#just realized the tag doesn’t do anything

[moonstonejpg]

support

k. bakugo x reader

where bakugo has a crush on a girl in the support course

w.c: 1,707

tags: pure fluff, kiri and denki being the best wingmen in the world, oh also ua is a college not a high school bc i said so

bakugo is my comfort character i love him sm and want to protect him at all costs ♡

If he didn’t know any better, he would think the sudden pounding of his heart meant it was acting up again like it did occasionally after Edgeshot revived him, because Katsuki Bakugo didn’t have crushes. And despite it being a natural part of life, it freaks him out a lot more than he’d care to admit. Because Bakugo has always had the same plan, get into UA College and become a top ranked hero; nowhere in his plan did he account for the girl with a heart of gold in the support course.

“Katsuki!” You call, arms full of some unknown material as you jogged towards him. You had a bright smile on your face, and your eyes were lit up with excitement. He couldn’t help the fond smile spreading across his lips as he gazed down at where you skidded to a stop in front of him.

“I did it! Here—hold this please.” You shove the item in your arms towards him, hands animatedly waving towards the different places on as you explain. It took a few moments for Bakugo’s mind to catch up to what was happening in front of him, but once it did his gaze snapped up to meet your eyes in shock.

“—and so, basically, you put this on under your hero suit and it absorbs the shockwaves from your blasts, turning it back into itself to heat your muscles.”

He blinks, his thoughts spinning to the conversation from last week when you had caught him sitting on the rooftop of the college. Instead of leaving, you plopped down next to him, starting a conversation after a few hesitant moments.

“I know you love your quirk, and honestly I do too!” you giggle, a light blush dusting your cheeks. “But if there was something you could change—or well, something to help, what would it be?”

He cocks his head to the side, mulling over your question; he wants to give you a good answer, an honest answer. So, he dips into the vat of his insecurities, unearthing a small secret he’s never shared with anyone.

“I—when I use it too much my arms and shoulders start to ache, and even if I pause to conserve my energy it seems to just leak out and then…eventually both body parts end up going numb. It’s been happening more frequently now that we are training longer, and it—it sucks to be quite honest.”

You pull your knees up to your chest, eyes fixed on a distance point on the horizon. He glances sideways at you, noticing the indent between your eyebrows. Your tongue pokes out, and he realizes this is your thinking face. He’s amazed that he can see the wheels turning, and wonders what’s going on in your brain.

It’s silent for a few moments, before you jump up, an excited gleam in your eye. You start to leave, pausing to turn back to him, your face now serious. “I won’t tell anyone; your secret is safe with me.”

He nods once, and the seriousness evaporates as you smile at him, then disappear down the stairs.

“Was…is this okay?” You ask suddenly, the excitement in your eyes dimming slightly as he stared dumbly at you, not a single word leaving his lips since you handed over the gadget. “I—I just thought that—I can take it back!”

“No, I—"

“It’s okay! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I had just thought…well, either way it doesn’t matter.” You reach your hands out to take the thin fabric back, but he holds it above your head, forcing you to stop and look at him in surprise.

“I love it, you just—you surprised me is all.” He mumbles, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “I wish I could do something to thank you, something other than just standing here looking like a fool.”

“I don’t need anything from you, really! It’s, well, it’s a gift.” You reply quietly, twisting your hands together then shoving them back behind your back. There’s a light pink stain on the apples of your cheeks, and Bakugo gets the alarming urge to kiss you. Instead, he fists the cloth in his hands and lowers his arms, cradling the material to his chest.

“Thank you.” He whispers, still in shock that someone would do something like this for him.

You nod once, a soft smile on your face as you turn and leave the hallway, his eyes not leaving your back until you’re just a speck at the end of the corridor.   

Hours later he’s still thinking of the exchange; feeling incredibly stupid for not asking for your number at the very least. He’s supposed to be helping Kirishima and Kaminari study for their exam in the library, but how could he possibly do that when all he wants to do is replay your smile over again on a never-ending loop.  

“Bakugo? Hey, Katsuki!”

Fingers are suddenly snapping in front of his face, effectively ripping him from his thoughts. “What?” He grumbles out, smacking Kirishima’s hand away from his face.

“What’s up with you lately, dude?” Kaminari asks, raising an eyebrow.

Bakugo doesn’t respond, distracted by the familiar girl at the far end of the rows of books.  

Kirishima throws his elbow into Kaminari’s side, rolling his eyes at the huff of indignation the blonde lets out. He tilts his chin up to the other end of the room, and that’s when they notice Bakugo’s eyes locked on to where you’re seated, book in hand.  

They watch, transfixed as a slow smile stretches across the blonde’s face, his chin nearly dropping in his upturned hand to watch you.

“Oh. Oh my god.” And suddenly everything makes sense to the pair. Kirishima and Denki lock eyes, secretive smiles plastered on both of their faces.

“She’s really pretty.” Kaminari muses, shutting his textbook and leaning back in his chair.

“Mm.” Katsuki grunts, only half paying attention.

“And way smarter than you.” Kirishima says, eyes locked on his friend.  

“Wait, what?” Bakugo asks, attention snapping back to his friends.

“So the day has finally come…our blasty boy has officially grown up.” Kirishima pretends to wipe non-existent tears, sniffing a little.

“What are you two idiots talking about?” Bakugo asks gruffly, flipping a page in his textbook.

“Oh nothing, just—"

“When’s the wedding?” Kaminari asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Again, what are you even talking about?”

“You have a crush!” Kaminari coos.

“I mean, I would like to crush your heads together.” Bakugo mumbles, but they can’t miss the way his cheeks turn pink. He avoids all eye contact, choosing instead to pretend to read the page in front of him. “She ah.” He clears his throat, “She made me this material to go under my hero suit, something about the shockwaves from my explosions being fed back into the material to…well, anyway, she brought it for me today. And I should have asked for her number, but…” He trails off, the unspoken words hanging in the air.  

I’m scared.

Kirishima puts a steady hand on Bakugo’s shoulder, knowing the fear his friend feels is more than warranted. Bakugo is silent for a few moments. And then, “I have all of these hard edges, and I don’t know how to be soft.”

“You don’t need to be soft; you need to be yourself.” Kaminari whispers, smiling at him. “And something tells me she probably feels the same way about you.”

Kirishima and Kaminari lock eyes again before standing and calling your name. Bakugo watches in abject horror as they approach you, his knee bouncing faster as they speak, the distance too great to listen to what exactly was being said. His eyes flit across the trio, panicking slightly.

He knew deep down that his friends just wanted him to be happy, but at this moment he wanted nothing more than to leap across the room and strangle them both. Bakugo briefly considers blowing the entire room up but decided against it at the thought of another bill being sent to his parents.

He watches as you put your book face down, eyes moving between his friends. They say something, then you frown before responding. The exchange feels like hours but is only a few minutes before you stand. You look over, locking eyes with Bakugo, then begin to make your way over to him.

He catches both Kaminari and Kirishima shooting him a thumbs up, before scuttling out of the library, leaving their books and backpacks behind where Bakugo sits. He scrambles out of his chair, choosing instead to lean a hip against the edge of the table as you approach.

“Hi.” He whispers, reaching a hand back to scratch his neck.

“Hi.” You reply, pressing your hands together before twisting them together again. He recognizes the movement from hours before, cataloguing the nervous habit in the file in his brain under your name. “They said you had something to tell me?”

“I—you make my chest feel weird.”

“Um, what?” You squeak out.

“No! No, I mean—god, I’m fucking this all up.” He heaves out a sigh, looking up at the ceiling before locking eyes with you. “I appreciate your gift, more than you know. And I like how smart you are, and that I can see the wheels turning in your head when you’re thinking really hard. I like how you aren’t afraid to talk to me, and I haven’t…I’ve never felt like this about another person before. You haven’t left my mind since the day I met you, and I-I like you, a lot.”

Your jaw drops slightly, eyes flickering back and forth across his face. He swallows, taking a step towards you before hesitantly reaching to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“Can I take you on a date?” He asks quietly, swallowing nervously.

