#folding leaf table

[a-strawberry-mouse]

I have a conundrum and I crave opinions!

**Context below the poll.**

I've been looking for a wooden folding leaf table for a while. The plan was to get one, strip it, sand, and stain it with some variety of purple. Visible mending is my favorite for many things. Furniture included.

Imagine my outright glee when I found one for $40. And it came with a storage section for chairs with the original four chairs! A year of searching, now over with results.

I looked at the pictures enough to see that it needs cosmetic repair, but it's sturdy. Good bones. The accordion door sticks, but it does work. The varnish has seen better decades, etc.

The seller was fab. Told me about the previous owners(mom and dad) and it was lovely. I bought a couple of other things from the sale. Small stuff I keep forgetting to buy. Very nice experience.

The accordion door(kept up because I haven't found why it's acting up yet)

Original wheels!

The top has water damage.

The hinge has the center metal of the hinge about a cm out.

The leaves have water damage and some scraping.

Mouse damage(I'm innocent).

I look up, "Romanian drop leaf table," and this thing is most likely from the 60s! In better shape they sell for more than $1000. Obviously this one needs work, but I mean, for $40 this is amazing. Past amazing.

But.

Is it okay to alter an antique?

Can I still turn this purple, or is that disrespectful?

I know that no matter what I do someone will be upset. I also know someone has already called dibs on the table upon my death regardless of which direction I go(they're not kidding, but they did say it in a funny way).

With just how much damage it has and the fact that a lot of this is veneer; it seems like a total overhaul is necessary either way. I've been told to scrub the tabletop with a baking soda paste mixture and a toothbrush. I confess, I'm not sure I'm really ready to do that. That sounds like a terrible time.

Originally spray painting the table was an option. It still could be if I do just the top. It may genuinely be the best option for the table's longevity. Quick, thin, and there's a lot of options for color and seal strengths. Plus there's already something that will need paint in the kitchen(this table will be in the kitchen) so they could match.

[thakefurniture]

Georgian Spider Table, drop leaf dining table, georgian cottage diner, small antique dining table, folding table

[robotslenderman]

Every time I think I can't possibly fit more furniture in my room my brain goes "challenge accepted" and I shove another thing in.

[connorsui]

If your passions called, Simon would answer. Boxes arrived while he was gone, filled with fresh journals for your poems, new pens for your writing, and all kinds of baking supplies to spark your creativity. He wanted you to always feel his presence, even if he was half a world away, each package a testament to his unwavering affection. When he returned, you would often slip him small, handwritten notes—your own words of love and encouragement—folded neatly, and he’d keep them close to his heart, tucked in a pocket as if they were a part of him. The others joked about him looking like a:

“proper husband”

for always stopping to read your handwriting, touching every letter as if every word you wrote was a treasure on its own.

There were nights, long ones, when you’d catch him sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through a scrapbook you’d made during his deployment. Pictures of the two of you, your annotations in the margins, your thoughts and memories, capturing moments he hadn’t even noticed you were holding onto. He’d touch each page, almost reverently, lingering on the edges like he was afraid his touch might ruin the paper. And when you’d join him, sliding into his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck, he’d tuck his face into your shoulder, silent, holding you close as if you were the only thing grounding him to this world.

Simon never argued with you; never needed to. He believed in “happy wife, happy life” with a fervency others might never understand. If you didn’t like something, he’d change it without hesitation. If you felt uncomfortable going out he would take you back home in his arms, helping you out of your dress with gentle hands, making your favorite tea in the kitchen, casting you warm, lingering glances as you sipped your cup by his side with the prettiest smile he swears he has never seen before in his life.

There were times you’d tease him, testing the boundaries of his devotion with light-hearted remarks about your whims. But no matter what you said, he never wavered. If anything, his dedication seemed to intensify, his love quiet but resolute, unwavering in the face of your every wish. You could see it in his eyes, the way they softened whenever he looked at you, as though you were the only person in the world he wanted, needed. To Simon, you were perfection, and nothing you did could ever change that.

