make sure to wash the ink off your linocuts after your done using them.

A thing to increase the lifespan of you're linocuts is to use wood glue, some cork or wood pieces, and glued the lino stamps onto them. I dont do that yet so my stamps fall appart from overuse sometime and because I cut way too deep into the lino since I hate chatter.

Chatter is the term for in linocutting when theres little messy lines and stuff. It makes the art more recognisably to be linocut. My work is very clean with no chatter which is why people don't notice its linocut usually. This is a stylistic choice, with diy styles having a lot of chatter can look really cool so experiment with leaving bits of extra uncarvered lino sticking out in ur stamp. I need to experiment and buy some more lino.

You can also use multiple linocut stamps together to make a patch. Some patches ive made have like 8 different stamps. Ive made a dog nonsense patch where each letter was their own eraser stamp. You can also use different colors between the different lino stamps on the same patch to add more color. An effect I like to do is first stamp it in color, then the next day I stamp it in white over the same spot but shifted to the right and down slightly. It makes the text have a cool border 3D effect I love doing.

If making a more detailed picture with colors, i reccomend hand painting patches. I use white fabric paint mixed with acrylics for color to get all the shades i need. Acrylic paint mixed with fabric softener works too.

If doing words and you dont want a unique font reccomend using letter stamps. If you want a unique font for that i recommend hand paint for individual or linocut for mass produce.

The positive of letter stamps is the font is neat and can be done quickly. I know from lending them to my roommate that they are very helpful if you have dyslexia and have trouble getting letters right.

A visual effect of the letter stamps is that have a nice boxy edge effect, its an imperfection that adds a personally touch to it. I have both lower and upper case stamps that I got from michaels. You can use a hair band or elastic to hold a bunch of letter stamps together to make a word stamp.

You can use other stamps than letters that you find at craft stores for example my racoon print is a craftstore stamp.

You can also find big plastic letter stencils at the dollar store that you can use to do lettering by filling in gaps with a sponge or or paintbrush. They make special paintbrushes just for using stencils.

You can also get plastic stencils in the shapes of things, i got some for children and use a horse stencil for my horse smoking weed patch. Easier than drawing a horse myself.

Another technique I use for more unique clean patches is gel plating. I haven't tried printing laserprint images with it as ive seen online a lot but I will try one day. What i personally do is use it to make imprints with chains and physical objects.

Another thing i use with gelplates are any stamps or linocuts that dont have words, or words ones that i fucked up with and forgot to mirror when carving. It flips mirror image twice with the gel plate so it goes back to being right again on the patch.

Another patch making technique is using foamboard cut into shapes glued onto cardboard. This is good for a quick test of a design and is very cheap to make. It will not hold under water so is more difficult to clean.

[keystonepublishing]

Dirges in The Dark by WixWrites

Before I start, let me just say: Ranchers! Scarian! Hermits and Life Series and Empires characters! Sheriff Jimmy! Sheriff Scar! Criminal Tango! the Wild West! Treebark and Ethubs!

RANCHERS. THE WILD WEST. CREEPING ELDRITCH HORROR.

Whoo, that was a rush.

I'll be honest; I think this book would have come out much sooner if not for my decision to add-in a whole lot of stuff into the text and pages. It got to the point that the original cover would have been a wanted poster at the front and a sheriff's report at the back!

I had to restrain myself, lest this book would never get finished at all. It's already been 59 days since my last post, and doing the original cover would have stretched the days even further. So I had to follow the mantra: Finished, not perfect. Besides, nothing says I can't make another version in the future...

From the moment I finished this fic, I knew it would become a book. But at 143,412 words, Dirges in The Dark by @twodiamondhoes would stretch my ficbinding skills to the limit and would be the second-ever bind that would reach past 250 pages (the first was an MCYT Sleepy Bois fic that predates this blog that I want to redo).

Eventually, the full typeset took up 520 pages! And as such, I finally decided to use extra support for the entire textblock. From an old pair of pajamas, I backed strips of fabric with glue and paper before cutting it into tapes, forming a crucial support for the various weaves along the spine. I then covered the entire spine in brown wrapping paper for even more strength.

For the title and headings, I scoured for and found several typefaces, dingbats, and vector graphics which really evoked the fic's Western and Gothic vibes. I also took some inspiration from fellow ficbinders in the Renegade Publishing group for the style of layout and formatting throughout the book, such as using faded images in the background of these pre-story pages.

I wanted the reader to be immersed in the Wild West from the get-go, so having such images from the start — before the story even begins — felt very appropriate. I tried to make them thematic to the information presented, like a singing cowboy for the music playlist pages, but I think I made the image too faint to be seen!

As for the chapter openers, I experimented with some layouts before finalizing on what you see: photos taking up one entire page on the left with the chapter titles and opening paragraphs on the right.

Just like my last bind, I want to make the reader feel immersed in the story and also bring out the mood of that particular chapter. This, however, led me to entire days of scouting and scouring stock photo sites just to find the right pictures for 11 different chapters. 4/10 would not recommend for sanity.

Given that the story uses a number of foreign words, old slang, and specific Wild West-era terms, I added a plethora of footnotes at the bottom of some pages for extra context and meaning.

I also wanted to be playful and make certain story parts, such as characters receiving letters and notes, really look like they're a part of the story. So I cropped old paper textures and fished out old fonts from the past to make them look as if they're actually there, pasted against the paragraphs!

More importantly, there were some specific parts of the fic that felt super important and I wanted to highlight these passages, especially the Deals made by the characters throughout their arcs. Given DiTD has a certain affinity with eldritch darkness, I decided to highlight such paragraphs by backlighting them against a band of pure black. Besides being thematic as hell, I made the bands have curved edges and decorative lines to add a certain western-gothic touch!

It was from this that I begin to think "what if I can color entire pages to convey the mood and setting?"

...Which led to the madness in these pages. I can't reveal too much because of spoilers, but there are certain times when the characters end up in situations where the very light turns to dark. Or they end up in hellish situations. Or the eldritch creatures began to speak.

It took some creative brainstorming to figure out how to show the mood of such scenes in printed pages, but I eventually figured out that I need find the right fonts, change their colors from black to white, and then change their backgrounds from white to dark to highlight them all! The power of formatting!

There's a lot more pages where I went wild with such shades and fonts, but I ain't revealing in public because spoilers!

But undoubtedly, this is the biggest experiment I have made with this bind. There is a certain part where Grian and Pearl spoke in eldritch R'lyehian / Cthuvian, and I want to convey the sheer strangeness of the speech and it's meaning. Something outside the box.

Luckily, I have an inspiration in fellow fanbinder @mythrilthread, who made an amazing fanbind that used vellum overlays to showcase the speaking of alien languages and what they mean in English. AND IT LOOKS SICK AS FUCK. When I finished reading Dirges, I knew I had to emulate this form of language translation, so I printed the eldritch speech, cut it, and pasted it onto the spine to give a similar effect of strangeness, and IT LOOKS SO COOL!!!

And lastly, I just had to include some of the amazing fanart made by readers into the book! All of these are placed by their corresponding text and chapters, and they all look so cool!

So I want to give a special thanks to @azzayofchaos, @leafdoodles, @hybbart, and @foxyola for granting their permission for me to include their incredible works into this bind! The dark shades and page formatting is one thing, but these works truly make this book feel so much more alive!

All in all, this bind was an odyssey in the making. I experimented with page formatting, layout wizardry, and bookmaking methods that I haven't tried before. While I know I could do better, I am beyond happy to see this work finished!

And once again, a thousand thanks to @twodiamondhoes / WixWrites for crafting an amazing story!

[fab-bladesmith]

A Carolingian Sword and Scabbard, 9th century.

The blade has a 3-layer core of mild steel over high carbon steel, and high carbon steel edges.

Hot-welded in the fullers are the famous "+ULFBERH+T" mark on one side, and "III XX III" on the other, in pattern-welded 1075 and 15N20 steel - this latter thing being, in my educated opinion, no less important than the other side. Many things have been said about such marks, but the most important thing about them is that they exist (otherwise, to paraphrase Sir Terry Pratchett, it wouldn't be a real sword, just a very dangerous bit of sharp metal) and that they are but one aspect of the continuous function of the sword to carry a message/prayer/ritual thing, a thing appearing as early as the Bronze Age and which would continue up to the Renaissance if not after - working in conjunction with the scabbard to utter/read these spells when the sword is drawn or put back in the scabbard.

The hilt is inspired by sword FG2187 of the Germanisches National museum, found near Mannheim, and is mild steel overlaid in brass and silver (thanks to Matt Bunker for the close-ups), with silver details.

For the grip I drew inspiration from a sword found in river Shannon in 2012 for the placement of the linen threads under the leather cover, which provide both a decorative function and a nice feeling in hand. The overall shape of the grip was determined by stylistic elements of various swords of other types.

The scabbard is leather over linen over steam-formed wood, and lined with 100% wool cloth, stitched at the throat with pure silk thread. I chose not to give it a chape, the end being reinforced by a thick wrap of folded linen bands, as according to Dr Geibig's works. Decoration was made using thread glued under the leather cover.

Cheese glue was used for all this.

The suspension system of leather and brass is loosely made after the finds from the Isle of Man (Cronk Moar and Balleteare). The main issue I had was the bottom D-ring/strap thing, and here I propose a simple arrangement of a leather strap riveted to the buckle plate, and made to fit tightly the scabbard when wet. Upon drying, the strap would shrink and securely fit between the two risers.

The strap ends are in the Trewhiddle style, and were made using the historical process of drawing out a billet and chiselling in the decoration, accordingly to the PhD by Gabor Thomas. No casting involved there.

The making of this project owes a lot to the labours of Dr Mikko Molainen, to whom I address all my thanks.

This whole thing needed an awful amount of trial and error, and I am well aware that not everything is perfect there. Apart from the issues mentioned above, the main difficulties were the hot-inlaying/welding of the marks, but I do thing that most of them came from using modern steel - old/bloomery iron, especially with the proper content in phosphorous (wink at @gaelfabre) would have made the welding easier I think. I'll have to give it a try some day.

[matchadobo]

KIDD; the boy in a band

wc: 2560

summary: you caught the eye of the frontman when he was performing and the next thing you know, you're having an overnight adventure with him.

warning/s: very fluff, most nsfw thing is making out, afab iirc? i wrote this with the intention of a fem reader but i think it could also apply to gn?, nightly adventures

note: inspired by this reel 😳

he's got the certain fire in him, his own spotlight in that stage. amidst the hues of violet and red in the deeply congested and ear-splitting parking lot, he somehow caught your eye. among the swarm of people that cheered his name and reached for him, he shared a moment only with you.

and he grinned, canines tugging at his magenta lips. and for a moment, it became quiet and the world stopped. the drums deafened, the mic rang, the people around you slowed down, and your heart raced. because it meant something, you know it meant something more than just him feeling himself or being the rockstar that he is.

"hey, name. name!" your friend jolted you, holding both of your shoulders but you remain in awe even after he looked away and darted across the stage with his guitar and mic. "i was asking if you're having a good time but hey, looks like you became a fan just now." she teased you nudging you with her elbow as she shouted her sentences amidst the cacophonous blasts of the rock concert.

but you couldn't find it in you to budge, even after he broke eye contact. it all stuck in you like glue. it got stuck somewhere down your stomach, like a budding flower or a colony of ants climbing up your chest and suffocating you. it felt ticklish. and your nerves went numb and frozen.

before you could get a hold of yourself, the last set had just finished. the band bid their thanks and goodbyes. you looked around to see people dispersing and the crowd was dissipating. you were about to turn back, ready to get back to your car. but your friend dragged you closer to the stage.

"w-where the hell are you- why are we going to the stage?" you yanked your hand from her.