You blink before a smile splits your face, and you nod. He smiles back, and before you lose courage, you push up on the tips of your toes to press a soft kiss on his cheek, giggling when you pull away and see the now bright red color flooding his cheeks.

“I like you too, Blasty.”  

[merakiui]

Got hooked on your OBGY Azul and all your little drabbles in the tag, especially pediatrician Floyd and donor Ruggie.

Imagining Ruggie in college or fresh out of it, strapped for cash and seeing a flyer for the fertility clinic needing donations and offering to pay. Easiest cash he’s ever made, he probably even hits up multiple places for the biggest payout. Ruggie doesn’t even think about any hypothetical kids anytime soon, he’s busy trying to budget.

It’s not until a year or two after his donation(s) that Ruggie starts thinking about what ifs and decides to do some digging into the clinic he went to. Presses his connections and does some intense Internet searching to find you: an older woman who’s decently successful in your choice of career, enough to be stable enough to be a single mother to a baby/toddler with his eyes.

It’s seeing that photo of you holding His child that makes Ruggie go soft and mushy and obsessed, working out the best ways to “bump into” you and the baby, got to go about gaining your trust and affections, and smooth any questions you could possibly have about noticing similarities between the new friendly face in your life and your child.

Just Ruggie having the hots for the MILF of his kid he now wants to be the father of and the lengths that’ll make him go.

👀 omg this is delicious!!! A meet-cute that was slyly orchestrated… orz hyena instincts telling him he should help out and provide for you since that’s technically his kid, too. Maybe he had no interest in being a father (yet) until he saw you with the kid and realized how cute your little family is. And he wants his kid to grow up with a father, so he’ll smoothly insert himself in your life, offering to babysit in hopes of being able to spend more time with his kid. Ruggie who is just so good with kids!! He grew up helping the kids in the slums, so he has a big heart when it comes to them. Always wanting to make sure they’re happy, so it warms his heart every time he makes his kid smile.

Maybe you see how naturally he interacts with your kid and it makes you feel so warm and fuzzy inside. It’s surprising how similar their eyes are, but surely that’s just coincidence.

Ruggie who is so down bad for milf darling that now he’s starting to stalk you. >_< learning all of your preferences so he can sweep you off your feet. Bringing you flowers or adding in expenses for your (and his) child into his budget so that he can bring them toys or clothes or anything else they might need.

And when your child starts calling him papa… well, Ruggie isn’t going to object. :) that was part of his plan, after all. Getting your child to recognize him as a father. <3 maybe you and him should just…get together? Wouldn’t that be lovely?

[yaralulus-secret-santa]

henlo... apologies... the AO3 curse has found me...

pls enjoy the first of three gifts... @yaralulu for @acotargiftexchange u will receive another one today as well...

this was also supposed 2 be a hint for the type of content i write... so now.. u will be sure

the expendables

Eris, Tamlin and Jurian are three souls that don’t belong. The first is an heir who will never inherit anything, the second is a savage monster wearing a crown and the last is a human who isn’t capable of anything good. What happens when they come together and realize that pain is best healed together?

TAGS: NSFW / EXPLICIT, Jurian x Eris x Tamlin

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

“What are you doing?”

Tamlin’s voice is an easy rumble, as if the day of war planning had stolen any pretenses of politeness. He sounds tired, and he sounds more like himself. He doesn’t care for the enchanted cabins, or the cluster of soldiers. He likes to make camp further out, and keep his fire unlit. The warmth does nothing for him anymore, and he no longer wants to keep the darkness at bay.

(It finds him anyway.)

He doesn’t look up as Eris slides beside him on his log, an expensive bottle in hand and two glasses. The Autumn son snaps, immediately lighting a flame before them and Tamlin sighs. He prefers to wallow in private. 

“Nothing that concerns you, feel free to carry on sulking. All that brow furrowing is going to give you wrinkles.”

“Only humans get wrinkles.”

“Hm, that’s what Big Glamour wants you to think,” Eris winks.

The cork comes off with a pop, and Eris pours a drink in both glasses. He picks his up and downs it once, before filling it up again. Tamlin’s is left on the ground between them.

“I mean, why do you keep doing that,” Tamlin emphasizes, nodding towards the bottle. “Here.”

It’s not the first time that Eris has planted himself beside the Spring Faerie; it’s almost routine by now. A long day of fighting, either enemies or their own allies, the sun sets and somehow, he finds himself wandering to find the sulking Tamlin. Tamlin is no good company, and yet Eris finds him anyway.

“It’s quiet here, and you don’t really care, do you?”

Tamlin does not. He’s used to being alone, and after what the soldiers have seen on the battlefield, they give him a wide berth. The only people who care to bother him are his brothers, when they aren’t busy, and those of higher ranks like Eris and Jurian. Speaking of the human General, he hasn’t shown his face yet. He’s bound to arrive and shatter any moment of peace left in this damned war.

He reaches for the second glass, downing it and setting it back down.

“Attaboy,” Eris praises and fills the glass up again. 

The Autumn faerie empties his glass once more before speaking. “You really should quit sulking. Faeries like us, we aren’t meant to survive this war. If you’re lucky, you’ll die honorably instead of a timely and embarrassing accident orchestrated by your father.”

Neither of their High Lords intend to surrender their seats, and even Eris with his pride can admit that Tamlin is as big of a threat to the Spring Court as he is to Autumn. 

“And that… is something to look forward to?”

“No, I just think it’s freeing. We can, and should do whatever we want. We can live like humans and their fleeting lives.”

Tamlin still doesn’t understand. Their lives are so short, and each moment feels like it should be crucial to them. He doesn’t know how that translates into his own life. He frowns, taking the glass into his hand and looking at the way the flames light up the crystal and the amber liquid within.

Eris gives him a sideways glance, incredulous and returns his attention ahead of him.

“We could do something wild, like stage a coup. What can they do to us? Beat us? Send us to war? Kill us?” His laughter is the crackle-and-pop of a campfire, dangerously subtle and comforting. “Wouldn’t it be fun, Tammy? Oh, what a pair we would be.”

They aren’t friends. They have nothing in common, and perhaps that is why Eris feels safe to utter the most treacherous thoughts or allow Tamlin’s silence to blanket him. Tamlin isn’t nearly as ambitious as any one of Eris’ brothers.

He glances at Eris, as if the answer would be etched there on the side of his face, somewhere along the height of his cheek bones or the strength of his handsome jaw. It isn’t. All he has is the memory of him one night, without warning or precedent, sitting beside him and doing… nothing. He’d come, sometimes with nothing and sometimes with a drink, spend the night and vanish. His visits are infrequent, but the more Tamlin thinks about it, the more he realizes that it’s the hard days that bring him here.

Hm, he ponders. Tamlin thought hard days were best spent alone.

The sound of rustling has his ear twitching. Faint, but still there. The culprit is well-versed in discretion, like the very best of spies, and the most human ones.

“Did someone say a coup?”

Eris sighs, palming his face. “Go away, Jurian. How do you keep finding us?”

“Well, it’s not that hard. You’re always here. I’m just going to squeeze,” the human says, stepping into the space between them. It’s not enough for any additional person, but he hopes to squish himself between the faeries and one of them will yield. Probably. Probably not, none of them were taught to do that. “Right in here.” Jurian keeps wiggling his hips against their shoulders for more space.

In the end, Tamlin slides over to make space for the human.

“Why the fuc—!” Eris hisses. “Get your filthy hands off—This bottle is worth more than your entire existence!”

“Gimme, gimme, gimme, I’ll tell everyone you’re staging a coup. Just give me sippy,” Jurian counters, leaning in close with puckered lips.

“Why are you trying to—” Eris bristles, the ends of his hair lighting up with the threat of a flame.

Tamlin turns his head, trying to hide his smile as Jurian distracts Eris with the threat of a kiss. In a moment of disgusted distraction, the human snatches the bottle and suckles at its teat with the voracity of a starving, abandoned kitten.

“You fucking idiot.” There is an attempt to snatch the bottle back, and Tamlin gets elbowed in the process. “That’s going to kill you, you moronic mortal!”