When it came to intimacy, Simon was utterly faithful. At night, his hands would roam your form reverently, memorizing every curve, every detail he’d missed in his months away. When you traced the veins on his neck, his breaths came out heavy, the weight of his love pressing down on him. Your touch left him trembling, his normally steady hands shaking as he held himself over you, eyes dark with an almost sacred devotion as he rocked into you with slow, deep movements that left him weak.

When you’d murmur his name, kiss his scarred knuckles, and hold him close, Simon felt himself unraveling in your arms, reduced to nothing but his love for you. His broad, muscular form sank against you, a sturdy weight softened by your warmth, and he’d surrender completely, letting you hold him, a silent confession of his trust and vulnerability.

In the stillness of those moments, he would remember a time when he hadn’t believed in softness when life had taught him only to take and endure. But now, in your arms, Simon Riley found a new truth: that he could give, could cherish, and, most of all, could love without fear. And as he drifted to sleep, wrapped in your love, he knew that he had finally found his purpose—not in battle, nor vengeance, but in this quiet, steadfast devotion to the woman who had taught him that he was worthy of peace.

[sixeyesonathiel]

what happens when satoru gojo, age 8, discovers affection in the most annoying form possible?

a/n: satoru gojo was born the strongest but also the most emotionally constipated. this is what happens when an eight-year-old demigod gets hit with a fever and accidentally manifests a clingy, semi-feral bestie with the spiritual energy of a raccoon and the vocabulary of a broken answering machine. if you think about it, this is basically one-sided imprinting. twilight wishes.

anyway. you are soulmates now. he can’t return you. there’s no receipt.

the fever had lasted for days.

your body, or what would eventually become your body, didn’t exist yet when it started. when the boy with the six eyes lay burning and thrashing in a silken futon soaked through with sweat, whispering things no one could understand. he was eight. too small for that much cursed energy. too divine for the fragile vessel he lived in.

the gojo clan elders panicked. the medics couldn’t touch him. no barrier could stabilize him. and so, desperate, they turned to a half-forgotten ritual. the theory was simple enough: take the excess cursed energy he couldn’t contain and make it take shape. mold it into a vessel.

something that could carry the weight.

what they expected was a tool. a familiar. a shikigami to leech off the pressure.

what they got was... you.

not quite a doll. not quite a beast. pale and blinking, limbs shaking like a newborn deer. your skin shimmered faintly under moonlight, like dew on porcelain. two eyes that opened slow and unblinking, and a voice that came out in cracked syllables and broken sounds. you fell into the world with a gasp, like you’d been holding your breath for a thousand years.

and the boy—the one they called satoru—woke up.

his fever broke that night.

you didn’t know any of this, of course. you didn’t know your purpose, or why people stared at you like you shouldn’t exist. you only knew one thing:

he was warm.

so you followed him.

at first, satoru tried to ignore you. he walked faster. you ran after him like your joints were made of pudding, arms flapping, hair sticking up in tufts like static cling. your little feet slapped against polished wood as you tumbled through paper doors left ajar. you mimicked whatever you heard, a walking echo of servant chatter and household scolding.

he ducked through sliding doors; you smacked into them face-first with a dramatic thud, then clawed them open with stubby fingers and a war cry that sounded suspiciously like “no touching young master table yes!”

he once tried to hide behind a folding screen. you climbed onto a lacquered table, knocked over a bonsai tree, squatted there like a gremlin, and chirped “young master?” until a maid screamed and dropped a tray of tea with a shatter.

he told a servant to get rid of you. you reappeared at dinner an hour later with a leaf on your head, mud on your knees, and a fistful of vaguely rice-shaped pebbles you thought were food. you plopped down beside him, beaming like you'd just won a prize.

in one particularly dramatic escape attempt, he climbed halfway up a cherry tree, disappearing into the blossoms like a sulky cat. half-hidden among the pink petals, he peeked down, eyes narrowed. you stood at the base of the tree with a delighted gasp.