"come oooon, let's get pictures! others are doing it, look! plus, this is my first concert with them. can we go? please?" she held your hands together, clasping them on hers.

"first you drag me in here, i don't even have any knowledge of the sort with this rookie little band. and now you still wanna insist even if my legs are about to give out? seriously, you never run out of requests." you rolled your eyes.

"it'll be quick, i promise! and hey, don't act like you don't totally dig kidd. i saw you!"

"who?"

"the frontman! oh! i so need to introduce you to him, why don't you get a picture?"

"bitch, i swear to god-"

before you had any protests, she had already dragged you to the stage where the band was chatting with some fans who had just finished taking pictures with them and cleaning up.

that was when you noticed that the redhead had his eyes on you all along. you don't know how long honestly, but when your friend caught the band's attention and your eyes landed on kidd, he was already way ahead of you. he did a little wave with a simple mid-raise of his hand. but you looked away, can't find it in you to be civil.

"hey kidd, they want a pic." the blond called out to him, you remember him as the drummer. he's your friend's bias, what she calls it.

"you sure you don't want me to take a pic?" you whispered to your friend.

"no, no, i want you to be with us." she smiled, clinging onto you.

the band sat on the edge of the stage, the stage was about leveled at your chest. while you two stood before them. your back was turned and you didn't notice that kidd sat behind you until you looked at the pictures on your phone. made you feel quite funny down on your stomach. the sight of you two together got you fangirling for a man you just met.

"hey. enjoyed the show?" kidd greeted, making his way towards you while you fix up your stuff in your car, waiting for your friend.

"y-yeah. but it's my first time attending your mini concert though. got dragged in here." you chuckled a little. "you were amazing back there, by the way."

"mhm, i could tell." he shifted on his foot, grinning again like he used to earlier. his smile does something dangerous to your heart. "had a good stare earlier, aye?"

"how'd i caught your eye?" you decided to play into his teasing game, leaning into your car door. "there's like, hundreds of us. and i'm not even your regular or something."

"mmm, well." he walked closer, crossing his arms as he pretended to think. your gaze shifted to his biceps, snowy and sinewy. "i like staring at pretty things, you just happen to be one of 'em." he winked at you, grin widening as his arrogance exuded a contagious aura with his smile it got you biting your lip to stop yourself from smiling widely.

"so you just do that? charm your fans and then what?"

"so you think i'm charmin'?" he raised a brow, loving every bit of you fighting a smile before you finally broke into a laugh. ah, he's actually starstruck. yet it's funny cuz he's the famous one here.

"a bit, yeah." you nodded, embarrassed as you laugh.

"cuz then i'd ask you out, that's how it usually goes." he handed you his phone, raising a brow as anticipation.

"usually, huh? think you can peg me as one of your flings?" you pushed his phone back to him gently. "i'm good." you smiled, but really you're just playing hard to get.

"not flings, nae. think this'll actually be somethin' nice."

"but you see, kidd, right? this'll be the first and last time we'll be meeting. i just came with my friend because her dad wants someone to accompany her. the next time she'll be alone. so, it's best if you don't mind me too much."

"you underestimate how addictive my music is, me especially." he chuckled a little, his confidence got on your nerves, especially around your heart.

"you're suggesting i'll come to you? on my own volition?"

"highly likely. cuz i know for a fact that when you get home, i'd be stuck in your pretty little head." he licked his lips, nestling his hands deeper in his pockets. cuz shit, you'd be doing the same thing to him, he'd be doing backflips on your mind.

"right, wanna bet on it?"

you guys exchanged numbers but neither of you texted each other when you two got home. yet it was clear that whatever's going on in your head, it was about him.

that was the time you searched him up. he was a pretty big deal but his band was still local, they had a couple thousand of fans. had mini concerts in empty parking lots like earlier. do gigs in some local pubs and bars.

so you got a hold of your earphones and pulled their band up on spotify. once you hit shuffle you turned off your phone and lied down, closing your eyes as you hear the subtle taps of the instruments before the music starts.

it was an acoustic version of what they played earlier. so that was the title, victoria. the band took turns singing but when it was kidd's turn, you quite literally fell in love.

and it got stuck in your head, the song, the beats, everything. especially kidd singing. even when washing the dishes or getting ready for the night. god, you couldn't sleep that night.

his voice did something to you. a bit silvery, husky, and quite smoky. it made your throat dry. your limbs weak. your head fuzzy. his resonance weaved through your senses, clouding them. and each time he'd be lowly growling, still matching the softness of the tune, it'd make your heart stop. you were fucking hypnotized.

it was already 11 in the evening and you decided to screw it, just text him already.

and funnily enough, you two texted at the same time. both of you hey's appeared on your screen. at that point, kidd was quck to call you.

"so you were thinking about me." he greeted, the grin evident on his voice. his voice this close to your ear is making your head spin.

"don't act like i was the only one contemplating. plus, you called first." you sound embarrassed, and he loved it. he knows you're blushing and shit.

"right, sure."

"but i uh- listened to your songs."

"you did? of course, you did. you miss me that much?"

"shut up, that's not...what i was trying to say."

"but you do miss me, right?"

"MY POINT IS you have a really nice voice, the acoustic of victoria. yeah that was- i have it on repeat." you chuckled in embarrassment, god this guy is making you lose your cool.

"thanks. you're makin' it hard for me to sleep tonight, really." he sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

"oh, am i keeping you up?"

"to be honest, yes. but i don't mind. matter of fact, i do want you to keep me up, bonnie."

"d-do you maybe wanna..." you hesitated for a bit, but your heart was screaming. you need to get it out. you had no qualms about being rejected because you're sure as hell he'd be down. but the thrill is driving you nuts. "go out tonight? just for a bit i... want to see you."

and on the other end, kidd was laughing his heart out. he sounded nice. even if he was making fun of you, which he isn't, you don't mind so long as you hear him laugh.

"fuck, don't get me wrong. i ain't laughin' at you or some shit but, that was my exact thought. cuz your stubborn ass got in my head and i had, for the life of me, see you."

so you two met up at the nearest mcdonalds', he was the first one there. you two spent until the clock struck three getting to know about each other, one story led to another, stuffing yourselves with fast food, and going from store to store taking pictures and whatnot.

"shit, i've got class tomorrow." you choked on your ice cream which he bought you when you got glimpse of the time from the big clock on the convenience store.

"oh fuck, me too."

you two bursted into laughter, almost walking away from each other.

"no but seriously, i have to get home. it's an 8am class, kidd." you shuffled through your phone, scrolling through the messages of your mom on where you are.

"oh, mine doesn't start till 12 i think." he looked through his phone to look at his schedule. "come on i'll drop you home."

"wait, really? t-that's- it's fine really."

"and i insist. no buts." it must be the familiarity that you two formed because it was natural enough for him to hold your hand and walk you to his motorbike so you have no choice but to comply. you'd be lying if you say that didn't make your stomach tickle.

before you reach his bike, he turned around and faced you earnestly. "but do you wanna or am i bein' a total creep?"

"no! i mean, if it's not any bother? but it's quite forward, i don't know. i haven't ridden a motorcycle before and-"

"your consent is all i need, aye? i'd have you sit in the front and i'll be behind, no way you'd be in any fuckin' danger." he handed you his helmet, the only one he has. "trust me?"

"if it's danger, i think you're the only one i have to worry about." you took his helmet, fastening it under your chin. eliciting a chuckle from him.

he got on first so he could support you when you get in front of him.

"wait, you don't have a helmet?"

"it'd just be a 5minute drive no need to, yours is the only one i have."

"kidd, i swear to god if there are cops."

"thought you trusted me?"

he revved up his engine, arms beside you as you felt his warmth on your back. his body pressed against yours as he powered through the mini roads of your town. he'd ask if you're having a good time with the breeze and you'd nod, feeling a birthday party in your chest from the adrenaline and proximity.

thankfully, no cops crossed your ways and you were now a few houses on your driveway.

"same time tomorrow?" he started, taking off your helmet for you. you hit him lightly on the shoulder.

"a little earlier would be better."

there was a fleeting moment where you two held your gazes, as if waiting for the other to say something or wanting either of you to say something. you closed the distance between the two of you because you were off and kidd was still on his bike.

and he knew exactly what you plan on doing. so he grinned as if teasing you, challenging you if you would actually do it. and you just decided to just do it, pulling him by his collar and kissing him.

he smiled through the kiss, angling his face a little to the side so he can add a little tongue. cheeky bastard. he got a hold of your cheek, hand spanning until the back of your neck, he had a firm grip there as he subtly pulled on your locks.

he hummed through your lips as he tasted your chapstick and the residual syrup from your ice cream. sipping on your lips like its a popsicle. you can taste the blackberry lollipop he had which made his lips a little darker and his tongue stained with a tint of magenta.

neither of you refused to pulled away, even if you needed air. it was a almost a battle, a challenge on who'll back down first. but in all reality, it was addicting. he was addicting. with the way he holds you delicately yet firm in his arms, on the small of your back and the subtle brushes on your jaw.

but you were no saint to him either. he wanted to devour you. if it weren't for the respect he had for you and the fact that today was just your first meeting, he would've taken you home. but he wanted to take it with your pace, he didn't want his needs to be first for once. he wanted to satisfy you. see that blush on your face because of him. or the neediness in your eyes that you want more of his lips. or how you'd smile after the kiss and give his lower lip a yearning tug cuz you obviously wanted more. he'd value your reaction more than his selfish lust.

which would explain why he couldn't stop smiling when your foreheads were pressed together after the kiss. he tucked strands of hair behind your ear and gave you one last kiss on the cheek.

"see you tomorrow, aye?" he mumbled lowly, before letting you go. "good night."

it was like watching a really good movie and you feel so full after. yeah. so much so you had to tell your mom about it.

"mom, i met a boy."

"and got home at goddamn 3?!"

AAAAAA had some free time this week and decided to whip this up 😳 been wanting to make a frontman kidd au whoooooooh

[fractangle]

Behold, The Meme Jacket

This jacket arrangement position is called "LOOK AT MY ARMPITS."

Here's a close-up of the collar and lapels with the jacket laying normally:

The snaps on the lapels hold them open, but can also be snapped closed, which is nice on windy days.

Here's the front of the jacket as it's intended to be seen:

I was very particular about how I designed and arranged these: much like how the back only has color in the middle, I wanted to keep the bright colors to the center. The two brightly colored patches are meant to read like a two-panel comic, or some sort of call-response thing, whatever. The patches along the bottom are meant to read left to right, almost like a four-panel comic. (The Awesome Face patch is just there because it fit.)

What's not obvious from these pictures is that there are inside pockets, which connect to the zippered side pockets! I don't tend to actually use this feature very much, but it does make the pocket space hugely tall in there.

Another feature I don't tend to use very much is the zip-off sleeves. I think I've only ever taken the sleeves off once (plus a few times when sewing patches on, to make it easier to reach where I was working).

The googly eye buttons are holding up moderately well - I might need to replace one of the eyes by next year. If you're gonna do this yourself, you gotta put a metal keyring of the same size behind the googly eye! Wrap the keyring in a piece of fabric (I used the tubular bit from the bottom edge of a t-shirt), and sew it to the button band. Then, glue the googly eye onto the fabric with enough glue to also glue the fabric to the keyring. (I used superglue for this.)

All in all, it's been an incredibly fun project, and one that I get lots and lots of use out of! I'm sure I'll add to it at some point, but I'm calling its current state "done (v1.0)".

[borninwinter81]

Cyber goth dress + my favourite way to make patches

I thrifted this dress a couple of weeks ago for £1. I believe it started life as some sort of costume, possibly a sexy firefighter, but the fabric is really good quality cotton, and I thought it had some cybergoth potential with the yellow and reflective bits. I also really like the metal fastenings.