Tamlin sighs; Jurian’s body is turned towards him, making it easier for him to gently take the bottle away from him. He’s so much stronger that there isn’t much of a fight. It helps that Eris is pulling on his hair, too, trying to free this stray from his own idiocy. Tamlin sets the bottle on his side, where it’s an even bigger challenge to steal from.

“Whoa. Whoa.”

Jurian’s eyes are blown wide, the brown of his irises are nothing more than a thin ring around his pupils. The world must look so different to him, and Tamlin can only watch in fascination as the human’s hands flare around each of their chests—one on Tamlin’s left pectoral, and the other on Eris’ right one (which is quickly slapped away with a vicious ‘don’t touch me’).

The smile on Tamlin’s face lingers as he watches Jurian experience their world for the first time. Every sound and sight demands his attention, and the alcohol has him wobbling like a newborn. Tamlin laughs softly, and Jurian snaps his head towards him. He stares at Tamlin’s lips, fascinated by the source of the sound. Out of the corner of his eye, Tamlin sees Eris leaning forward to stare at him with mild disgust and… confusion?

“You’re…” Eris huffs, unsure of the words to choose, so he abandons the thought.

Jurian cups Tamlin’s face, getting close and staring at Tamlin’s mouth as if his mouth depended on it.

“Do it again.” Jurian’s voice carries a very heavy slur to it.

Laughter, especially coming from any of the Spring sons, without bitterness and vitriol is such a strange sound, even to Tamlin himself. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and watching the ridiculousness of Jurian who doesn’t belong here among creatures that loathe him. Yet Jurian always finds a way to amuse himself, and he seems so… alive. Is this what Eris meant?

Tamlin can’t force a laugh, but he chuckles.

Jurian’s eyes widen, and he gets closer, staring at Tamlin’s mouth and teeth. He sticks an exploratory finger in Tamlin’s mouth, and the surprise of it all has Tamlin laughing again. The human is strange—so strange.

“I’d bite it off if I were you,” Eris complains distantly.

But no. Tamlin is happy to indulge Jurian’s curiosity, opening his mouth and allowing Jurian to run his fingers over the points of his fangs, and the soft curve of his lip. It’s not his fault, he’s drunk. That was Eris’ goal, wasn’t it? Jurian simply beat them there.

“What sharp teeth you have,” Jurian breathes; his voice takes on a different intonation. “What a beautiful fucking mouth.” He has the mind to withdraw his hand from the beastly fae’s face, and he must not notice the way Tamlin’s breath hitches. “Can I put my cock in it?”

“Jurian!” Eris snaps.

“Alright.”

“Tamlin!”

The human hops to his feet, and clears the space between the faeries. Tamlin holds Eris’ gaze, finding the hollowness there—the growing emptiness in his soul that should have been filled with the love of family, friends and so much more. It was carved out of him as a child. Eris tries to fill it with ambition, pride and callousness, but the darkness takes it all. It’s a pain that no one else can see, hidden beneath enchanted emberworm threads, and all the privilege in the world.

Tamlin shares the same wound.

“You told me to stop sulking,” is all Tamlin says.

“That’s not—” Eris huffs, interrupted by the clink of Jurian’s belt hitting the ground. His amber eyes flicker to those scarred hands, fumbling with the buttons of his trousers. He watches as Jurian sways, an eager flush on his face. Jurian’s tongue is caught between his own teeth and there’s a furrow to his dark brow as he tries to figure out this frustratingly simple thing. The human is not particularly handsome. His hair is wild, and his chin carries a permanent stubble. His weak body carries scars a lot easier than faeries. Calluses, too. It occurs to Eris that he has never had a human before, but Jurian’s interest is not… in him. He abandons his complaints, glancing away to hide his own flush.

Eris has yet to decide if he wants to demand attention or simply… watch. He is learning so much about Spring’s youngest. “You’re really going to just let him use you? A human? Have you even fucked anyone before?”

Tamlin had begun to lean in, inspecting the erection presented to him. Jurian is a decent size, among the average of cocks Tamlin has seen in the barracks and baths. It smells of him, concentrated and musky, but not bad, not bad at all. He is in the midst of wondering what it tastes like—what would happen if he were to lick the glistening bead of arousal off the tip—when Eris’ question hits him.

“No, but I suppose as long as there are cocks going into holes, that’s the whole gist of it.”

“That’s not— nevermind.”

Jurian is the perfect subject, an unimportant human whose existence will be nothing more than a blip in the long, long lives of faeries. He is careless, and thoughtless, and willing to do anything like bed anything that tickles his fancy, including Clythia. (Worse, he’ll fuck behind her back, too.) Tamlin feels pity, seeing the way Jurian searches and searches for meaning, trying to find his place in this world that is decaying by the day.

Maybe this is how they all help each other.

Spring’s shapeshifter unfurls his tongue, longer than it should be, even for his species and curls it around the head of Jurian’s cock. He licks it, feeling the way the velvety skin pulls to reveal smoother, sensitive skin underneath. Jurian moans, body trembling under Tamlin’s curious exploration, and he has to hold onto Tamlin’s shoulders to steady himself. Salty-sweet bursts onto his tongue as he licks, then proceeds to suck on the top of Jurian’s penis.

Tamlin takes more and more of Jurian into his mouth, sheathing him completely. The length of him just breaches his throat, but nothing Tamlin can’t accommodate for. He stays there for a moment, listening to the symphony spilling from his lips. It’s beautiful, and Tamlin yearns to hear more of it.

(An errant thought bubbles up in his mind. He misses music, and so he finds it wherever he can.)

He begins to move, gripping Jurian’s waist with his large hands, and bobs his head on his cock. He keeps the human steady, controlling the pace no matter how much Jurian whimpers, moans and begs for more.

“ Ah, Tamlin! More, I need more.”

There’s only so much Eris can take, his own arousal tenting his tailored trousers, before he gets involved. He palms himself, adjusting his cock before he gets up, pressing himself against Jurian’s back. The thing is, he sees right through them both and their shared affliction. A soul can only go so long without being touched, and sooner or later, the desperation sets it. Jurian and Tamlin will never speak of their pain, but Eris can taste it in the air, shrouding the both of them wherever they go.

They have their own ways of pretending not to care, but he can feel it in the human’s body, the way he leans against Eris, trusting him to support him as his bones grow weaker by the minute.

“Touch me, fuck, both of you.”

No, it’s more than touch ; Jurian wants to drown in them. Eris knows because he has that very same thought, envy blooming in his chest. He wants to be in the middle, caught between Tamlin’s protective embrace and the heat of Jurian’s attention. Pale, slender fingers wrap around Jurian’s chin, and forces his gaze downwards where the rightful heir of Spring spears himself on his length. 

“Watch him. He’s doing you a service, stupid human.”

Eris pulls his trousers further down, exposing his ass. His free hand moves to Jurian’s mouth, replacing his moans with choked, wet sounds. He purposely opposes Tamlin’s pace, setting Jurian off-kilter and demanding that he focus on the sensations pulling him to and fro.

“Get it nice and wet, it’s all you’re getting.”

The saliva-slicked fingers slip between the crack of his ass, trailing further and further down. Eris finds Jurian’s furled hole. Each circle he draws against it elicits a soft moan from Jurian. Jurian alternates between trying to get more friction from Tamlin, and pushing back onto Eris.

So, this is what it feels like to be wanted?

Eris’ mask slips as he releases Jurian’s chin, pushing his index into him all while kissing his neck, and nipping his earlobe. His hands wander the expanse of Jurian’s chest, tweaking a nipple harder and harder, listening to the octaves go up. Tamlin seems to enjoy it; he’s moved to stroking Jurian and lapping at his balls. His patience wears thin, adding more digits into him as soon as he can. It must stretch and burn, but Jurian doesn’t complain. He simply yields to whatever the faeries want to do with him.

As soon as he can, Eris frees himself and lines his cock up against his loosened hole. Then, he pushes into him.

Jurian is tighter than any cunt Eris’ father has ever served him, and he runs hot. It feels like an embrace, and Jurian’s hands scrambling to take hold of him, burying his fingers into Eris’ auburn locks. The other hand is fisted into Tamlin’s hair.

“Fuck,” Eris hisses, biting into Jurian’s shoulder. “This is one way to shut you up.” His voice is low and husky.