“go!” you chirped. “go—ru!”

he scowled. his pale hair, disheveled from the climb, was caught in the breeze, framing his flushed face like a wilting halo. “that’s not even my name.”

you pointed up at him again, nose scrunching with joy. “go!”

his jaw twitched. “you’re the worst little—” he stopped himself and clicked his tongue. “ugh.”

maybe you were.

you couldn’t talk well yet, just repeated whatever you overheard. “young master,” “this way,” “no touching that,” “off the table”—you strung them together like talismans, proud and fearless, like a goblin parrot in training. once, you ran after him yelling, “no touching young master table yes off!” until he turned with the most baffled expression, like you'd just spoken in tongues.

he started throwing off your trail. dashing around corners. hiding behind fusuma doors. pretending to tie his shoes, then bolting like the wind the second you blinked.

and you? you escalated.

you started crawling under tables, squeezing through servant hallways, perching atop window sills like an owl. you once disguised yourself as a folded futon and waited in his room for two hours until he stepped inside, sighed, and said, “absolutely not,” before turning around and leaving again.

when he looked annoyed, you giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world.

one afternoon, while he was mid-sulk beside a courtyard pond, you tiptoed close and stared. he pointedly ignored you.

“stop looking at me like that,” he muttered after a long pause, glancing sideways beneath thick lashes. he fiddled with the sleeve of his haori, brows knit tight.

you beamed wider. then reached out and poked his cheek.

“why frown?”

his breath caught. he flinched back so quickly it startled a nearby koi fish.

his cursed energy snapped to life—just a flicker, a breath—and suddenly your finger hit resistance. it hovered in midair, like touching a sheet of ice. your brows lifted. confused, you leaned in again, finger outstretched like a curious child.

still nothing. a perfect, invisible wall.

he was using infinity.

your bottom lip trembled. “meanie,” you mumbled, eyes big and glassy. your arms drooped. you stared up at him, unmoving.

and stared.

and stared.

he twitched. his shoulders hunched tighter. “you’re not gonna cry, are you? seriously?”

you didn’t answer. just kept staring. one foot shuffled in the dirt. a single leaf fluttered past between you.

he squirmed. “ugh, fine!” the infinity dropped like a curtain. “there. happy now?”

instantly, you lit up and poked his cheek again. “no frown!”

he jolted. “gah—!” then scowled, swatting your hand away like it burned. “what is wrong with you?”

but his voice cracked slightly at the end.

he tried to eat faster after that, hunching over his tray like a raccoon, scarfing down his meals before you could sit beside him. you followed anyway, hopping into the seat with a bright grin, swinging your legs like a clock pendulum. sometimes you tried to feed him from your own chopsticks. once, you pressed a dumpling into his cheek and declared, “for go!”

he sputtered. “do i look like a baby bird to you?!”

the servants whispered every time you passed. “it looks too human.” “should we seal it?” “it doesn’t even understand commands.”

you never paid them any mind. you only listened to him.

you curled up outside his room like a stray cat, snoring softly beneath the paper screen. you crawled into his futon without asking, worming beneath the covers like a cold octopus, limbs flopping all over him. you tapped your head against his shoulder when you wanted attention, tugged at his sleeve when he ignored you. when he glared, you tilted your head like a confused owl and poked his cheek again.

“why frown?”

he groaned into his pillow.

and then the strangest thing happened.

one day, he let you sit beside him without protest.

another day, he saved a bit of sweet mochi, eyes flicking to you before silently placing it in your hands, face turned away.

and then one day, you flopped into his lap upside down like a sack of vegetables, legs dangling off the side. he gave an exhausted sigh and muttered, “you’re such a weirdo.”

you blinked up at him, crumbs in your lashes, nose scrunched in thought.

he didn’t call you weirdo again. he called you something else.

and you smiled like you understood everything in the world.

[pudgybat]

Atlanta Walk Out Mid-sized contemporary walk-out basement idea with a concrete floor and both a brick fireplace and a standard fireplace.