I already had a high-viz coat in my wardrobe from when I used to go bicycling more often, so I was able to steal more reflective bits from that. Not yet sure what I'll do with them, probably cut interesting shapes and glue or sew them on. Photos with and without flash.

And then yesterday I got a half meter of cotton fabric for £1 which is an almost exact colour match, so I can make some stencilled patches.

I already had fabric paint at home, so this entire outfit has only cost me £2! Cybergoth clothing is usually super expensive.

There are lots of tutorials for making stencilled patches on YouTube, (@rattusrattus3 has some excellent ones) but I lack patience and don't like cutting out intricate pieces, especially for lettering, so I had the idea to use alphabet stickers. You can pick these up really cheap from your local pound shop or dollar store depending on where you're from. I think mine were 40p a packet.

Stick them to your fabric, use fabric paint and a sponge, then when you peel the stickers off you'll have the words in relief. You can go thicker than I have here to make the surrounding area totally opaque, but I like the edges being messy and faded out. These are both song titles from cyber/industrial bands that I like.

Here are some other examples that I've done in the past. These were all done with pound shop spray paint which isn't ideal for fabric, but it's cheap! You'll also get more of the original fabric colour showing through with this kind of paint, which is nice.

If you're using black fabric, gold or silver paint will generally work better than white. These are all Devin Townsend song lyrics.

The only negative to this method for some people may be that the letters will be very uniform, but I like that. And if you want to you can space them irregularly to break things up a bit. Or you might be able to find more interestingly shaped alphabet stickers than I did!

[niallerspayno]

Gotta Be You - Part 1

Masterlist

As Liam’s little sister you’ve always looked up to him—he’s your protector, your biggest supporter, and your closest friend. When Liam joins One Direction and catapults into fame, he invites you to join his world, hoping it’ll help you find your own path. But instead, you find Niall. From the moment you meet him, there’s a spark, a connection you can’t ignore. Yet Liam has one unyielding rule: none of his bandmates can date you. With hearts tangled and loyalties tested, will you and Niall find a way to your happy ending?

Tags: Niall x reader, Liam x sister!reader, slow burn, angst, mutual pining, forbidden love

Part 2 | Part 3 - coming soon

...

You’ve always been proud to be a Payne. Growing up as the youngest sibling in a family of four kids, you found yourself constantly navigating the spaces between your two older sisters and your brother, Liam. While your sisters were off doing their own thing—school, jobs, and their social lives—it was Liam you stuck to like glue.

There was always something special about him. Even when you were kids, you knew he was different—his love for music, his talent, his determination to succeed. You’d sit on the floor of your shared living room, watching him practice for hours, and when he’d finally take a break, he’d playfully mess up your hair and tell you stories about the kind of career he dreamed of having.

You’d admired him for it. Music was something you’d always loved too, but you didn’t have his drive. While Liam chased his dreams relentlessly, you kept your passion tucked away, unsure how to make something of it. So, when he auditioned for The X Factor for a second time and landed a spot in One Direction, you weren’t surprised. You were ecstatic for him, of course, but part of you also felt a quiet pang of envy, a longing for the kind of confidence and purpose he had.

And then he gave you a chance. After the band’s success skyrocketed, Liam noticed how stuck you felt, unsure of your own path. He suggested you come along whenever possible—on tour, to shows, behind the scenes—so you could get exposure to the music world, learn the ropes, and figure out where you might fit.

That’s how you ended up here, on the cusp of One Direction’s first tour, standing in the hallway of a rehearsal room with Liam at your side. Your official “job” is a bit vague—personal assistant, helper, an all-rounder for whatever the band or crew might need—but to you, it’s more than just work. It’s an opportunity to prove yourself, to finally step into a world you’ve always dreamed about.

“Ready?” Liam’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. His hand is steady on your shoulder, his presence as familiar and grounding as ever.

You nod, nerves prickling at the edges of your resolve. “Yeah.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says, but there’s a warning edge in his tone. “Just—remember what I said. They’re good lads, but—”

“—but they’re lads. Got it,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes.

His smile widens, but his protectiveness is clear. No matter how much older you’ve gotten, Liam still treats you like the same little sister who used to trail after him in the backyard in Wolverhampton. You want to tell him you can handle yourself, but instead, you let him push open the door.

He smirks and gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Alright, let’s go.”

The door creaks open, and the sound of laughter and faint guitar chords spills into the hallway. Inside, the boys are scattered across the room, and for a moment, all you can do is stare. It’s surreal seeing them like this—actually seeing them, not just hearing about them through Liam or watching them on TV.

Harry’s the first one you notice, all curls and dimples, lounging sideways on the worn sofa with one leg draped over the armrest. His signature mop of brown curls is slightly disheveled, falling over his forehead, and his green eyes sparkle with mischief as he jokes with Louis. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and skinny jeans that make him look even younger than his 17 years, but there’s something about his easy confidence that’s magnetic.

Next to him, Louis is perched on the armrest, animated and full of energy. His brown hair is swept to the side in its trademark messy-but-styled way, and his smile is wide, almost boyish, as he throws out some sarcastic remark that has Harry in stitches. He’s in a striped t-shirt and red chinos, looking every bit the cheeky troublemaker Liam warned you about.

Zayn sits further back, leaning against the wall with his phone in hand, his dark eyes focused on the screen. His black hair is perfectly coiffed, the short sides blending into the longer strands on top, and he’s dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans that give him an effortlessly cool edge. Even sitting quietly, there’s a certain intensity about him, like he’s taking in everything without saying a word.

Then there’s Niall.

He’s cross-legged on the floor with a guitar balanced against his knee, his blond hair a little shaggy, sticking out at odd angles like he’s been running his hands through it. He wears a polo shirt and jeans, and there’s a boyishness to him that instantly softens his sharp blue eyes. He’s the only one not talking, his focus on the guitar as his fingers strum a few chords absently.

“Alright, lads,” Liam announces, his voice cutting through the room as he guides you inside. Instantly, all their eyes turn to you, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks under the sudden attention.

“This is my little sister,” Liam continues, his tone making it clear he’s laying down the law before anyone can even speak.

“Little sister?” Louis echoes, his grin widening as he hops off the armrest. “How little are we talking here?”

“She’s sixteen,” Liam answers quickly, his voice firm.

Louis raises his eyebrows, glancing at you like you’re some sort of rare specimen. “Sixteen! Someone alert the crew—we’ll need to order more juice boxes!”

Harry snorts, standing up and crossing the room to you. “Don’t mind him,” he says, his hand outstretched. “He’s just bitter because you’re already taller than him.”

You laugh nervously and shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Welcome to the chaos,” Harry says warmly, his grin making you feel just a little less nervous.

Louis steps up next, bowing dramatically. “Louis Tomlinson, at your service,” he says, though his teasing grin undermines any actual sincerity.

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, trying to keep up with his energy.

“You’ll regret saying that,” Zayn quips from his spot against the wall, his voice low and dry. He sets his phone down and walks over, offering you a quiet smile. “Zayn. Good to meet you.”

You nod, a little taken aback by how calm he seems compared to the others. “You too.”

Finally, it’s Niall’s turn. He stands up, brushing his hands on his jeans before offering you one. Up close, you notice the freckles dusted across his cheeks and nose, a stark contrast to the pale blue of his eyes.

“I’m Niall,” he says simply, his voice tinged with an Irish lilt that makes your chest flutter unexpectedly.

You shake his hand, his grip warm and firm but not overwhelming. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“She’s just a kid, Niall,” Liam interjects, his voice sharp.

Your cheeks burn as you pull your hand back, and Niall glances at Liam with a raised eyebrow before stepping away.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies lightly, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—something that makes your stomach twist.

Louis claps his hands together, breaking the tension. “Alright, Baby Payne, welcome to the circus. Don’t let Liam boss you around too much. He’s no fun.”

You manage a laugh, grateful for the distraction, but as the boys settle back into their easy camaraderie, you can’t help but notice the way Niall’s gaze lingers on you for just a moment longer before he picks up his guitar again.

It’s subtle, fleeting, but it’s enough to leave a strange, unfamiliar weight in your chest.

You follow Liam to the corner of the room as he starts explaining your first tasks, but you find it hard to focus. Your attention keeps drifting back to Niall, to the softness in his eyes and the quiet energy that seems to surround him.

You’ve just met him, and yet, something about him pulls at you, tugging at the edges of your thoughts. And judging by the sharp edge in Liam’s voice whenever Niall so much as looks your way, you get the feeling this tour is going to be a lot more complicated than you expected.

...

The weeks on tour pass in a blur, and you’ve found yourself slipping into a comfortable rhythm. You’ve gotten to know the crew, figured out how to keep Liam from getting too stressed, and discovered that there’s never a dull moment when you’re surrounded by the boys.

Harry’s teasing keeps you on your toes, Louis’s antics always bring a laugh, Zayn’s quiet humor sneaks up on you when you least expect it, and Niall—well, you try not to think about him too much. Except you do, all the time.

There’s something about him—the way he’s always humming a tune, the way his laugh lights up a room, the quiet moments when he seems lost in his own world with a guitar in hand. You tell yourself it’s just admiration, just a harmless crush. But then he’ll smile at you, soft and warm, and it feels like the air gets heavier.

One evening, after a long day of travel and sound checks, you find yourself alone in the backstage lounge. The hum of distant voices echoes down the hallway, but the room itself is still and quiet. Someone left an acoustic guitar leaning against the couch, and you pick it up, letting your fingers trail over the strings.

You’ve always wanted to learn, but it’s one of those things you’ve never had the time—or the courage—to pursue. You strum a few random notes, cringing at the sound but smiling anyway.

“You’re holding it wrong.”

The familiar Irish lilt startles you, and you look up to see Niall standing in the doorway, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets and a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“I’m just messing around,” you say, your cheeks heating up.

“You’ve been saying you want to learn,” he points out, stepping inside. “How about I teach you?”

Your heart skips. “Really? You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says simply, his eyes meeting yours. “C’mon, scoot over.”

You shift to one side of the couch, and he sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes against yours. His presence feels larger than life, even in the quiet of the room, and you swallow hard as he reaches for the guitar.

“Here,” he says, adjusting it in your hands. His fingers are rough but careful as they guide yours into place on the fretboard. “Press here—no, a little higher—yeah, just like that. Now strum.”

The chord rings out, clearer than before, and you can’t help but grin. “Hey, that’s not terrible.”

He laughs softly, the sound low and warm. “See? Told you it’s not so hard. Just gotta practice.”

For the next few minutes, he walks you through the basics, his voice steady and patient as he shows you how to hold the strings and transition between chords. His hands brush against yours more than once, and every time, it feels like your heart might just give out.

At one point, he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “Try pressing a bit harder—there, like that.”

You glance at him, your faces inches apart, and suddenly the air feels charged. His gaze flickers to yours, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the world disappears.

“You’re a good teacher,” you manage to say, your voice quieter than you intended.

His lips twitch into a smile, but there’s something softer, almost hesitant, in his expression. “You’re a good student.”

The sound of muffled laughter breaks the moment. Niall straightens up just as the door bursts open, and Louis, Harry, and Liam spill inside, clearly mid-joke.

“What’s going on here?” Louis asks, his grin widening as he takes in the scene. “Private guitar lessons, huh?”

“Very private,” Harry adds, raising an eyebrow.

Your face burns as you fumble to set the guitar down. “We were just—”

Liam steps forward, his protective big-brother mode kicking in immediately. His eyes narrow as they dart between you and Niall. “What’s going on here?” he repeats, his tone less teasing than Louis’s.

“She’s learning guitar,” Niall says, his voice easy but a little quieter than usual. He scratches the back of his neck, clearly picking up on Liam’s mood.

Liam crosses his arms, his stance firm. “Since when do you give private lessons, Niall?”