“I wanna, Iwannacum,” Jurian whisper-pleads. 

A choked sound escapes him; Tamlin has stopped sucking him off. The Spring faerie stands before them, taller than both. His eyes have darkened with hunger, and he pulls off his shirt. The laces on his pants are easily undone, and he rids himself of all other items of clothing. Tamlin is a sight, and before this moment, Eris has never seen him. He’s broad, and a bulk of muscle, but under the moonlight he is beautiful.

Tamlin grips himself, stroking his monstrous length. “You think he can take us both?”

Jurian is not so far gone that he doesn’t realize what’s going on. His eyes widen. Eris’ length already fills him, and he can’t—he can’t take that.

“No, no, no, fuck, it’s not going to fit. Ah! Ah, fuck!”

The cock inside him withdraws, and thrusts back into him, cutting off any useless thoughts. 

“Are you sure? You’d really leave Tamlin out when he’s the one who took such good care of you? If he can’t get what he wants, why should you?” Eris’ finger traces the length of Jurian’s hardness, adding to the overwhelming cacophony of sensations bursting through his body. “He let us into his little space, and you exclude him? Naughty boy.” Eris grips him so tight, his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“It’s fine. Don’t want to hurt him,” Tamlin grunts. He hides his disappointment well. He hides all of him better than any spy within their ranks. He starts to pull away, but Jurian stops him, lifting one leg to better expose himself to Tamlin and catching him by the arm. Eris continues thrusting into him, putting on a show for Tamlin. It’s mean, but Jurian is nothing if not perseverent.

“P-Put it in.”

It does no one any good for Jurian to get hurt, so Tamlin finds himself back on his knees. Tamlin licks into Jurian, coaxing him open as Eris fucks him liberally. He makes sure to get him as wet as possible, but it’s not enough. Jurian is only human.

“He needs more lube.”

“Use his cum,” Eris suggests without missing a beat. “Ready?”

Tamlin nods, and Eris shifts his angle, hitting Jurian’s prostate. The wet sounds of fucking as punctuated with Jurian’s helpless keening. Jurian grabs onto whatever he can, lest the ecstasy sweep him away completely. His face twists into an expression of sheer euphoria as his body tightens, then goes taut like a bowstring. Tamlin puts his mouth around Jurian’s cock, and begins to suck. It’s the last straw—it tips him over into a mind-blowing orgasm. He spills everything he has into Tamlin’s mouth, where the faerie gathers it all.

Cum and saliva are spit into his palm, and the mixture is worked into him alongside Eris’ thrusting member. Tamlin fits one, two, three fingers, but it’s not enough. Tamlin tugs at the edges of Jurian’s hole, as gently as he can without hurting him.

“Just fucking put it in,” Jurian snaps. “Whatever the fuck you think you’ll do, Clythia has,” he pauses, moaning. Even though he’s come, his erection has yet to wane. He can… he wants to come again. “She’s done worse so just fuck me and make me feel good.”

Worse?

Tamlin wants to ask, and Eris simply swears. Now isn’t the time for talks. Jurian has made his request, and Tamlin can only oblige. If it’s the one thing he can give him, then Tamlin will do it.

Eris stops moving to allow Tamlin to work himself into him. It’s a delicate task, and the fit is impossibly tight. Tamlin could cum just from this, and the sight of Jurian writhing in his arms is too much.

“Stop, Jurian, just—for a second.” Tamlin whispers, his touch a lot more delicate than Eris’. The struggle is etched into his face. He guides himself further and further into Jurian. At first, he didn’t think it would be possible, and Jurian’s protest made him hesitate, but no. Jurian really can take him. “Fuck,” he shudders.

“Heavenly, isn’t it?”

“Eris,” Tamlin warns, once fully sheathed inside Jurian alongside Eris.

“Yeah, alright,” Eris reassures, supporting Jurian’s weight in his arms and letting Tamlin take the lead.

The younger faerie moves, testing Jurian’s limits. He wants to give into his desires, but the last thing Tamlin wants is to hurt more people. He moves, and he listens; he’s attentive to all the tells of Jurian’s body, ignoring the way Jurian’s hot hole sucks him in.

“He’s looser now,” Tamlin says through gritted teeth. “Come with me? Both of you?”

He looks at Eris through his blonde lashes, and kisses Jurian’s cheek, all while upping the pace. Tamlin cranes his neck, reaching for Eris over Jurian’s shoulder, and he notices the hesitation before Eris closes the distance to kiss him. 

The kiss—The kiss is everything. Tamlin swears he could have cum with an act as simple as this. It tethers him to this life, and makes him feel more alive than anything has in years. Eris must feel it too because he deepens it, and turns their face to allow Jurian to nuzzle in. The human gets a kiss from each of them as they all come together.

***

“Should I take him to the healer?” Tamlin asks, shifting into a great wolf-bear, and curling around his small human. Eris’ coat is already draped over Jurian, but Tamlin takes extra precautions.

“No, he just needs some salve. I’ll fetch it for him.” Eris moves to leave.

“Eris.”

The Autumn faerie pauses. “What?”

There’s a bite to his words, and Tamlin can’t tell if it’s out of fear for what he’ll say next or if the moment’s over. Their fates won't change. Nothing has changed.

“Nothing. I’ll be here.”

[dark-elf-writes]

More @musicfeedsmysoul12 tags and more of Thoughts™️ that are eating my brain

Izumi makes it to class with barely a minute to spare with her second coffee (after she had chugged another two energy drinks just outside the store just to keep her eyes open) in hand. She knows Shiggy and Dabi do this on purpose. Knows that they love the idea of her going to her “perfect little hero school” still covered in their marks and barely able to keep her eyes open after they did their best to keep her up all night.

She blames that exhaustion for why she doesn’t hear the footsteps before a hand grabs her collar, yanking her so hard she fumbles her grip on the cup.

The scent of burnt caramel fills her nose. Spilled coffee seeps into her shoes. Shouting fills the room as her head is wrenched to the side to show her neck.

(There’s a hazy memory of heat and teeth. Of her clinging to blue gray hair and pleading for more, harder. Of being sure the skin had broken and the thrill that had shoved her over the edge into yet another orgasm at the thought.)

The skin hadn’t actually broken, but the mark had been dark and bold when she had slipped out of the bar in the early dawn hours in a stolen hoodie that smelled like cigarettes after her shirt had met an “unfortunate” end to Shigaraki’s frustration after losing some online match or another. Izumi had reluctantly put some concealer over the mark as she hurried to change and get as much caffeine into her system before school.

Makeup had never been her strength and today was no different it seemed.

Shouts and the scrape of chairs rang through the room from their stunned classmates as they scrambled for them, but everything seemed to move in slow motion as Bakugou snarled in her ear.

“What the fuck is that?”

Part of her, some small and shattered par that was still Deku wanted to scream. Wanted to crumble and beg for forgiveness. Wanted to lie and pretend and evade until the threat passed.

The larger part of her, the new part she had discovered full of ashes and smoke and lightning, demanded she fight back.

And for once, she listened.

It was easy to shove Bakugou back. Too easy she would realize later. The perfect amount of One for All needed to move him without hurting him. Unconscious control without breaking herself or someone else for the first time.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” The room froze at her shout. Or maybe they had frozen at the snap of lightning around her. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t anything other than the rage in Bakugou’s red eyes.

“You’re fucking cheating on me!”

Izumi couldn’t help it. She knew it wouldn’t help, would only make the situation far worse, but she couldn’t have stopped it even if she could find some part of her that wanted to.

She laughed in Bakugou Katsuki’s face.

“Cheating?! We were never together!“

The room exploded with sound. Shouting from their classmates, the revving of engines as sweet Tenya prepared to break up the brewing fight, what might of been the shattering of glass, but all Izuku could hear were the explosions coming from Bakugou himself.

Her thigh ached so badly she thought it wouldn’t hold her weight.

It didn’t stop her from lunging to meet Bakugou’s attack with bared teeth.

All at once familiar strips of cloth wrapped around both of them and the cacophony of lightning and explosions died. Izumi threw herself against it. She wanted to fight. She wanted to shove his stupid fucking face into the tile of the classroom. She wanted to prove he couldn’t burn her and think that made her his.