[silknspice]

ARCANE CHARACTERS AS ROMANCE TROPES

⎯ ୨୧ pairings: vi x reader, jinx x reader

⎯ ୨୧ content: pure fluff, mentions of alcohol, lying, swearing, first love and fake dating tropes used, lowercase intended, not proofread

vi ⎯ fake dating

fake dating! vi       who made the bet with you at one of jayce’s frat parties. she and caitlyn were officially over, the woman turning to the warmth of maddie to prove that she’d “moved on”, which made vi look like the loser. she couldn’t stand that. getting with the woman she told vi “not to worry about” was low. the only thing to do was go lower- or rather higher. you were caitlyn’s kryptonite. intelligent, charming, fashionable, every time you were around during your friend group’s hangouts she clung onto vi’s arm as if you were a magnet and she was the strongest metal. as if when she let go, vi would fly away and straight into your arms. 

fake dating! vi       who approached you while your other friends were occupied, going in with nothing but a red solo cup, cocky smile, and a dream. she soon realized that you’d be a challenge to crack, resorting to begging. 

“c’mon pretty!” the pinkett pleaded, moving every which way around you as you continuously turned your body to avoid her gaze. only when she took your plastic cup and held it higher than you could reach, your bodies inches apart as she gazed down on you, did you cave. 

“fine, you baby!” you huffed out with a big exhale. the girl paid the diss no mind as she lowered her arm, leaning in to whisper despite the loud party atmosphere. her words tickled the side of your ear, and you could practically sense her shit-eating grin. 

“i’ll make it worth your while.”

it’s not that you didn’t want to say yes at the first sound of the question. it was the reason why this bet came to be that made your stomach turn. after some instagram stories, lots of pda, and almost everyone on campus whispering about the two of you, caitlyn would be crawling back to vi in no time. she’d have the power back. at least that’s what she thought. 

it wasn’t the acting that worried you, it was your true feelings. 

fake dating! vi       who doesn’t understand why you’re so uptight about the situation. you invite her to your house sunday, a piece of loose leaf paper and a pink sharpie on the coffee table. on the top:  “ ୨୧ rules ୨୧ “ in your pretty handwriting. 

“rules?” she snorted, arms resting on the top of the couch while she leaned back into the plush throw pillows. you sat opposite of her on the ground, her wide man spreading right in front of you making your head fuzzy. 

you look down at your decorated paper and back up at the girl with perfectly furrowed brows. “of course? what, you thought you were just gonna have your way with me?” 

a smile quickly grew on the girl’s face, stifling a laugh at your unfortunate word choice. 

“you know what i mean!” you whined, picking up the sharpie and uncapping it. “you’re chaotic. i need some guidelines so you don’t throw me into some absolutely heinous situation.” 

fake dating! vi       and you who agreed to the following terms after a very unproductive hour of talking: no telling anybody that this is fake (ESPECIALLY POWDER, blabbermouth), watch 10 things i hate about you together (vi hasn’t seen this!?!), yn comes to all of vi’s hockey games and after parties, and no tongue when kissing. vi groaned and debated with you for 15 minutes after you suggested the last one. you claimed there was ‘no need’ for it, she claimed no tongue wasn't convincing anyone that you were a serious couple. finally, you put a question mark next to the rule. you’ll just have to revisit that one later. 

fake dating! vi       who shifted in her seat, patting her lap twice in an unbothered manner once you completed the list.

“okay, c’mere.” 

you looked up from the paper you were folding, brows furrowing in confusion. “‘scuse me?” the girl didn’t repeat herself, staring at you expectantly. you stood, walking around the coffee table cautiously and standing in between her legs with your hands on your hips. 

fake dating! vi       who scoffed and pulled you into her lap, having you straddle her with her hands on your hips while you looked at her as if she had five heads. “listen, we’re gonna have to do a bunch of shit in front of cait,” she started. “right..” you followed up, waiting for the explanation. “so, we need to practice. you know, so that you don’t freeze up or somethin’.” you scoffed, shoving her shoulder. “i’ve kissed people before vi, sorry to burst your bubble.” she grinned at that, tilting her head up at you. 