“Liam,” you interject, your voice tinged with exasperation, “it’s not a big deal. He was just helping me.”

“Helping, huh?” Liam’s tone softens slightly as he glances at you, but the protective edge doesn’t leave his expression.

“She’s a natural,” Niall offers with a small smile, trying to ease the tension.

“Right,” Liam says, his tone flat. “Well, I think we’ve all had enough downtime. Don’t you, Niall?”

The unspoken message hangs heavy in the air. Niall nods, his gaze flicking to yours for a brief moment before he steps away. “Yeah. I’ll, uh, catch you later.”

He disappears into the hallway with Harry and Louis trailing behind, both of them snickering. Liam lingers, his arms still crossed.

“You alright?” he asks, his voice softening as he looks at you.

“Yes, Liam,” you say, unable to keep the irritation out of your tone.

He frowns, his protective instincts clearly at odds with the trust he has in you. “I just don’t want you getting caught up in anything that could distract you from why you’re here.”

You sigh. “I’m fine. Really.”

Liam hesitates, then nods. “Alright. Just… don’t forget I’m looking out for you.”

As he leaves, you sink back onto the couch, your heart still racing. The moment with Niall felt fragile, like it could have been something more if not for the interruption. And now, you can’t help but wonder if he felt it too—or if Liam’s protective streak just made it harder for anything to happen at all.

...

A few months into the tour, life has settled into a rhythm. The long bus rides, chaotic backstage moments, and energy of packed arenas have become second nature to you. You turned 17 just a few weeks ago, and the boys threw you a small, chaotic birthday celebration on the bus.

Liam, of course, went all out—insisting on decorations, a cake, and a heartfelt speech about how proud he is of you. You love your brother fiercely, but his protectiveness hasn’t wavered even as you’ve gotten older. He’s constantly watching, making sure you’re okay, and keeping a particularly close eye whenever you’re around Niall.

Because if there’s one thing that’s changed since the start of the tour, it’s your crush on him. What started as a flicker of admiration has grown into something you can’t ignore. You notice everything about him now—the way his laughter fills a room, the way he loses himself in his guitar, the way he looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching.

Those quiet moments you share have become the highlight of your days. But they’re always careful, always just under the radar. You know Liam wouldn’t approve, and Niall… well, you can’t quite tell how he feels.

Tonight, the hotel is quiet. Everyone has gone to their rooms in the shared suite after another long day, and you’ve slipped out onto the balcony, needing a moment to yourself. The cool night air brushes against your skin, and you let out a slow breath, staring at the twinkling city lights below.

The door behind you creaks open, and you turn to see Niall stepping out. He’s in a hoodie and sweatpants, his hair a little messy, and his blue eyes light up when he sees you.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, leaning casually against the railing beside you.

You shake your head, offering him a small smile. “Too much on my mind.”

“Like what?”

You hesitate, your fingers picking at the hem of your sweatshirt. “I don’t know. Just… this whole tour. Everything. Sometimes it feels like I don’t know what I’m doing or where I fit in.”

Niall’s gaze softens, and he tilts his head toward you. “You’re doing great. Everyone sees it, especially Liam. He doesn’t stop talking about how proud he is of you.”

“That’s Liam, though,” you say with a small laugh. “He’d say that no matter what.”

“Maybe,” Niall says, a grin tugging at his lips. “But I wouldn’t. And I think you’re brilliant.”

The warmth in his voice makes your breath hitch, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. The air between you feels heavier now, filled with an unspoken tension that’s been building for weeks.

“You’ve been different lately,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “More confident. It’s… nice to see.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “I think it’s because of you,” you admit softly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

His brows lift, surprise flickering across his face. “Me?”

You nod, your cheeks burning. “You make me feel like I can actually do this. Like I’m not just… Liam’s little sister.”

Niall’s expression shifts, something tender and almost vulnerable crossing his features. “You’re not just Liam’s little sister. You’re… you.”

The way he says it makes your chest ache, and suddenly, you can’t look away from him. His gaze dips to your lips for the briefest moment, and when his eyes meet yours again, they’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

He steps closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I…?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice trembling with anticipation.

The world seems to stop as he leans in, his hand brushing yours as his lips meet yours. It’s soft and warm, careful in a way that feels achingly sweet. It’s your first kiss, and it’s everything you didn’t know you were waiting for.

Your heart races, your hands gripping the railing for support as he tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to make your stomach flutter. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.

“Was that okay?” he asks, his voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper.

You nod, your cheeks flushed. “It was… perfect.”

He lets out a soft laugh, his hand brushing yours again, lingering this time. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

The door behind you creaks open again, and both of you freeze.

“Y/N?” Liam’s voice cuts through the quiet, and you both pull away instantly, your heart lurching in your chest.

Liam steps onto the balcony, his eyes narrowing as he looks between the two of you. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, your voice a little too high.

“Just talking,” Niall adds, his tone calm but cautious.

Liam’s jaw tightens, and he crosses his arms, clearly not buying it. “It’s late. You should be in your room, Y/N.”

You hesitate, glancing at Niall, whose expression is carefully neutral. “Okay,” you say softly, stepping away from the railing.

As you head inside, Liam stays on the balcony, his protective gaze fixed on Niall. You can feel the tension behind you as you close the door, your fingers brushing against your lips as the memory of the kiss lingers.

As the door shuts behind you, you pause just inside your room, heart pounding as you press your ear to the wall. You know you shouldn’t eavesdrop, but you can’t help yourself. The muffled sound of Liam’s voice reaches you, low and tense.

“What the hell was that, Niall?” Liam’s tone is sharp, leaving no room for interpretation.

There’s a beat of silence before Niall responds, his voice quieter but steady. “I kissed her.”

The air seems to still, and your stomach twists at the raw honesty in his admission.

“You what?” Liam’s voice rises, and you flinch. “You kissed my sister? Are you out of your mind, mate?”

“I know how it looks, Liam,” Niall says, his tone calm but firm. “But it wasn’t… it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t just some stupid thing.”

Liam lets out a humorless laugh. “Oh, really? Then what was it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re crossing a line that shouldn’t even exist.”

“I care about her,” Niall says, the words quiet but unwavering.

The room feels too small, too hot, as you strain to hear every word.

“She’s seventeen, Niall,” Liam snaps, his voice full of barely controlled anger. “She’s my little sister. She doesn’t need some… some guy messing with her head, especially not someone in the band.”

“I’m not messing with her head,” Niall says, his voice tightening. “I’d never do that to her. Or to you.”

“Then what are you doing?” Liam demands.

There’s a pause, and you can almost picture Niall standing there, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, struggling to find the right words.

“I don’t know,” he admits finally, his voice soft but honest. “I just… I like her, Liam. I can’t help it.”

Liam exhales sharply, the sound of his frustration carrying through the door. “You can’t ‘just like her,’ Niall. She’s not some girl you can flirt with on tour and forget about when it’s over. She’s my sister. My responsibility. And she’s too young for this. For you.”

Niall’s response is quieter this time, but you catch the edge of hurt in his tone. “I’d never hurt her.”

“That’s not the point,” Liam snaps. “The point is, I don’t want this. I don’t want you dating her, I don’t want you sneaking around with her, I don’t want any of it. Do you understand me?”

Silence stretches between them, and your heart sinks as the weight of Liam’s words settles in.

Finally, Niall speaks, his voice subdued. “I understand.”

“Good,” Liam says firmly. “Because if this happens again, it’s not just you I’ll have a problem with. It’s her too. And I don’t want that. She’s too important to me.”

The sound of footsteps signals the end of their conversation, and you quickly retreat to your bed, your heart racing. Moments later, the door to Liam’s room opens and shuts with a heavy thud, leaving you alone with the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your chest.

You bury your face in your hands, unsure whether to feel guilty, heartbroken, or furious. Liam’s words echo in your mind, his protectiveness clear—but so is the way Niall stood his ground.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It wasn’t just some fleeting moment. And that’s what scares you most of all.

...

The days after that night feel different.

Niall, who had always been a constant presence—whether it was with his playful jokes, quiet encouragement, or shared moments in the corner of a busy room—seems to pull away. It starts subtly: he avoids meeting your eyes during group conversations, sits farther from you on the bus, and finds reasons to busy himself when you’re nearby.

At first, you try to ignore it. Maybe you’re imagining things, reading too much into his behavior. But as the days stretch into weeks, the distance grows undeniable. He’s still kind, still polite, but the warmth that once filled every interaction is gone.

It hurts.

The worst part is that you understand why. You know Liam must’ve said something to him that night. Your brother’s protectiveness runs deep, and you don’t doubt he made it clear that anything more than friendship between you and Niall is off-limits.

But understanding doesn’t make it easier.

You tell yourself to let it go, to focus on your job and the tour and the amazing opportunity in front of you. Yet every time you see Niall, every time his laugh carries across the room or his voice fills the stage, the ache in your chest grows.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

One evening, after another sold-out show, you catch him alone in the hallway outside the dressing rooms. He’s leaning against the wall, strumming absently on his guitar, his expression distant.

“Niall,” you say softly, your voice trembling.

He looks up, startled, and you see something flicker in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret—before he schools his features into a careful smile. “Hey, Y/N. What’s up?”

You hesitate, your hands curling into fists at your sides as you summon the courage to speak. “Can we talk? I mean, really talk.”

He shifts uncomfortably, glancing down the hall like he’s looking for an escape. “Uh… sure.”

The casualness in his tone makes your chest tighten, but you press on, stepping closer. “Did I… do something wrong?”

His brows knit together. “What? No, of course not.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” The words come out sharper than you intended, but you can’t help it. “You’ve been distant, and I don’t understand why. Did I mess something up?”

Niall sighs, setting his guitar aside and running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t mess anything up, Y/N. It’s just…” He trails off, his jaw tightening.

“Just what?” you press, your voice quieter now.

“It’s better this way,” he says finally, his eyes meeting yours. “I don’t want to make things harder for you. Or for Liam.”

His mention of Liam stings, but it doesn’t surprise you. “This is because of him, isn’t it?”

“Y/N…”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice trembling. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like I can’t handle the truth. If this is about Liam, just say it.”

He exhales heavily, his shoulders sagging. “It’s not just Liam. It’s… everything. You’re amazing, you really are. But this… us… it’s not a good idea.”

The words hit you like a punch to the stomach. “So that’s it? You’re just… giving up? Pushing me away because it’s easier?”

“It’s not about giving up,” he says, his voice firm but laced with something you can’t quite name. “It’s about doing what’s right.”

“For who?” you ask, your voice cracking.

“For you,” he says softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

You shake your head, tears pricking at your eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Niall. Please. Just tell me how you really feel.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, he looks up, and the guarded expression on his face is like a knife to your heart. “I only see you as a friend, Y/N. That’s all it’s ever been.”

The words crush you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You stare at him, searching for any sign that he’s lying, that he doesn’t mean it. But his face is unreadable, and the wall between you feels insurmountable.

“Oh,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

“Y/N—”

“No, it’s fine,” you say quickly, stepping back. “I get it. Thanks for being honest.”

You turn before he can say anything else, the tears spilling over as you walk away.

It’s not until you’re alone in your room, curled up on the bed with your face buried in your hands, that the full weight of his words crashes down on you.

Your first kiss. Your first heartbreak. And all of it with the same person.

Deep down, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to what Niall said—that he’s not telling you the whole truth. But that doesn’t make the pain any less real.

And as much as you want to believe that this isn’t the end, that maybe one day things will be different, you can’t ignore the hollow ache in your chest.

For now, it feels like goodbye.

You’re still curled up on your bed, the muffled sounds of the bustling hotel outside your window doing nothing to distract you from the ache in your chest. You’ve stopped crying, but the tears have left tracks on your cheeks, your eyes sore and your head heavy.