“What?” Mr. Aizawa’s voice was deadly calm in the silent room. Everyone had gone quiet after Mr Aizawa had come in. Even Bakugou had gone quiet, a strip of capture weapon over his mouth and burning red eyes full of fury and alarm looking back at her.

Everyone had gone quiet except, it seemed, Izumi herself.

She had never been able to stop herself from talking. From screaming this time of the ache in her throat was anything to go by.

Everyone’s eyes were on her wide with shock and horror. Not on her face, but on her leg where the edge of the burn was just barely visible under the hem of her skirt.

Shit.

[niallerspayno]

Black and White - Part 2

Masterlist

As One Direction’s hair and makeup artist, you’ve always had a flirty friendship with Niall. But one wild night in Las Vegas changes everything when you wake up married—and management insists you stay that way. Will you keep hiding your feelings, or finally admit there’s more than friendship between you?

Tags: Niall x reader, friends to lovers, forced proximity, fluff, kinda slow burn

Part 1 | Part 3 - coming soon

You wake up slowly, your head still fuzzy from sleep—and maybe the lingering effects of last night’s drinks. The first thing you notice is warmth, the kind that makes you want to burrow deeper into it and never leave.

And then you realize the warmth is coming from Niall.

Your eyes snap open, and sure enough, there he is, his face mere inches from yours, his arm draped snugly over your waist. Your legs are tangled together, and his hand—his hand is resting on your hip.

Your breath hitches as you try to make sense of the situation. You promised—promised—last night that you’d both stick to your own sides of the bed.

Clearly, that didn’t last long.

You’re just about to wiggle out from under his arm when he stirs, pulling you a fraction closer.

“Mm,” he mumbles, his voice deep and gravelly with sleep. His lips brush lightly against your hair as he murmurs, “Mornin’, love.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you freeze, unsure what to do. This is...way too cozy.

“Uh...morning,” you manage, your voice embarrassingly weak.

“Sleep alright?” he asks, his arm tightening just a little, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You try to keep your voice steady as you respond. “I—uh, yeah. You?”

“Best I’ve slept in years,” he replies, his voice still heavy with sleep.

You groan internally. Of course he’d say that.

“Niall,” you hiss, keeping your voice low so as not to wake the entire floor. “We talked about this. We said we’d stay on our own sides!”

He cracks one eye open, giving you a lazy grin. “Yeah, but your side looked lonely. What was I supposed to do?”

“Not break the rules we literally set last night,” you say, trying—and failing—to wriggle out of his hold.

“Rules, shmules,” he says with a yawn, resting his chin against the top of your head. “C’mon, admit it. You were just as comfy as I was.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can say anything, there’s a sudden knock on the door.

Before you can react, the door swings open, and in strides Louis.

“Oi, you two,” he says without looking up, “Breakfast downstairs—” He stops mid-sentence, his eyes locking on the two of you tangled up in the bed.

His face splits into a wide grin, “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

You and Niall spring apart so fast you nearly tumble off the bed, and Louis cackles, leaning against the doorframe.

“I knew it!” he crows, his voice practically echoing in the room. “You lot couldn’t even make it 24 hours without—”

“Louis, shut up,” you snap, your face burning.

“What? I’m just saying,” he says, holding his hands up innocently, though his grin betrays him. “This fake marriage thing might not be so fake after all.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Niall says, though his easy tone makes it clear he’s not bothered in the slightest.

“Right,” Louis says, smirking as he backs toward the door. “Anyway, breakfast downstairs in fifteen, so maybe get yourselves...untangled by then.” He winks at you both before closing the door behind him.

You bury your face in your hands with a groan. “I can’t believe this.”

“What’s there to believe?” Niall says, his grin audible in his voice. “We were just cuddling. Happens all the time, right?”

You glare at him, but your heart betrays you with its rapid thudding.

“No,” you mutter. “This doesn’t happen. Ever.”

“Well,” he says with a shrug, standing up and stretching, “maybe it should.”

You groan again, standing and grabbing your things. “I’m taking the first shower. Don’t follow me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, though the smirk on his face suggests otherwise.

As you close the bathroom door behind you, you lean against it, exhaling sharply.

The warmth of his arm around you lingers, and you hate how much you liked it.

…

You walk into the hotel dining room, doing your best to appear composed despite the lingering embarrassment from that morning. The air is thick with the smell of coffee and pancakes, but the low buzz of conversation stills the moment you and Niall step through the door.

“Oh, look who decided to grace us with their presence,” Louis announces loudly, his grin already reaching his ears.

You glance at Niall, who just shrugs, as if to say, Might as well get it over with.

“You know, you didn’t have to rush out of bed,” Harry quips, eyes glinting mischievously.

“Bet it was cozy,” Liam adds, smirking into his mug.

Lottie sits next to Louis, her chin propped in her hand as she studies the two of you. “Good morning, newlyweds. Sleep well?”

You groan and drop into a seat across from her, grabbing the nearest cup of coffee to hide your burning cheeks. “Can we not?”

“Nope,” Louis says, leaning forward with a gleeful smile. “You’re officially the most entertaining part of this tour.”

“Is that why you barged into our room this morning?” Niall retorts, his tone sharp but playful. “Couldn’t wait to see what trouble you could stir up?”

“You were cuddling,” Louis says simply, as if it’s the most obvious justification in the world.

“We were not—”

“You were,” Niall cuts in, his voice steady but teasing. “And it wasn’t bad, was it?”

You whip your head toward him, your heart skipping a beat. “Don’t start,” you mutter, but the way his smirk deepens tells you he already knows he’s won.

“Alright, alright,” Harry says, raising a hand as if to settle things. “Let’s move on to the important stuff—like figuring out how you’re both going to survive this circus you’ve created.”

“We didn’t create it,” you argue, shooting him a glare.

“True,” Lottie says with a laugh. “But you’re living it now. How’s that going for you?”

Before you can answer, the table erupts in laughter, leaving you wondering how you’re going to get through breakfast without losing your mind—or your carefully constructed walls.

Zayn slides into the seat next to Lottie, his eyes darting between you and Niall with an unreadable expression. “You two are impossible,” he mutters, barely looking up from his phone.

“Tell me about it,” Louis says, winking at you. “Can’t even pretend anymore.”

You shoot him a warning glare, but it only makes him laugh harder.

“You two were practically glued together last night at the concert,” Liam adds, his voice teasing but with a softness you didn’t expect. “Didn’t help that everyone could see it.”

Niall shrugs, unconcerned. “So? It’s not like we’ve got anything to hide, right?” His eyes flick to you for a second, warm with that familiar playfulness, but there’s something else there too—a quiet confidence you can’t ignore.

You force a smile, feeling the walls you’ve spent so long building up start to crumble. “Sure. No big deal,” you mumble, hoping they can’t see right through you.

“Don’t pretend like it’s no big deal,” Harry says, his voice a little too knowing. “You two have been dancing around each other for ages. It’s only a matter of time before you admit what we’ve all known.”

You roll your eyes, trying to brush it off. “You don’t know anything.”

“Actually,” Zayn cuts in, still focused on his phone, “we do. But it’s not like you’ll admit it anytime soon.”

“Exactly,” Lottie says, glancing between you and Niall. “We’ve all been waiting for you two to finally figure it out. And now... well, here we are.”

The silence that follows is thick, as if everyone is waiting for you to crack, to admit something you’ve been trying so hard to hide. You can feel Niall’s gaze on you, steady and warm, but you keep your eyes down, focusing on your coffee cup like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“We’ve got a lot to sort out,” you murmur, hoping to deflect. “And breakfast is definitely not the time for that.”

Niall leans back in his chair, his easy grin never faltering. “You’re right. But we’ll get there, won’t we?” His voice is light, teasing, but the weight of his words lingers longer than you’d like.

You swallow hard, wondering just how much longer you can keep pretending everything’s fine.

Louis, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, nudges you with his elbow. “You know, if it were anyone else, I’d say they’re pretty much together already.”

Zayn smirks. “But it’s you two. So, we’re all just sitting here waiting for the inevitable.”