“yeah, but you’ve never kissed me, honey.” 

fake dating! vi       who got a little carried away when practising your “fake” passionate kisses, mumbling little quips like “no no, like this” and “restart, you’ve gotta act more natural”. what was supposed to be a fast practice kiss ended up lasting 15 minutes. you ended up fixing your rules list one last time.  no tongue when kissing?  tongue is fine

fake dating! vi       who leaves one of her clean jerseys at your house. when gameday comes, you, mel, and powder spend the hour before the game getting ready for your lovers. jersey clad bodies, blue and white ribbons in your hair (your school colors of course), and eye black on your cheekbones, except yours was pink (for obvious reasons). 

fake dating! vi       who’s brain short circuits when she first spots you in the stands, and again when she, ekko, and jayce meet with you girls after the game. seeing her in uniform, all aggressive and cocky out on the ice had you all but drooling in the stands. seeing you all dressed up in her attire got a rise out of her, and a different rise out of caitlyn as she stormed out of the locker room and past the six of you. you gave each other grins and a high five to mask the cheesy smiles accompanying your faces as you admired each other.

fake dating! vi       who takes your hand at the crowded after party, pulling you through the drunken community and up the stairs to one of her teammates rooms. you’re utterly confused as she shuts the door behind you both and reaches over her head to pull her compression shirt off. 

“the hell are you doing?” you stare straight at vi with wide eyes, but don’t dare to cover them. 

“jayce said he’s sending caitlyn up here for somethin’,” she started, finally peeling the form fitting black fabric off of her body. she looked to you, eyes flicking down then back up. “well? what are you waiting for? strip.” she spoke in too calm of a manner, like she was concealing her true tone underneath. 

“oh you’re crazy.” you shake your head, not moving as vi moves over to you. “just-  take off your clothes! i just want her to think we were gonna do it.”  

you look at her as if her previous five heads had grown to ten, grabbing the hem of your cropped top and pulling it over your head. at the sound of footsteps down the hall, you rushed to the bed, vi laying back and your body sitting atop hers. warm skin smushed together. glossy eyes admiring each others bodies as pupils unknowingly dilate. vi wondered what would happen if she unhooked the clasp of your bra that she was fiddling with. you wondered when the day would come where she begged to unclasp it. 

“just like we practiced, honey?” she asked with her sweet and soft voice, foreign to everyone but you as your lips locked and the door swung open. 

fake dating! vi       who didn’t realize how clear her conflicting feelings were until her sister teased her on a saturday morning at ekko’s house. “i see the way she looks at you, and the way you admire her when you think no one’s looking. you’ve got it baaad, sis.”

fake dating! vi       who has been falling for you more and more ever since this stupid deal began. she’s building the courage to let you know just how much you mean to her and make you her real girlfriend. 

jinx ⎯ first love/teenage love

first love! jinx     who became infatuated with you when she saw you at practice for the first time, whether you cheer, play a sport, or dance. the way you bit your lip in focus, the way you move in your element, and the sweat that had your attire clinging to you made her brain go completely numb.

first love! jinx     who pretended not to know you as ekko introduced you, asking if the three of you could be partners for a science project. she’d already stalked your instagram and had it ready to follow as soon as she left the classroom. 

first love! jinx     who wasted no time getting comfortable with you. movie nights at her house, late night drives, and the parties. she partied more than one should, saying that’s “what highschool is all about”. she, ekko, vi, caitlyn, mel, jayce, and you all spread out in caitlyn’s glamorous bedroom from the plush bean bags to the girl’s bed, pregaming, chatting, and getting ready for the night. 

first love! jinx     who always had you do her makeup when going out, claiming it was to “practice the abstract things” you were too afraid to do on yourself. for her, it was the perfect chance to have you close. her hands rested on your hips and moved to the small of your back as you straddled her. your soft fingers cupped her chin gently to hold her face still while you coated her lashes with mascara. she absentmindedly traced meaningless patterns on the skin exposed by your cropped top, never daring to take her eyes off of you. 