A soft knock at the door breaks through the silence, but you don’t move. You know who it is.

“Y/N?” Liam’s voice is hesitant, almost cautious.

“Go away,” you mutter, your voice hoarse.

He doesn’t listen. The door creaks open, and a moment later, the bed dips under his weight as he sits down beside you.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, reaching out to brush your hair back from your face.

You turn away, your throat tightening. “What do you think?”

Liam sighs, his hand falling to his lap. “I heard you and Niall. Well… I heard enough.”

“Good for you,” you snap, sitting up abruptly. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

His brows furrow, confusion flickering across his face. “What are you talking about?”

“You,” you say, your voice rising. “You told him not to get close to me. You made it impossible for him to… to even try.”

Liam stiffens, his mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find a response.

“I’m not stupid, Liam,” you continue, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I know you said something to him that night. You couldn’t stand the idea of him liking me, could you? So you made sure it wouldn’t happen.”

“Y/N, it’s not like that,” Liam says, his voice tight.

“Then what is it like?” you demand, the tears threatening to spill over again. “Why do you always have to control everything? I’m not a little kid anymore, Liam. I’m not some fragile thing you need to protect.”

“You’re my sister,” he snaps, his frustration breaking through. “It’s my job to protect you. Especially from something that could hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “You don’t even trust me to make my own choices. Do you even care how I feel? How much it hurts that you pushed him away?”

“Of course I care,” Liam says, his voice softening. “That’s why I did it. Niall’s my mate, and I know him. He’s a great guy, but this… it would’ve been complicated. And you don’t deserve complicated. You deserve better.”

“I deserve the chance to decide that for myself,” you say quietly, your voice trembling.

Liam looks at you, his expression torn, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The tension in the room is heavy, your words lingering in the air like a storm cloud.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, his shoulders slumping. “I just… I don’t know how to turn it off, Y/N. I’ve always been the one looking out for you, and sometimes I forget you don’t need me to do that anymore.”

Your anger softens at the sincerity in his voice, and the fight drains out of you. “I do need you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just wish you’d trust me more. Trust that I know what I’m doing.”

Liam nods slowly, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I’ll try. I promise.”

The quiet stretches between you, the weight of the argument lingering but no longer sharp. You shift closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry too,” you murmur.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into a hug. “You don’t have to be.”

For a while, you sit there in silence, the steady rhythm of Liam’s breathing grounding you. The ache in your chest hasn’t gone away, but it feels a little easier to bear with him beside you.

“You’re gonna be okay, you know,” Liam says softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“I don’t feel okay,” you admit, your voice small.

“You will,” he says firmly. “And no matter what happens, I’m always here. You’ve got me, yeah?”

You nod against his shoulder, the lump in your throat easing slightly.

Liam stays with you that night, sitting beside you until you eventually fall asleep, his presence a quiet reminder that even when everything feels like it’s falling apart, you’re not alone.

...

You’ve been working with the boys for nearly two years now, and life on tour has become second nature to you. What started as Liam bringing you along to “help out” has blossomed into an actual job. You’re officially assistant tour manager alongside Paul, though you still help out with other tasks whenever needed. You’re no longer just Liam’s little sister tagging along—you’re part of the team, a vital piece of the well-oiled machine that keeps everything running.

The boys are on their second tour now, and at 19, you’ve come into your own. It’s exhilarating being part of the chaos, and you love the work: the organization, the problem-solving, the adrenaline of a live show. It’s the perfect way to be part of the music industry without the overwhelming spotlight.

Your relationship with the boys has only grown stronger. They’re like your family now—a group of brothers who alternately tease you mercilessly and protect you fiercely. Even Niall.

Especially Niall.

Your feelings for him never left, though you’ve done everything you can to bury them. You’re friends now, like you are with the others, and you’ve convinced yourself it’s enough. But there’s still a pang in your chest when you see him smile, still a flutter in your stomach when his arm brushes yours.

You’ve tried to move on. You’ve dated a little, had a few hookups here and there, but none of them have meant anything. They’re distractions, attempts to prove to yourself that you can let go of Niall. But deep down, you know the truth—you’re still in love with him.

And Liam? Liam notices everything.

He’s still protective, though he’s eased up a little since the early days. He trusts you to take care of yourself, but that doesn’t stop him from keeping a watchful eye on anyone who shows too much interest. You know he means well, but sometimes it feels like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

Now, with 5 Seconds of Summer joining the tour as the opening act, his watchfulness has only increased.

Tonight, the afterparty is in full swing. The boys just finished another sold-out show, and the room hums with energy. You’re mingling with the crew and the 5SOS boys, enjoying the electric atmosphere, when Ashton sidles up beside you.

“You looked like you could use a drink,” he says, holding out a glass.

You take it with a smile. “Thanks, Ashton.”

He grins, his dimples on full display, and leans casually against the bar. The conversation flows easily, his charm disarming, and before long, you’re laughing at his jokes and leaning into the distraction he provides.

Out of habit, you glance around the room and catch Liam’s eye. He’s sitting with Harry and Louis, but his gaze is sharp, fixed on you and Ashton. You feel a pang of guilt but push it aside.

It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong.

Your gaze shifts again, landing on Niall across the room. He’s chatting with a few crew members, a drink in hand, but his eyes flicker to you and Ashton. For a moment, your breath catches. There’s something in his expression—something unreadable but heavy.

But then he looks away, and the moment is gone.

Ashton steps closer, his hand brushing yours. “You know, you’re kind of amazing,” he says, his tone light but sincere. “Everyone talks about how much you do for the band. It’s impressive.”

Your cheeks warm, and you glance down at your drink. “Thanks. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” he insists, his voice softening. “You’re the kind of person who makes everything run smoothly, and no one even notices. That’s a big deal.”

The compliment catches you off guard. You’ve heard similar things before, but coming from Ashton, it feels different. It feels like he means it.

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the air.

“Hey, Y/N,” Niall says, his tone too casual to be natural. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Ashton frowns, his hand lingering on your arm. “We were just—”

“She’ll be right back,” Niall interrupts, his voice firm but not unkind.

Your heart stutters as you meet Niall’s gaze. There’s something intense in his eyes, and for a moment, you forget to breathe.

Reluctantly, you follow him out into the hallway, leaving Ashton behind.

“What’s your problem?” you demand, crossing your arms as you lean against the wall.

“My problem?” Niall repeats, his voice tight. “What are you doing with him?”

“What does it matter to you?” you snap, your frustration bubbling over. “You don’t care who I’m with.”

Niall flinches, but he doesn’t back down. “I care because I know you don’t like him.”

“And how would you know that?” you challenge, your voice shaking.

“Because I know you,” he says, his voice soft but sure.

The words cut through you, leaving you raw and exposed. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is heavy, filled with everything you’re too afraid to say.

“Why do you even care?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve made it clear you don’t feel that way about me.”

Niall looks away, his jaw tightening. He doesn’t answer, and that’s answer enough.

“Exactly,” you say bitterly, stepping past him. “Stay out of it, Niall.”

You walk away before he can stop you, your heart shattering all over again.

When you glance back into the room, you catch Liam watching you, his expression unreadable. You know he’ll have questions later, but for now, you don’t have the energy to care.

All you want is to be anywhere but here.

...

The tour has been a whirlwind of cities, venues, and endless hours on the road. Over the months, you’ve fallen into an easy rhythm with the chaos, finding joy in the work and the moments of camaraderie.

The boys—Harry, Louis, Zayn, and Niall—have all become like family to you, with the exception of Niall, who occupies a more complicated space in your heart. The others treat you like their little sister, protective and sometimes overbearing, but always with good intentions. Niall… well, Niall is different.

And then there’s Ashton.

What started as a casual flirtation has turned into something… undefined. Harmless fun, the two of you had agreed, a way to blow off steam without complications. A few dates here and there, a few hookups in the quiet anonymity of hotel rooms—it’s nothing serious, just a distraction.

A distraction from Niall.

It works, most of the time. Ashton’s easygoing nature and charm make it hard to dwell on the ache in your chest, the lingering feelings you can’t quite shake. And yet, you’ve caught Niall’s eyes on you more than once when you’re with Ashton.

The way his jaw tightens when Ashton slings an arm around your shoulders. The way his laughter falters when Ashton leans in to whisper something in your ear. You see it, but you don’t know what it means—or maybe you don’t want to let yourself believe it means anything at all.

Now, with the tour winding down, the tension has reached its breaking point.

You’re backstage after another sold-out show, sorting through a pile of schedules when Harry appears in front of you, his arms crossed.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, his tone unusually serious. “We need to talk.”

Your stomach sinks. “What’s going on?”

“Just come with me,” he says, gesturing for you to follow.

Confused, you trail behind him, rounding a corner to find Liam, Louis, Zayn, and Niall waiting in one of the empty dressing rooms. Their expressions range from serious to downright grim, and your heart starts to race.

“What’s this about?” you ask, your voice wary.

“It’s about you and Ashton,” Liam says, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

You freeze, your stomach twisting into knots. “What about it?”

“You really think we’re going to ignore what’s been going on?” Louis asks, leaning against the wall with a sharp look.

“There’s nothing to ignore,” you say defensively, crossing your arms. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Liam snaps, his voice rising. “You’ve been hooking up with him, Y/N.”

“So what if I have?” you fire back, your frustration bubbling over. “I’m an adult. I can do what I want.”

“Can you?” Liam shoots back. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem like you’re thinking this through.”

“Why is it any of your business?” you demand. “Ashton and I have an understanding. It’s harmless.”

“It’s not harmless,” Niall cuts in, his voice tight. “He’s not good enough for you.”

You whirl on him, your eyes blazing. “Oh, and who is? Because it sure as hell isn’t you, right?”

The room goes dead silent, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air.

“Y/N,” Liam starts, but you cut him off, turning back to him.

“No, Liam, seriously,” you say, your voice shaking with anger and hurt. “I couldn’t date Niall because you told him not to. And now I can’t even have a casual thing with Ashton? Who am I allowed to be with, Liam? Or am I just supposed to stay single forever so you can keep playing the overprotective big brother?”

“That’s not what this is about,” Liam says, his tone softer now, but you’re too far gone to listen.

“I’m 19,” you say, your voice rising. “I can fuck whoever I want, Liam. You don’t get to control me.”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Liam snaps, his own temper flaring. “I’m trying to look out for you.”

“I don’t need you to look out for me,” you shoot back. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

Niall steps forward, his expression unreadable. “We’re just trying to protect you, Y/N.”

“Protect me from what?” you demand, turning to him. “From living my life? From making my own decisions? I don’t need your protection, Niall. Not yours, not Liam’s, not anyone’s.”

The room is thick with tension, and for a moment, no one speaks. Finally, Liam sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair.

“Fine,” he says, his voice tight with frustration. “Do whatever you want. But don’t come crying to me when it blows up in your face.”

His words cut deep, but you refuse to let them show. Without another word, you push past them and storm out of the room, your heart pounding and your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

You don’t stop until you’re in the privacy of your own room, the door shut firmly behind you. Only then do you let yourself crumble, sinking onto the bed as the weight of their words crashes over you.

You thought you’d built up walls strong enough to protect yourself, but tonight, they’ve come crashing down. And as much as you want to blame Liam, or Niall, or anyone else, the truth is painfully clear.

You’re not just running from them. You’re running from yourself.

…

Later that night, you’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, folding the last of your clothes into your suitcase. The hotel room is quiet, the muffled hum of the hallway barely audible. There’s a soft knock at the door, and you glance up.

“Come in,” you call, setting aside a stack of T-shirts.

The door creaks open, and Liam steps inside, his expression hesitant. He hovers near the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking a little unsure of himself.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply, turning back to your packing.