You want to protest, want to say that they’re wrong, but the truth is, you’re not sure anymore.

Niall’s hand brushes yours across the table, just for a second, but it’s enough to send your heart racing. He doesn’t pull away. In fact, he seems more at ease than ever, while you’re doing everything you can to keep your feelings buried.

“See? That’s progress,” Harry says, watching you both closely.

“Yeah, it’s called being married,” you snap, unable to hide your frustration any longer.

That only makes the table laugh harder. “Don’t worry, mate,” Zayn says to Niall, his grin wide. “We’re all just waiting for the real fireworks.”

You wish you could be as confident as Niall. Instead, you find yourself wondering how much longer you can keep pretending that nothing has changed.

...

The day passes in a blur of busy schedules, rehearsals, and travel. You’ve been doing your best to avoid Niall, keeping your focus strictly on work, but it’s not easy. Not when every glance in his direction feels like a magnet pulling you closer.

By the time you’re setting up for the band’s evening talk show interview, your nerves are frayed. You’ve spent the entire day dodging his gaze, pretending not to notice the way he casually lingers in your periphery or the soft smiles he’s thrown your way when he thinks no one’s watching.

Now, with Niall seated in the makeup chair in front of you, there’s nowhere to hide.

“Finally,” he says, grinning up at you. His tone is teasing, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that makes it impossible to brush him off. “Thought you were avoiding me all day.”

You force a light laugh, your fingers busying themselves with the brushes and tools laid out on the counter. “Just busy. You know how it is.”

“Sure,” he says, but the disbelief is clear in his tone. He doesn’t push, though, which almost makes it worse.

As you step closer to him, raising your hand to comb through his hair, you catch the way he’s watching you—soft, steady, and completely unguarded. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you quickly look away, focusing instead on getting his hair camera-ready.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“Trying to concentrate,” you reply, not meeting his eyes.

“On me?” he teases, and the smirk in his tone makes your heart skip a beat.

“On your hair,” you correct, though the quiver in your voice betrays you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him reach for his phone, holding it up in a quick movement. Before you can protest, you hear the snap of a photo.

“Niall!” you scold, reaching for his phone, but he pulls it away, laughing.

“Relax,” he says, tapping at the screen. “Just keeping up appearances, yeah?”

You groan, your face heating as you imagine how disheveled you must look. “I probably look terrible.”

“Nope,” he says, still focused on his phone. “You look beautiful.”

You freeze for a moment, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. It’s not the first time he’s said something like that, but tonight it feels different.

“Stop messing around,” you mutter, trying to shake off the way his words make you feel.

“I’m not messing,” he says simply, his gaze locking with yours. “You’re beautiful.”

You don’t know how to respond, so you do the only thing you can—focus on finishing his hair. Stepping in front of him, you smooth out the strands with quick, practiced movements, desperate to keep your hands from shaking.

But then his hands find your waist.

Before you can react, he pulls you down into his lap, his grip firm yet gentle.

“Niall!” you gasp, your balance thrown off as you clutch at his shoulders for support.

“Relax,” he says again, his voice soft and amused. “You’re way too tense.”

“I can’t—I need to finish—”

“You’re done,” he interrupts, his eyes searching yours. “And you need to stop running.”

You’re not sure if he means running from him or running from how you feel, but either way, you can’t deny the truth in his words.

“You’re impossible,” you whisper, your resolve cracking under the weight of his gaze.

“And you’re stubborn,” he counters, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I like that about you.”

The moment stretches between you, the air thick with something unspoken. You know you should stand up, brush it off like you always do, but for the first time, you’re not sure you want to.

You’re hyperaware of everything—the solid warmth of his thighs beneath you, the gentle but insistent grip of his hands on your waist, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the lingering trace of hairspray. Your fingers, still resting on his shoulders for balance, flex unconsciously against the soft cotton of his shirt.

The air feels thicker now, weighted with unspoken words and simmering tension. His eyes lock onto yours, searching, daring, waiting.

“Niall,” you start, but your voice falters, too quiet and too unsure.

His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, grounding you. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “Just... don’t overthink for once.”

Your breath catches as he leans in, his forehead nearly brushing yours. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up again, and you feel the magnetic pull drawing you closer. It’s dizzying, intoxicating.

Your heart pounds so loudly in your chest that you’re sure he can hear it. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to close the distance, to finally give in to the years of longing you’ve kept buried beneath layers of denial.

He doesn’t move further, though. He’s waiting—for you.

The realization sends a jolt through you, a mix of exhilaration and fear. You want this. You’ve always wanted this. But crossing that line feels like stepping off the edge of a cliff, and you’re not sure you’re ready for the fall.

Your lips part, your breath mingling with his, and for a split second, nothing else in the world exists but him.

“Niall!”

The sudden voice from the doorway shatters the moment like glass. You jolt back instinctively, your cheeks burning as you twist to see Louis leaning against the frame, arms crossed and a knowing smirk on his face.

“Interview’s starting, mate,” Louis says, his tone casual but his grin unmistakably teasing. “Unless you’re planning to skip it for… other priorities.”

“Coming,” Niall replies, his voice slightly hoarse. His hands slip from your waist, but the warmth of his touch lingers like a brand.

Louis raises an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he glances between the two of you. “Right,” he says, dragging out the word. “Don’t take too long, lovebirds.”

You scramble to your feet, your face flaming as Louis retreats down the hall, his laughter echoing behind him.

When you glance back at Niall, he’s watching you with a mix of amusement and something softer, something that makes your chest ache.

“We should—”

“Yeah,” you cut him off, grabbing a comb from the counter and busying yourself with tidying up. Anything to avoid the weight of his gaze.

“Hey,” he says softly, and when you look up, his expression is open, earnest. “We’ll finish this later.”

Your throat tightens, but you manage a small nod. He stands, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he passes, and the simple touch sends a spark racing through you.

As the door clicks shut behind him, you exhale shakily, your fingers gripping the counter for support. You don’t know what “later” will bring, but for the first time, the idea of falling feels a little less terrifying.

...

You’re standing off to the side of the bustling studio, arms crossed tightly over your chest. The makeup station behind you feels like a safe barrier between you and the whirlwind of cameras, producers, and bright lights. Across the room, the boys are settling onto the sleek leather couch under the glaring stage lights, grinning and joking as the host greets them warmly.

Niall catches your eye. Even from this distance, his gaze feels like a tether, pulling your focus no matter how much you try to avoid it. He gives you a quick wink, his easy charm on full display, and it’s enough to make your heart stutter.

The interview begins with the usual playful banter—questions about the tour, favorite moments on stage, and funny stories from the road. The boys are in their element, bouncing off each other’s energy and keeping the audience laughing.

Then the host leans in, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Now, boys, we have to talk about the latest buzz. Niall, you’ve been quite the topic of conversation this week. Care to share what’s going on?”

Your stomach twists as Niall’s name draws a wave of cheers and laughter from the audience. The cameras zoom in on him, and he flashes a cheeky smile that’s both endearing and infuriating.

“Oh, you mean the marriage thing?” he says, his tone casual, but there’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

The room erupts in gasps and laughter, and the host’s jaw drops in exaggerated surprise. “So it’s true? You got married in Vegas?”

“Well,” Niall says, leaning back and rubbing the back of his neck, “things happen when you’re having fun, don’t they?”

The audience roars, and you feel like you might sink through the floor. Your hands clench into fists at your sides as Harry, ever the instigator, chimes in.

“To be fair,” Harry says with a grin, “it’s not every day you see Niall that brave.”

“Or that drunk,” adds Louis, earning another wave of laughter.

“And your mystery bride?” the host presses, her curiosity genuine. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Niall hesitates for a fraction of a second, his eyes flicking to where you’re standing. “Let’s just say,” he begins, his voice light but steady, “she’s amazing. Beautiful, talented, and someone who puts up with me better than anyone else could.”

The host melts at his words, clasping her hands dramatically. “That’s so sweet! You must really care about her.”

“Absolutely,” Niall says without missing a beat. The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and you find yourself holding your breath.