“all done!” you exclaimed, holding up the mini compact mirror for the bluenette to admire herself. 

“you’re an artist toots, always makin’ me look s’ pretty.” the girl wrapped her arms further around you, causing you to giggle while she embraces you with a cheeky grin.

“damn, you smell good,” she whispered, just soft enough to share the thought with you and make you melt. 

first love! jinx     who confessed by accident when you resided in your favorite spot: the rooftop. you were babbling about college and all of your hopes and worries for the future. everything was changing so fast, and you just wanted to know it was all going to be okay. 

you shifted in your position, body tense as you lay facing the ombre sky. “you just gotta promise me that even if we don’t go to the same university, we’ll both call each other all the time and try to visit as often as possible. oh, and you have to-” the girl stopped you with a hand to the cheek, gently moving your face to look her in the eyes. she was laid on her side to have you in her full view. “you worry too damn much,” she said in a tone foreign to her. it was gentle and almost breathless, like she didn’t want to scare you away. “you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy. not when I love you this much.” 

the reason for the shock on your face and the gasp from your soft “o” shaped lips didn’t register until she thought back on her words, face morphing into one of horror and worry. what would you say? did she just screw things up? 

“...took you long enough.” you whispered through a grin, placing a hand atop hers on your cheek. 

first love! jinx     who, once you’re dating, loves sneaking into your room late at night. you’d say good night to your family, put on a special pair of pajamas and lie under the covers awaiting the soft knock at your window. once shes there you hop out of bed, racing to your window and deny opening it for just a moment to tease her out in the cold of night. 

first love! jinx     who loves having you all to herself. once inside, her arms immediately find their way around your waist and don't let go until you reach your bed. she only releases for a moment before pulling you under the covers and onto her lap, her hands sliding up your shirt and lips finding the sweet spot on your neck. to her, keeping you quiet all night is some fun challenge. 

first love! jinx     who always forgets to leave before sunrise, resulting in you both waking up in a panic when your parents knock at the door. you quickly shout out “just a minute!” hushed, frantic whispers follow before she hides under your bed or inside your walk-in closet, doing her best to suppress her giggles of adrenaline. 

this was supposed to include ekko and cait too but i got way too carried away, love my girls <33

©silknspice

[puma-riki]

You're My Romeo! (Everybody Laughs When I Tell Them So)

I just changed your name, now its Romeo! ── . dork! maknae line x fem! reader

[ - skinship kissing est. relationship loser enha ] Hyung line maknae line

! tw. small mention of drugs

⟡ I need a dork boyfriend before I end it all guys I'm so fr, hyung line coming soon mwahaha

────────────────── ⟢

Sunoo

There's a lot of people Sunoo holds dear to his heart. You and his sister being two of them. He absolutely adores how the two most important girls in his life get along so well and even consider each other close friends.

But right now, the both of you together is irritating his soul.

He was absolutely thrilled for all three of you to go out for dinner tonight. It was supposed to be amazing, there'd be good food, a chance to sit down and catch up after so long, a nice ambience in the background as the night settled over the city, his sister wouldn't be stealing his girlfriend, and you wouldn't let her.

But of course, the universe is cruel.

"Ugh! [Name] you're literally so cute!" His sister's overly cheery voice from across the restaurant booth makes him roll his eyes for the nth time while he sips his drink.

He resists the urge to bang his head against the table.

And then you- his girlfriend, mind you- giggle at her dumb compliment and poke at your food all shy.

This has been happening all night. You and his sister linked arms when you met up at the train station, haven't shut up since, and are now sitting across from each other like you're on a date.

You've been laughing at each other's dumb jokes, sharing bites of your food, and at one point you tucked her hair behind her ear.

What's worse is you're flirting with each other. Shamelessly.

Which, he gets. It's just what girls do with their friends, he guesses. He knows you guys are just messing around with each other and having fun.