“Can I sit?” he asks, gesturing to the edge of the bed.

You nod, and he makes his way over, lowering himself onto the mattress beside you. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just watches as you fold and organize your things. Finally, he clears his throat.

“I, uh… I wanted to check in on you,” he starts. “I know things got a little heated earlier.”

You sigh, sitting back on your heels. “Yeah, they did.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam says, his voice soft but steady. “Especially for that comment I made—‘Do whatever you want, but don’t come crying to me.’ That was out of line, and I didn’t mean it. I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. No matter what.”

His words catch you off guard, and you glance over at him, your chest tightening. “Liam…”

He shakes his head, cutting you off. “I just get scared sometimes, you know? I see the way people look at you, the way they talk to you, and I don’t want anyone taking advantage of you. You’re my little sister, and I just want to protect you.”

“I know,” you say quietly, looking down at your hands. “And I’m sorry too. For the way I acted. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that. I know you’re just trying to look out for me.”

Liam leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to control your life, Y/N. I know you’re an adult now, and I trust you to make your own decisions. I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You offer him a small smile. “I get that. And for what it’s worth, I ended things with Ashton tonight. Not because of what you or anyone else said, but because it just… made sense. The tour’s ending, and he’s going back to Australia. We both agreed it was the right thing to do.”

Liam nods, relief softening his features. “Good. I liked Ashton, but I’m glad you’re doing what feels right for you.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Liam reaches out, pulling you into a hug. His arms wrap tightly around you, and you sink into the familiar comfort of his embrace.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” he murmurs. “You’ve grown up so much, and you’re doing amazing things. I know I don’t say it enough, but I mean it.”

“Thanks, Liam,” you whisper, your throat tightening. “That means a lot.”

He pulls back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders. “And for the record, I’m really looking forward to going home. It’ll be nice to see Mum and Dad, and to just hang out with you. No tour, no distractions.”

You smile, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Same here. It’ll be nice to have some time to just… breathe.”

Liam grins, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were younger. “Exactly. Now finish packing—we’ve got an early flight tomorrow, and I’m not carrying your suitcase.”

You laugh, swatting his hand away, and for the first time in what feels like ages, things feel okay between you.

But as Liam leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him, your thoughts drift back to Niall. No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, a part of you knows you’re still hoping for something more.

…

Part 2

Author’s note: I PROMISE there are more Niall moments coming - it is an angsty slow burn after all

[evangeleilee]

SOUR NOTE, oikawa tooru x fem! reader

THE BAND LINE UP: genesis

after calling it quits with his situationship, a lead singer of a band at the university, oikawa tooru can’t shake the feeling that things aren’t as over as they seem. his way of winning her back? start his own band and compete with hers to get her attention, even if it ends on a sour note.

in collaboration with ephemeral by @solarvrse.

Give it up for Genesis!

Meet the lead singer and rhythm guitarist, Y/n L/n—the face and voice of the band!

A true natural on stage that her presence alone is enough to make the crowd go wild! A third-year marketing student with a way with words, whether it's writing a new song or coming up with the perfect marketing pitch, she also handles the band’s coordination with venues and promoters outside the university. Some might swear they could faint from how hot she is but beware, her temper burns even hotter.

She’s always on fire—before you know it, you’re just a moth drawn to her flames!

Meet the lead guitarist, Eita Semi—the showstopper!

The moment his riff solo hits, the crowd is electrified, hanging on every note! A third-year music student with a competitive edge, he contributes immensely to the band’s original sound and musical identity. Known for his talent and stage presence, Semi doesn’t just play the guitar—he owns it. He’s the glue that keeps the band grounded, always ready with a sharp quip or a guiding hand to elevate their music to the next level.

You know the show isn’t over until Semi has stolen the spotlight!

Meet the drummer, Satori Tendou—the erratic heartbeat!

The crowd isn’t alive until his sticks are hitting the drums! A third-year culinary student, he’s probably banging pots in the kitchen if he’s not behind his kit. He never misses the chance to drop a drumroll or a perfect badum tss at the worst possible moment. True to his eccentric nature, Tendou names his drumsticks and talks to them like they’re his bandmates but will probably break them the following week.

Once Tendou starts banging on the drums, the crowd can’t help but bang their heads!

Meet the bassist, Wakatoshi Ushijima—the steady ground!

The crowd knows too well that he prefers to let his bass do the talking! A third-year sports science student who initially had no interest in music or thought of being in a band, Ushijima now takes his role as the bassist very seriously, bringing unwavering commitment to the band. He is known as the stoic bassist with dad energy, which is agreed upon by both the band and the fans. If he isn't in the practice room, he's probably at the gym.

Reliable and steady, Ushijima’s presence is as solid as his basslines!

Meet the backing vocals and keyboardist, Kenjirou Shirabu—the harmony!

The perfect blend of smooth and sharp, his harmonies and vocals complete the soul of the band! A second-year nursing student with a keen sense of precision, whether it is pressing the right key or remembering details of human anatomy. Usually found in the corner of the practice room, pretending he’s not judging everyone’s music taste. Despite being the last to join, he’s proven that he’s an integral part of the band’s sound.

Watch out—his underrated keyboard skills and vocals can steal the show when you least expect it!

masterlist | next

the backstage !

just a head's up that there will be references of the battle of britpop, making genesis the oasis in this fic

though genesis isn't the exact same as oasis, just a reference like how blur will be to oikawa's band, lure

taglist: @lvtilzs @sahrii @haechuun @sickpatientt @s777athv @stellar-haikyuu @kameyyy @chemicalsnoopy @cherrysurf @moochiwoochi @phoenix-eclipses @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sun4san0 @daemoncer @nobodynnoorr @x3nafix @lblackwood @kissunday @mayyhaps (19/50)

[spockandawe]

Here's a big project I've been sitting on! All That You Love Will Be Carried Away, by our very own @ceruleancynic! And a box, naturally, building boxes for books continues to bring me immense joy.

What we have here is not just the main fic, or the main series, but also All That You Love (The High Hope Remix) alt pov short fic by byzantienne, and, a detail that I was really excited to include: the initial comment exchange between these two fantastic authors of m the first fic in the series. Did I title that second little book 'all that you meet cute will be carried away' as a silly placeholder? Did I then get super attached and refuse to change it? Uh-

Hell yeah, I refuse to be dignified about any of my favorite hobbies!

But the real secret delight here was that I've been looking for the right opportunity to get weird with boxes. Peller boxes, hinged slipcases, yes, fine, but those are like the box version of my sixfold book adventure. I'm still shooting for some parallel to my fourteenfold book, I'm looking for a way to go completely off the rails. I have some ideas, but it's hard, finding a good large chonk and a small number of equally sized texts, which made a unified and complete set, AND which excited me to work with. That might sound unnecessarily picky, but I swear, there was a good reason for it!

Oh baby. Oh baby.

This worked out so perfectly. I wanted a large book at the center of things. And I wanted two small books oriented in a different direction, placed end to end, at its edge. And I got it! I didn't want to commit too early, and it would have been heartbreaking to fail, but once the big book was together, and the preliminary typesets for the two little books were almost identical? I just HAD to try.

Tumblr is already silencing me and refusing to let me attach as many images as I want, so for this post, let's talk about the main book a little! Cute little quarto bricks are my new FAVORITE favorite thing, as I'm sure you can guess from my archives, and this one was a dream to put together.

It had to be a three-quarter leather binding, naturally. And I was sitting on some gorgeous iridescent maroon paper for endpapers (no photos in this set, it refuses to photograph well, as is the way of pretty iridescent things). I spent some time agonizing over my other material, and whether to use two different marbled patterns, but I went with it in the end. The vibes were distinct enough but the palettes overlapped enough that I really enjoyed the effect. And with the northcott art of marbling fabrics (my beloved) I was able to use lines of symmetry to get some nice fussy cuts for the big book and the little ones. All of the books have leather endbands, matching the spine. And the big book has the big thick faux raised bands I tried out with my last svsss! I don't have enough pictures to show off all the book interiors, but I used this cover plate for the series and main fics within it.

And then, like I showed you above, I put it all together. Marbled paper and silk moire for covering the box, a lot of very tense wrangling of glued-up paper in very small spaces, and, at one point, carefully lowering glue-covered pieces of moire bookcloth down these little pits (walls already covered) using that tab in the front like the world's awkwardest elevator shaft. But the EFFECT!

I'm very, very pleased with myself, and delighted to have delivered this book to its new home. I've been absolutely VIBRATING with a desire to share, so! I can't be contained by tumblr's image limit. Hold on for two seconds (approx.) and I'm going to reblog this post with some wip pictures and more detail about how I worked this thing out and assembled this box and modified my initial design on the fly

[adolfusraptor1985]

Platinum fox mask!

Cardboard mask tutorial below the cut!

Base

Measure out roughly where your eyes and the edge of your face are on a piece of cardboard. Cut out a goggle-shaped mask and fold the cheeks and between the eyes to give it shape.

Ears

Cut out ears that fit the curve of the sides of the mask base. Cardboard is flexible, so use that to your advantage by folding the edges of the ears to give them a more realistic, 3D appearance.

Snout

Take a long piece of cardboard that goes about 0.5-1 inch past the eyes. Line it up so both sides are even and mark to each side of the nose gap. Fold down so that the sides go to the bottom on the mask. Cut however short you'd like.

Nose

Measue the gap at the too of the snout onto another piece of cardboard. Cut out and glue on.

(Optional) Lining

I chose to line the inside of this mask to make it more comfortable. Start with one layer that is thick and soft for support. Add a second layer (if you'd like) that is silky and won't absorb sweat.

Furring

Draw out a pattern of the fur and mark where you want that color. Use the unused parts of the pattern to trace out your other colors. Trim down excess fabric and cut fur to desired length.

Snout details

Cover the snout (this can be down with a single piece of fabric) and trim/shave fur very short. Use paint, sharpie, etc. to add details.

Finishing

If you want to, fur the ears. If you're lazy like me, just paint them and glue a small strip of fur into the inside folds. Measure around your head with an elastic band and glue to the back.

Now display your finished work!

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part thirteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you and joel make your reunion official, and deal with the fallout.

a/n: brO I will fully admit I struggled a bit with this one - it’s mostly unedited but I’m still happy with where we’ve ended up. ANGST CITY BABY AS PER USUAL. and my askbox is always open if you’d like to scream about it 😇

word count: 5.3k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, explicit sex, unprotected p-in-v (with a slightly throwaway solution), light choking, very emotional sex (heavily inspired by a scene from outlander 👀), Joel’s head has been fully removed from his ass and Liv is making the most of it.

✨I do not have a taglist - follow @friskito-library for updates on future chapters/works!✨

You feel like you’re moving in slow-motion. Every moment feels drawn out, the emotion tripled, the touch more sensitive, the sound more clear. You’re committing every second to memory, refusing to let yourself think this is a dream.

“I can’t stay away from you.”

“So don’t.”

Don’t stay away from me, you want to say it a million times over. Don’t ever leave me, don’t let this world swallow me whole without you by my side. You know for a fact you don’t say the words out loud, but he seems to know them anyway. “Never leaving you, baby. Never in a million years.” The words are whispered into your skin, mapped out along the curve of your jaw.

You’re both slow, getting up off the floor. The peals of laughter taste like sugar on his lips, and your mouth chases his, hands reaching, searching, pulling at fabric and pushing at limbs. He hauls you up against him, lifting one thigh until it’s bent over his hip, presses his weight into you. Your neck arches and his lips glue to your pulse, sucking a bruise, tongue soothing the ache it leaves.

Take me to bed.

He does. With one more hungry kiss, he pulls away, planting his hands and pushing himself up, sliding his lips along your collar before he’s gone, shuffling backwards, getting to his feet. He holds both hands out to you, and you take them, groaning as he pulls you up, tugs on your arms, sends you sprawling into his chest.