Liam, ever the voice of reason, steers the conversation back to the tour, defusing the tension with a comment about their next city. As the interview wraps up, the boys thank the audience and head off stage, their energy high as they make their way back toward you.

Niall is the last to approach, his smile easy as always, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes when he stops in front of you.

“So?” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “How’d I do?”

You want to be annoyed, to scold him for being so casual about the whole thing. But the way he’s looking at you—hopeful and just a little nervous—makes it impossible.

“You didn’t embarrass me as much as I thought you would,” you say, your voice softer than you intended.

His grin widens. “That’s a win, then.”

Before you can respond, Harry sidles up beside Niall, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Good show, Mr. Husband,” he teases, winking at you. “The two of you are going to have to step it up, though. The world’s watching now.”

Your cheeks burn as you watch Harry stroll away, and when you glance back at Niall, he’s already watching you.

“Guess we’d better figure out what we’re doing, huh?” he says, his voice quieter now, the playful edge gone.

You nod, your throat tight. “Yeah. We should.”

...

The soft hum of the elevator fills the silence as you and Niall ascend to your floor. His hands are stuffed into his hoodie pockets, his hair still slightly tousled from the interview, though you’d carefully styled it hours earlier. You can still feel the ghost of his fingertips brushing your wrist as he snapped that photo of you, and the way his gaze lingered on you in the dressing room keeps playing on a loop in your mind.

You shift uncomfortably, the tension between you feeling sharper now after nearly kissing him. Neither of you has addressed it, but the weight of it presses down on the quiet space between you.

When the elevator dings, you step out first, desperate to get to the shared room even though the thought of spending another night in close quarters with him makes your heart race.

At the door, you fumble with the key card, but before you can swipe it, Niall’s hand comes to rest gently on your shoulder. “Hey.”

The softness in his voice makes you freeze. You glance back at him, your heart thudding in your chest. “What?”

“You’ve been quiet all night,” he says, his brows furrowing slightly. “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“I’m just tired,” you mutter, brushing him off as you finally get the door open and step inside.

He follows you in, closing the door behind him, but instead of giving you space, he lingers. You drop your bag on the armchair, hoping he’ll let it go, but his voice cuts through the quiet.

“Is this about earlier?”

You stiffen, your back to him. “What do you mean?”

“In the dressing room,” he says simply. “When we almost…” He trails off, but the unfinished sentence hangs heavily in the air.

You spin around, arms crossed over your chest. “Nothing happened.”

“Exactly,” he counters, stepping closer. “Why not?”

“Niall…” You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “Can we not do this tonight? It’s been a long day.”

He ignores your plea, his blue eyes locked on yours. “You’re avoiding it. And me.”

“I’m not avoiding—”

“Yes, you are,” he says firmly, cutting you off. “You’ve been dodgin’ me all day. You barely looked at me during the interview, you wouldn’t sit next to me in the car, and now you’re actin’ like this.”

You let out a frustrated breath, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “What do you want me to say, Niall?”

“The truth,” he says, moving to stand in front of you. “Why are you running?”

You look down at your hands, your fingers twisting in your lap. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are,” he insists, crouching down so he’s at eye level with you. “Talk to me. Please.”

You bite your lip, debating whether to brush him off again, but the look in his eyes—earnest, patient, and so undeniably Niall—makes it impossible.

“I’m scared, okay?” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Scared of what?”

You gesture between the two of you, frustration bubbling to the surface. “This. Us. What if we ruin everything?”

Niall’s shoulders sag slightly, his expression softening. “You think we’d ruin it? After everything?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “We’ve always been good at being… us. And now everything’s different.”

“Different doesn’t have to mean bad,” he says quietly.

You glance up at him, your chest tightening. “And what if it does? What if we mess this up and it’s never the same?”

Niall sighs, running a hand through his hair as he sits back on his heels. “I can’t promise we won’t mess up,” he admits. “But I can promise I’ll never stop tryin’ to fix it if we do.”

Your throat feels tight, the weight of his words sinking in. He’s always been like this—steady, kind, and unwavering.

“Niall…” you start, but he interrupts gently.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he says, standing and offering you a hand. “But stop shutting me out. Please.”

Hesitating for only a moment, you take his hand and let him pull you to your feet. The warmth of his palm lingers even after he lets go, and you know you’re walking a fine line.

...

The soft glow of the city lights filters through the curtains, casting faint patterns across the bed. You lie on your side, your back to Niall, gripping the edge of the blanket as if it could shield you from the swirling mess of emotions threatening to spill over.

The bed shifts as he moves, his voice soft in the stillness. “You don’t have to stay on the edge, you know. I’m not gonna bite.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching the faintest smile tugging at his lips. His hair is still slightly mussed from earlier, and the quiet vulnerability in his expression tugs at your heart.

“I’m fine here,” you murmur, but the words feel hollow even to you.

He hesitates, then shifts closer, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. “C’mere,” he whispers, his tone low and soothing.

Your breath catches as his arm lightly brushes yours. For a moment, you hesitate, your walls screaming for you to stay put, to keep the distance. But then you feel the warmth of his hand resting gently on your arm, and something inside you gives way.

Slowly, you roll onto your other side, facing him. His blue eyes search yours, cautious but hopeful, and he lifts his arm in invitation. “Only if you’re okay with it.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak, and let him pull you closer. The moment his arm settles around your waist, you feel the tension begin to ebb, replaced by a comforting warmth that spreads through your chest.

He pulls you just close enough that your forehead brushes against his shoulder, his scent—a mix of clean soap and something uniquely him—filling the space between you. His thumb moves absentmindedly against your back, tracing slow, soothing circles.

“This okay?” he asks again, his voice barely audible.

You nod against him, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt. “Yeah.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The steady rhythm of his breathing matches the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand, and you let yourself sink into the moment. His touch is grounding, his presence a balm for the doubts that have been clawing at you.

But even in this closeness, your fears whisper at the edges of your mind. The warmth of his embrace feels too good, too safe, and the thought of losing it terrifies you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, unsure if he even hears it.

“For what?” he murmurs, his voice drowsy but curious.

“For always being you,” you reply, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you can’t bring yourself to say.

He hums softly, a sound of quiet contentment, and you feel the slight press of his lips against your hair. “Always.”

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to slow, the tension leaving his body as he drifts off to sleep. His arm remains firmly around you, holding you as if he’d never let go.

He shifts slightly, nuzzling closer in his sleep, and the movement sends a pang of bittersweet ache through you. You know he’s out, his breathing deep and even, but it feels like he could wake at any moment, like you shouldn’t risk it.

But the words are there, teetering on the edge of your tongue, demanding to be spoken into the quiet.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper so faintly you can barely hear it yourself. The lump in your throat threatens to choke you, but you push on. “I’m sorry for running. For being such a coward.”

You wait, but he doesn’t stir, only tightening his hold around your waist slightly, as if his subconscious could sense your turmoil.

Your breath shakes as you exhale, eyes burning with tears you refuse to shed. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, Niall. Too long. And it’s terrifying.”

The words spill out, unrestrained, carried by the weight of everything you’ve held back. “You’re everything to me. You always have been. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re kind, and talented, and brilliant. And me? I’m just…” You pause, choking on the thought. “I’m just a makeup artist. Just the girl who hides behind brushes and combs while you light up the world.”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, the familiar texture grounding you even as your voice wavers. “You deserve someone who’s extraordinary. Someone who doesn’t hold you back, who fits into your world without hesitation. And I—” Your breath catches, and you close your eyes tightly, willing the tears away.

“I’m so scared,” you admit, the words trembling as they escape. “Scared of ruining us. Scared of not being enough for you. Scared that if I let myself have this, if I let myself have you, it’ll all fall apart, and I won’t know how to survive it.”

A tear slips down your cheek, but you don’t wipe it away. You let the confession linger in the stillness, hoping it might ease the ache in your chest, even though you know it won’t.

“And I know you’d never say it,” you continue, your voice barely audible now. “But part of me keeps thinking you’re only doing this because of the marriage, because you have to, not because you want to.”

The thought makes your chest tighten unbearably, and you let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to lose you, Niall. Not as my friend. Not as… anything. But I don’t know how to do this.”

For a moment, you’re met with silence, the kind that feels both comforting and crushing. His breathing stays steady, his arm still wrapped securely around you, and you convince yourself that he’s fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the weight you’ve just spilled into the darkness.

You glance at him, his features softened in the dim light, and a small, bittersweet smile tugs at your lips. “I love you,” you whisper one last time, letting the words fall into the space between you like a secret never meant to be heard.

As your eyes close and sleep begins to pull you under, you tell yourself that maybe this moment is enough. Maybe it’s okay to love him in the quiet, to let yourself have this fragile, fleeting sense of peace—even if he never knows.

...

The morning sunlight seeps through the thin curtains, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. You stir beneath the duvet, slowly becoming aware of the warm weight of Niall’s arm draped over your waist. His steady, even breaths caress the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. For a fleeting moment, you let yourself melt into the comfort of his presence, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest pressing gently against your back.

But then reality crashes in, and your stomach twists. What if he heard you?

You carefully shift, trying to slide out from under his arm, but the movement stirs him. His arm tightens instinctively around you, pulling you closer.

“You’re not sneaky, y’know,” his voice rasps, still heavy with sleep, a teasing lilt to it.

Your breath catches, your entire body freezing. “What?”

He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow. His tousled hair is sticking up in every direction, and his blue eyes, though bleary, are far too focused on you. “I heard you last night,” he murmurs, his voice soft but sure.

Your heart stops. “You—what?”

“I wasn’t asleep,” he says simply, his lips curving into a small smile.

Panic flares in your chest as you sit up abruptly, clutching the duvet tightly around yourself like it’s a shield. “You… you misheard. I was rambling. Half-asleep—didn’t know what I was saying.”

Niall lets out a soft chuckle, sitting up as well. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you insist, your voice sharp with nerves.

He leans closer, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, and the proximity makes it impossible to breathe. “You sure about that?”

Your cheeks burn as you scramble to look anywhere but at him. “Can we just… not do this?”

“No,” he says firmly, though his tone is still gentle. “We’re not brushing this under the rug, not this time.”

“Niall—”

“Why?” he interrupts, his voice low but steady. “Why do you think you’re not good enough? For me?”

The question feels like a punch to the gut. You shake your head, biting your lip. “Because look at you!” you burst out, your words spilling over in a rush. “You’re—you’re Niall Horan. People scream your name. You’re famous. You could have anyone. And I’m just—”

“Don’t,” he says, cutting you off sharply, his voice firm enough to make you stop mid-sentence.

His eyes are burning with an intensity that makes your throat tighten.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he says, his voice softening as he moves closer. The warmth of his hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that’s escaped down your skin. “You’re the smartest, kindest, most talented person I know. You’re the one person I need with me, no matter what.”

Your chest tightens, the weight of his words overwhelming. “Niall, you don’t understand—”

“Stop,” he says quietly. “I understand more than you think.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the words claw their way out of you. “Of messing this up. Of losing you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he murmurs, leaning closer. His breath is warm against your skin, and the hand cradling your cheek moves to the back of your neck. “But I need you to stop talking, just for a second.”

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours, soft and searching.

The kiss steals the breath from your lungs, and for a moment, the world tilts on its axis. His hand slides into your hair, holding you gently but firmly, and every nerve ending in your body sparks to life. You can taste the faintest hint of mint on his lips, feel the heat radiating off him, and the way he pulls you closer like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth.

For a fleeting moment, you forget your fears.

But then they come crashing back.

You pull away, your heart pounding as you put a hand on his chest to create distance. “Niall, I—”

He searches your face, his brow furrowing as if he can see the storm brewing behind your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I… I just…” You shake your head, the words tangling in your throat. “I need time.”

His hand drops slowly from your hair, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he nods, his voice soft. “Okay. I’ll wait. As long as you need.”

Your chest aches at the tenderness in his tone, but all you can manage is a nod before you turn away, trying to calm the whirlwind inside you.

…

Part 3 - coming soon

[nemaliwrites]

feligami this, felinette that - who is thinking about FELIBUG WITH ME

Félix and Sentibug… taking back their humanity together…making sure no one else is used and discarded like they were….their birth may not have been their own but their lives can be

[what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me]

his pronouns are they/them 😤

transparent version below!

[scionshtola]

rotating something in my mind about shtola having matoya as a mentor and then growing to see her as a mother figure vs erenville and cahciua distancing themselves by referring to each other as mentor/pupil

[autopsytableromance]

One funny thing to me is that sometimes my bestie will send me reels like this one

And I have to be like. Bestie I appreciate that you’re on my “side” ig but 1 I’m just having fun and 2 in no way did he treat me like his bf and our FIRST text conversation he was like “hey I don’t want you to get the wrong idea bc I don’t want a relationship”

[milimeters-morales]

complicated family relationships are soooo fun to write <- said while gripping the sink

[sapphicdib]

.

[zouisalmightie]

.

[transselkie]

Trying to make a character playlist

Anyone have any songs to capture the feeling of “I don’t actually want him to love me back” or “I think I’m content to die alone because I don’t know that I believe romance has ever brought anyone happiness”?

[demi-queen]

What? I— what?

Okay, so technically I think I probably already knew this, but this reminded me of something that happened when I was in 1st grade.

So when I was in 1st grade I went to a Montessori school (if you don’t know what that is, don’t worry it’s not important to the story), and had this teacher that I Strongly Disliked for several reasons.

Now, as a reminder, 1st graders are typically 6 or 7. I have fall birthday, so I had a weird situation where I was actually about 5 or 6, depending on the time of year. I actually got held back and repeated 1st grade for several reasons, one of them being the age thing, another being that my older brother was also being held back and my parents didn’t think it was a good idea for us to be in the same grade (also, something I learned later, but apparently my parents didn’t think I was socially mature enough, and thought this would help for some reason). Anywhomst, my story takes place my first round of doing 1st grade, as I had a different teacher for my second round of 1st grade, so I was about 5 or 6.

Now, this happened several times, but I would often get reprimanded for “rolling my eyes.” Now, I’m smol and have always been smol (I’m currently 5’2” on a good day and have long since passed the period of my life where I had any hope of getting any taller. All my siblings will one day be taller than me, and I’m the 2nd oldest of 6 kids), so in order to look at a teacher, who was much taller than me, and was also not crouching down to reach my eye-level (likely due to age— as a 5/6 yr old I thought this teacher was about grandma-age, even if she wasn’t grandma-tempered), I would obviously have to look up. Now, I’m not great with eye contact as is, so this isn’t actually what usually got perceived as “rolling my eyes” but you’d think she’d at least try and factor in the height issue when reprimanding me. As it stands, I am someone who tends to look up when trying to solve or think over something in my head. This is what often got perceived as rolling my eyes. And this confused me greatly, because I didn’t even roll them! I just looked up! And, of course, since I wasn’t rolling my eyes, I thought it important to try and explain that I hadn’t, because I didn’t want any Authority Figure to think I was disrespecting them. Often, before I could even finish explaining, I would then get reprimanded for “talking back”. This, as you can probably imagine, was very frustrating. No matter what I did or said I would get in trouble (I don’t think I ever got any actual disciplinary action taken against me, but being reprimanded is still getting in trouble). And I still tend to look up when I’m thinking something over in my head, but I’ve since learned that if someone wants to interpret a facial expression in a specific way, even if you had no intention of conveying whatever they think they’re reading off of your face, it’s easier to just go along with it. Nothing you do or say is going to convince them that they read you wrong, or they’ll just get embarrassed for reading your expression wrong and then everything is awkward for everyone and you’ll wish you hadn’t said something anyways. The only time I can ever get away with explaining that someone read my expression wrong is when I get to explain to people that I have a “resting sad face.”

At least now I know why people think I’m rolling my eyes even though I’m just thinking.

[ginzuras]

still thinking abt the ashfur redemption au if anyone was wondering

[sleepatterns]

today has been. hnngngnfhskakdhhhhhh so many weird feelings and not fun thoughts. things our mom said to us + going back to grandparents house was a weird combination. also the conversation we had with our mom had the exact Opposite effect of what she was intending i think because wow holy shit we feel so so fucking awful