Joel bands his arm around your shoulders, the other around your waist, seeks out your mouth again. 

Never stop kissing me. Never stop holding me. 

The riot of butterflies zipping through you feels foreign, almost unfamiliar, but when he pushes his tongue past your teeth, memories rise to the surface, bright spots amongst the dark. Kissing in the paint aisle with coffee on your breath, in the bed of his truck beneath the stars, in the corner of the movie theatre in Austin, in the dead of night when you slept in his bed and sought him out with sleep in the corners of your eyes.

It all feels like a lifetime ago. It is, in a way.

The hand at your waist moves beneath your sweater, the flat of his palm against the small of your back. The mere touch of his skin to yours makes your blood shiver with anticipation and you curl your fingers in the front of his flannel, dark red striped with black. He adjusts his grip on you, slides both hands up your back, presses them to your shoulder blades, the soft pressure making your arms lift, wrapping around his neck, lips still glued to his.

His hands slide back down, rounding the curve of your hips, squeezing at the meat of your ass. He walks you backwards, out of the kitchen, towards the bed, and you waste no time taking over, turning until you’re the one pushing him, your legs crooked between his, boots shuffling together across the wood floor. When the edge of the mattress hits the back of his knees, Joel flinches, your mouths breaking apart.

“Liv, are you—”

“Joel Miller, if you ask me if I’m sure, I swear to god I will smack you with my baseball bat.”

He has the audacity to grin, a sly thing that makes your heart flutter in your chest. “You stashed the bat.”

You scoff, almost exasperated. “Shut the fuck up.” You almost roll your eyes, but he grabs you again, both hands on your face, fingers curling around your ears, sliding into your hair. You slide your own beneath the hem of his shirt, seeking out hot skin, but you freeze when your fingertips skim something raised, a line across his hip, unfamiliar. “What…?”

You half expect him to pull away when you lift the fabric, leaning back enough to get a good look. 

“Joel—”

“Outbreak day,” he says, the words hushed, the tone in his voice making your eyes dart back up to his. His hands have slid down to your neck, and you can feel the edge of his thumb rubbing along the hinge of your jaw, the movement soothing. You let your fingers follow the shape of the scar again. “Bullet just skimmed me.” He inhales sharply, leans forward until his forehead is pressed to yours, his eyes shutting tightly. “Same soldier that…” The words trail off, but you put two and two together, taking a deep breath.

Same soldier that shot Sarah.

You move your hands away, instead focusing your fingers on the buttons of his flannel. “I like this shirt,” you murmur, tilting your face in his grip, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Might have to steal this one.”

“You have one of my shirts already,” he replies, his thumb moving up the slope of your cheek. “Saw it in your closet.”

You lift a brow, silently exhaling, grateful for the change of subject. “You went through my stuff?”

He catches your bottom lip in a gentle kiss, his mouth along your jaw a moment later. “Didn’t go through your underwear, don’t worry.”

“I wouldn’t be mad, if you had,” you reply, letting your lips curve into a wicked grin. He makes a grumbling noise, giving you a harder peck, and you nearly moan.

“You have my shirt.”

You nod. “I had another one, too, but I got caught in the bombings, and it got shredded.”

His brow goes hard, and your hands move to his belt, tugging at the buckle, pulling it through the loops, dropping it to the floor. The movement makes his face soften slightly, and he grumbles again, eyes screwed shut. “Don’t like the idea of you, out there, all alone, fighting for your fuckin’ life.”

“Didn’t have a choice,” you tell him, working the button of his jeans neck, letting your fingers graze the skin above the band of his boxers, through the happy trail of hair that leads beneath the elastic. “I had to get to you.”

“Were you hurt?” he asks, his voice a low rasp, and you nod, the tip of your nose dragged along his. “Show me.”

You pull back slightly, reluctantly letting go of his waist, crossing your arms and yanking your sweater over your head. Joel inhales sharply, dropping his hands from your face. He grabs your wrist first, taking in the jagged scar that runs the top of your forearm. “I was holed up in a bookstore when they started bombing,” you tell him, recalling as he lets his fingers skim your skin. It makes you shiver. “Lucky a damn shelf didn’t fall on my head.”

“I remember…” he starts, lifting your arm until your hand rests on his shoulder. He turns his head, leans his cheek against your wrist. “When I called that first night, you said that Dean…that he scratched you, or…?”

You nod, turning your scarred shoulder towards him. “That’s right. You told me to patch myself up.”

His fingers graze over the scar, following the lines in your skin. Your hand moves to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, and your shoulder rolls back and he grips your hips again, thumbs rubbing slow circles. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says, his voice low, forehead leaning into yours. “I’m sorry I was an ass, I’m sorry I took so long, I’m sorry I—”

“Joel—”

“I’m never leaving you again, you hear me?” You’ve got both hands in his hair now, and the shine in his eyes makes tears crawl up your throat. “I won’t ever lo—”

“Joel.”

“I should have been here,” he says, his voice thick, and a tear slips down your cheek, hot as anything. “I should have protected you, I should have told you to stay in Austin, I never should have let you go.”

You tighten your grip on his hair, pushing yourself further into his grasp. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters, you understand?” When he doesn’t respond, you tug on his hair, forcing his eyes to yours. “You’re here now. We both are.”

The next kiss he offers destroys you. It’s like he’s devouring you, drinking the air from your lungs, tasting every inch of your mouth, pulling you back to the thrill and pleasure and love you felt in Texas so many years ago. There’s nothing slow about his movements now, hands roving your body, careful around your ribs, but mapping you out, relearning the curve of you. There are other scars on you, tiny marks collected outside the wall, too-close run-ins and that one time you fucking tripped and fell on your knife, but he doesn’t ask about those, too preoccupied with your mouth.

After a while, he sinks down, sits at the edge of the mattress. He spreads his knees wide, brings you between them, undoing your jeans with ease, pushing them down your legs. He leaves a hot trail of kisses along your waist, hooks his fingers in the elastic of your underwear, pulling them down too. Joel’s head dips lower, one hand pushing your legs apart, and you gasp when he licks at you, nose buried right between your thighs.

You gasp, tugging on his hair, and he pulls back, eyes on your face, lips shiny already. You’re quivering, having him this close again. “D’you have any idea how much I’ve missed the taste of you, baby?”

The words alone are enough to make your knees go weak, and you open your mouth to say something, but only a moan comes out, his head lowered to you once more, both hands an iron grip on your hips. It’s ecstasy, the feeling of his mouth, the press of his fingers, the softness of his hair. It makes your toes curl, makes stars shoot across the backs of your eyelids.

“Joel.”

He moans into you, and you pull hard on his hair, gasping for air when he detaches from the nerves between your legs. You feel staticky, your fingers and toes tingling as you tilt his head back, bend down to kiss him hard, tasting yourself on his tongue. You go to lift your leg, to plant your knee on the bed beside him, but Joel stops you, getting to his feet.

“What—”

His fingers fly down the front of his shirt, unbuttoning as he goes. Your chest is heaving, eyes darting all over him as more bare skin is revealed. You can see the scar just above his hip now, raised and shiny. He has other scars, just like you, tiny marks and wounds, proof of life, proof he survived. You can’t help but reach for him, running your palms up his chest as he shrugs out of his shirt. 

Joel kisses your forehead as he drapes the shirt around you, helping you slide your arms through the sleeves. Faintly, you hear the soft thud as his jeans hit the floor, and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you against him as he sinks back down onto the mattress. He curls his other hand around your leg, tugging at your knee until it’s fit against his hip. You adjust your weight, lifting the other leg to match, and settle into his lap, feeling the light scratch of the hair on his legs against your thighs, the prod of his covered cock against your core.

“D’you need me to—” he starts, but you shake your head, cutting him off, your faces so close together that your nose brushes his again.

“I just wanna feel you.”

Joel watches, eyes heavy-lidded and pupils wide, as you grab his wrist, lifting his hand to your mouth, laving your tongue along his fingers, tasting the salt on his skin. His gaze is glued to your lips, your tongue, and when you slide his index and middle into your mouth, your eyes lock to his, and his grip on your waist grows impossibly tighter.

You lean up slightly, lifting your weight off him as he pulls his hand from your face, slipping between you, freeing himself. He fits his face into the curve of your neck, sucks at the thin skin over your pulse, and you let your eyes slip shut. Your fingers curl in the cuffs of his shirt, the fabric worn soft between your knuckles. You’re surrounded by the scent of him, almost overwhelmed by the feeling of him. 

His hand drags slowly against you, making your back arch when you sink back down, feeling the hot press of him inside you, scrabbling at his shoulders as his mouth moves up your throat, seeks out your lips once more. You’re gasping as you seat yourself fully, his cock filling you to the hilt, and Joel kisses the noises right out of you, moving both hands to your hips, guiding you along him.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, teeth nipping at your lips, moving along your jaw. You’re a mess, the feeling of him, of being full of him, after so long is so achingly familiar that all you can do is hold onto him, pushing both hands through his hair, keeping him as close as you can. It’s a stretch, there’s no denying that, just riding the line between pleasure and pain, but you don’t care, letting your knees slide wider on the bed, letting yourself sink deeper into his embrace, letting him push agains tall those devastating places buried inside you.

It makes you feel alive.

“Missed you,” he breathes into your skin, hips jolting up into yours with every drag of his cock. “Every fuckin’ day, every fuckin’ minute. Never stopped thinkin’ about you, baby.”

“Joel—” you croak out, that coil in your belly snapping tight when you feel his teeth scrape beneath your jaw, one hand dipping back to grab a handful of your ass. But every movement is slow still, a drawn-out instant that blurs the line between past and present.

It sparks something in you, something that’s been waiting to be unleashed for God only knows how long. A near toxic mix of anger and longing and pain and love, emotion spilling out of you unbidden. You shove at his shoulders, catching him off guard as he falls back. He reaches for you, and you bat his hands away, planing both of yours and chest and grinding down on him.

“You were an ass to me, Joel Miller,” you grit, pleasure setting your nerves alight. You can feel your orgasm barrelling towards you, but you hold back, bearing down on him, revelling in the sound he makes when you clench tight.

“I know,” he starts to say, his voice gravelly. “I’m sorry, baby, I—”

You move one hand from is chest to his jaw, your fingers spread along the side of his neck. You lean forward just enough that his eyes meet yours, and everything in you buzzes at the lust-filled look in his eye, his parted lips, his heavy breaths. Something possessive and feral makes your heart racket.

“You ever treat me the way you have these last few weeks again, and I swear to God—” the words are punctuated by deep rolls of your hips, long drags that make his chest stutter, “—I will make you regret the day you met me, you understand?”

“Liv, ba—” he starts, and you squeeze your fingers either side of his throat. 

“Do you understand?” you repeat, and lift yourself off him, until just the tip of him is notched inside you.

“Yes,” he breathes, and you slam back down, mouth seeking his, drinking down the groans the spill out of him. Everything in you is tingling, white sparks behind your eyes, your blood singing in your veins. He grabs hold of your wrists and leans up, chest pressed to yours, a grunt on his lips and a gleam in his eye.

The world tilts, and your back hits the mattress, Joel still pressed deep within you. He moves up the bed with you, covers your body with his own. He cages his arms around your head, pushes the hair back from your face. You drag your nails up his back, dig them into his shoulder blades slightly. You want to mark him, you want to shout his name until your lungs give out, you want to—

“God, I fuckin’ love you,” he murmurs to you, his mouth an inch from your ear, hot breath fanning your cheek. He presses a soft kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “My brave girl.” He rolls his hips, and your back arches off the mattress. “Feel so fuckin’ good.”

You croak his name, tossing your head back as the familiar feeling creeps up your spine, the world being yanked out from under you, everything going impossibly tight and good and—

He grits out your name as you cum, your nails dug so hard into his back you’re sure you’ll draw blood, but Joel doesn’t seem to care, continuing the slow drag of his cock against your every nerve, his face fit into the curve of your neck, peppered kisses at your pulse. It’s just as intense as you remember, with him, that feeling of weightlessness seeping into you, everything relaxing as he keeps moving, seeking out his own pleasure, and you can’t help but clench, spurring him on.

At the last second, he pulls out, making you both groan, cumming hot across your bare stomach, just missing the fabric of his shirt. He slumps sideways, falling onto the mattress beside you, keeping his arm across your body, fingers wrapped around your bicep.

“M’sorry,” he grumbles, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Wasn’t sure where to…”

You just laugh, moving his shirt out of the way. “It’s fine, Joel,” you murmur, reaching out and stroking your knuckles along his cheek. “We’re good, just for future reference.”

His brow raises slowly. “Hmm?”

“McCoy has a few…habits,” you tell him, sighing when his hand moves up to your face, cups your jaw. “I smuggle his shit in from the outside, and he gets me the pill from the pharmacy in exchange.”

“Why would you—” he starts to ask, but cuts himself off, eyes slipping shut. “Right. Cowan. Of all the guys you could have…”

You slide your head closer to his, until you can kiss him softly. “It doesn’t matter now. None of it.”

Joel grunts, pulling you even closer still, a hotter kiss pressed to your mouth, tongue tasting yours. “You were the only thing that ever did.”

“You’re a romantic, Joel Miller,” you grin, rubbing your nose against his.

He grins back. “Only for women who put their hands around my throat and threaten me like you did.”

You chew your lips, heat sparking between your legs again already, turned to flame when he releases your jaw and lets his hand rest on your thigh instead, fingers curling along your sensitive skin. “Oh, you enjoyed that, did you?”

“Fuckin’ right, I did,” he grumbles, and then his mouth finds yours once more.

+

You’re up just before the sun is.

You don’t bother with the clock, turning back over, burrowing deeper into Joel’s side, the blankets covering you both. He’s sprawled on his back, one arm beneath your head, the other resting on his stomach. It makes you smile; some things never change, and you’re grateful as hell for that.

The pair of you never left the bed last night. After you cleaned yourself up from the first round, it had very quickly devolved into a second and third. Joel couldn’t keep his hands off you, and you couldn’t keep yours off of him, touching and exploring each other until the last dregs of sunlight disappeared. He made you feel things you’d thought were long forgotten, mere memories of what you’d shared in Austin, renewed completely, leaving you reeling.

You lit candles along the windowsill, played music low on the radio — a copy of the same Led Zeppelin cassette you’d once played in Joel’s truck — and polished off the bottle of whiskey. And you talked. 

For hours.

You talked until your voice grew hoarse, and Joel’s just got more and more gravelly with every story he told. There were things he still wouldn’t tell you, things he said he was ashamed of, but you understood. There were some stories that required more than just whiskey, ones you weren’t ready to share. You weren’t the same people anymore, but a combination of new and old, survivors, people who had done what they had to to make it out alive. Make it back to each other.

Joel refused to let you out of his grip, and you were more than happy to oblige, content to stay perched in his lap as you spoke. His hands wandered, along your ribs, over your stomach, brushing the hair back from your face. You returned his touch in kind, palms riding the curves of his chest, the width of his shoulders. Your attention veered off more than once, distracted by his fingers sliding between your legs, lips finding yours, rasped words in your ear.

God, I missed you. Love you. Need you.

And now, waking up, your body not so shockingly aches for more. You cuddle closer, humming happily when his arm curls around your shoulders, head turning and his lips moving across your forehead.  You sling your arm across his stomach, rubbing your thumb across his hipbone. His legs flex beneath the sheets, tangling with your own, dragging you closer.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his eyes still shut, removing his hand up and down your arm.

“Hi,” you whisper back, lifting your jaw to kiss at his scruffy one. “It’s early, go back to sleep.”

Joel groans, burying his face in your pillow, his head ducked beneath yours lips near your ear. “W’bout you?” He squeezes your shoulder. “Stay.”

You have time to make up for, questions that still need answering, decisions to make. You want to assume that he’ll stay with you here, in your apartment, that the bed that has only been your own thus far would now belong to you both. Waking up like this, beside him — a luxury you’d never allowed yourself to grow used to back in Texas — nearly makes up for it all.

But with the threads of sunlight just starting to spark the sky, Joel beside you, the phantom feeling of him all over you, the heaviness of all the whiskey looming in the back of your throat, the guilt comes too, the unfairness of your situation, to one specific person.

Nick.

Joel had asked only once. Only one question, only one thing he was curious to know. And the answer had come so quickly, fallen out of you so fast that the guilt had started there, only to be pushed away by Joel, not by his words or his reassurances, but just his presence.

Did you love him? Do…do you love him?

No.

The answer was easy. And, you hadn’t lied to Nick. You’d never said the words, no matter how many times he’d had that gleam in his eye, when you disappeared out the fire escape, or ran into him out on patrols. It would have been a lie, plain and simple, and you refused to be that person. You had wanted to give him more, had felt like it was something deserved, even if it wasn’t something you were able to give. After five long years, you’d started to resign yourself, half convinced that no one was ever going to answer your radio messages, or walk through those gates, back into your life.

But then…Joel did.

You have to end it, with Nick. Officially. There’s no getting around it, and part of you wonders if he’ll see it coming, if he’s expecting it. In the weeks that followed him bringing Tess and Joel through officially, your stint in lockup, the beating from Angie, you’d made yourself scarce. The weight of Joel’s indifference was one thing, and the last thing you wanted was Nick’s sympathy. It felt false, no matter how you looked at it.

It was a good few days before you saw him on the streets again, and he’d balked at the bruise on your face, the slight stagger to your walk. You gave him the short version, that you’d definitely pissed Angie off at the pharmacy, and maybe you had the beating coming. He’d given you a once over, took your chin in his hand and inspected your face, told to come see him later that night.

“I shouldn’t,” you said, trying not to sound too dismissive, shaking your head in his grip. “I’m staying at Deanna’s, promised the kids a bedtime story.”

“Come after.”

“And get caught out after curfew?” you’d shot back, stepping out of his reach. “The last thing I need is another stint in lockup, don’t you think?”

“Liv—”

“I’ll see you around, Cowan.”

You’d turned on your heel, stalking off in the same direction you’d came, even though it wasn’t where you were going. You didn’t miss the hurt look on his face, the use of his surname rather than his first clearly not what we was expecting, but your face and ribs throbbed with every step you took, and you found you didn’t feel so bad about it.

He’d come by Deanna’s once while you were there. A few words were exchanged, you’d kept yourself busy with a game of Candyland with Emily, and Deanna and Nick talked in the kitchen, their voices hushed. He ruffled Henry’s hair and pinched Emily’s cheek before he left, and ducked down to leave a kiss at your temple. It made your cheeks flare with heat, and you’d followed him out of Deanna’s apartment, caught him in the hallway.

“I never thanked you properly. For getting Joel and Tess through.”

He stopped, dead in his tracks, for just a moment. Turned his head enough that you could just see his face, his hard expression. “Don’t mention it.”

That was the last time you saw him.

You’re reluctant, sliding out of Joel’s grip, out of bed. He makes a noise that sounds nearly like a whine when you disentangle yourself fully, and you lean over him, pressing messy kisses along his cheeks, over his lips, his jaw. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be back.”

“Where y’going?” he grumbles out, chasing your mouth. “Come back t’bed, baby.”

“There’s something I gotta go,” you tell him, kissing his cheek, brushing your fingers through his hair. “I’ll come back and make you breakfast, hmm?”

“Mmm,” is the only response you get, and he’s asleep again, buried in your pillow.

You can’t bring yourself to shed his shirt, so you do up the buttons instead, find a pair of black jeans that are still wearable, shove your feet in your boots. Pulling on your coat, you grab your keys, and pause, turning and glancing back towards the bed. Joel’s still asleep, flat on his back, lips parted, soft snores filling the apartment, and despite the guilt rioting in your stomach, you smile. He looks peaceful, for the first time since you saw him again. He looks like your bed is where he belongs.

You yank your eyes away, slipping out the door as quietly as possible and locking it behind you.

It’s just past the morning curfew, when you step out of the building. The streets are mostly empty, soldiers coming off evening patrols, the day shift switching out. You take the quick path to the barracks, sliding up the fire escape, knocking softly at the window.

Nick’s awake, pulling on his gear, and his eyes meet yours through the glass as he walks towards the window, sliding it open. “What are you doing here so early?” There’s a bit of curiosity in his tone, but otherwise, his voice is flat, unflinching.

“I need to talk to you.”

He steps out of the way, and you clamber through the window, ignoring the ache in your legs, no doubt a consequence of your evening escapades. If he sees you flinch, he says nothing.

Nick goes and perches at the edge of his bed, and you stay standing, near the window. A quick escape. “What’s going on, Liv?”

“I can’t…we, I’m not…” You sigh heavily. Might as well just fucking say it. “I slept with Joel.”

He barks a laugh, and you nearly flinch. “Am I supposed to be surprised?” He leans forward, clasps his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. “When?”

“Last night. I’m sorry, for whatever that’s worth. I don’t expect you to keep…treating me, the way you have. I don’t expect any more favours, or—”

“What would you have done,” he starts, getting to his feet, cutting you off, “if I had said no? If I had refused to bring them through?”

Your back straightens at his harsh tone. You’re not expecting forgiveness, or for this to be an easy conversation, but you already don’t like where it’s going. “I would have found another way. I would have made another deal, or let Angie beat me to death, if that’s what it took. I would have done anything.”

Nick just stares at you, for a moment, those strange eyes of him going dark, nearly black, darker than you’ve seen them in a long time. “You really love him that much.” It’s a statement, not a question. “I never stood a goddamn chance, did I? Could you ever have loved me, like that?”

You shake your head. “I can’t love anyone the way I love him.”

“I never should have fucking…” He trails off, rubs a hand over his face. “Did you ever even give a shit, really?”

“Nick, don’t—”

“Well, now’s the time for honesty, Liv! Answer the fucking question.”

“Of course I give a shit!” you throw back, taking a step forward. He stares down his nose at you. “Of course I care about you, Nick, but this is not…It’s him. I’m sorry, I truly am, but it’s always been him. It’s always gonna be him.”

“Get out.”

“Nick—”

“Get the fuck out. And do me a goddamn favour and keep your smuggling bullshit away from me. I know I can’t stop you, and there’s no point in me reporting you, you’d just rat me out.”

You balk, faltering back a step. “You really think that little of me? You honestly think I’d rat you out after this?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, I do.”

You inhale sharply. You knew it would be bad, but you didn’t think this bad. “I never meant for it to happen like this. I never thought he would show up. Don’t you get that?”

“Just…get out of here, Liv. Don’t come back.”

+

There are tears in your eyes, the whole way back. You take the long route back to your apartment, keeping to the streets, pushing your way through people. Every word Nick had said rings in your ears, your throat thick and your cheeks stinging. You chew the inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears from sliding down your face.

When you get through the door, your eyes go straight to the bed, and your heart leaps into the throat when you see it’s empty, the blankets rumpled. A single tears slips out then, and you wipe it away with the sleeve of your coat.

“Liv?” Joel’s voice calls, and your head snaps towards the kitchen, seeing him standing there at the counter, no shirt, jeans still unbuckled. “Baby?”

You throw yourself at him, headlong into his arms, and he catches you, holding you against his bare chest. The tears come freely then, a whirlwind of emotions, and Joel just holds you through it, fitting his face into the crook of your neck, rocking you slightly, one hand buried in your hair.

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