He knows it doesn't mean anything

Doesn't mean it doesn't piss him off though.

He can't complain too much though, because all the passes his sister is making on you are true. You are very cute. And very sweet, you have been making an effort to bring him into your jokes and conversations. You remind him every now and then that you still know he's there through giddy smiles and soft touches to his arm or thigh.

You being exceptionally sweet and cute would've made up for every ill fantasy he had of jumping across the table at his sister if it weren't for... that one particular moment of utter betrayal and heart break.

His sister goes to grab a perilla leaf, but as always, its stubborn. The edge tears slightly, folding weird, and holds on to the other leaves below it for dear life. Sunoo watches, eyes narrowing, when she lets out a frustrated "Ah..."

And then you swoop in.

Silently, you reach over with your chopsticks, perfectly poised, and separate a new leaf with practiced ease. You place it on her bowl of rice like you've done this a million times before, so smooth and gentle it might as well be a love confession.

Sunoo freezes. Mid-bite. Spoon hovering in front of his mouth.

In his mind, a record scratches, the light bulbs burst, glass shatters.

Not the perilla leaf. Literally anything but the damn perilla leaf.

He watches you, expression blank but soul spiraling. You don't notice. Instead, your preoccupied with finding the perfect piece of beef on the grill in front of you, and when you do you place it in his bowl.

They always say the one who helps you separate a perilla leaf is The One.

His sister gets the highest level of sought after romantic encounters right in front of his face with the love of his life. And what does he get?

A piece of damn beef!

This is sick. Sunoo's going to be sick.

"Sunoo close your damn mouth. Gosh, absolutely no decorum at all."

~

Later, when the three of you step out of the restaurant into the warm buzz of the night, Sunoo gives his sister a half-hearted hug and a fake smile, still stewing.

You hug her tighter than you hugged him, by the way.

And then she waves, disappears down the block, and the second she's out of sight- you're back.

You loop your arms around Sunoo's, lean your head on his shoulder, and snuggle into his side like nothing ever happened.

He doesn't say anything for a beat.

Then "Oh, nowww you wanna be all cute with me."

You glance up at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He shrugs and keeps walking. "Just thought I was the side piece. Didn't realize I'd be sharing my girlfriend tonight."

You bite back a laugh. "You're so dramatic."

"You helped her with the perilla leaf. And you put it in her bowl." He scoffs, "I mean you might as well have signed the marriage papers with her right in front of me."

You lean closer and rest your head against his shoulder again. "Hey, I fed you too. And I help you with your food all the time."

"Yeah, because I'm your boyfriend. Or was, apparently."

You stop walking, grab his wrist, and tug him gently to face you. With a fond look, you cradle his cheeks in your hands, thumbs brushing the pink tint rising under his skin.

"You are my boyfriend," you say sweetly, pecking his lips once. "And you're my favorite. Always."

He tries to stay mad. He really does. But his cheeks are burning, and your hands are so warm and soft, and when you kiss him again- this time on the tip of his nose- he's a puddle.

"Hmph." He loops his arms around your waist and buries his face in your shoulder. Your body shakes slightly with laughter as your arms move to wrap around his neck. "Still should've been across from you. I would've flirted better."

You giggle, hugging him tighter. "You were sitting right next to me, you dork."

He mumbles against your shoulder, "Didn't feel like it."

Jungwon

Jungwon is acting weird.

I mean- he's always weird, but he's being weird.

You had invited him over after a very long week filled with crammed schedules and work. You're both lounging on your bed watching TV. The room is a bit chilly due to the AC running and the only light in the room is from your bedside lamp and the TV. Theres a comfortable silence laid across the both of you as you lay next to him, knees tucked in and just barely brushing his thigh as he sits up against the headboard of the bed.

It's supposed to be a chill night in after not seeing each other all week.

And it would be if Jungwon wasn't so damn restless.

He's been trying to watch the movie, he really has. But all he can think about is how you've barely touched him since he got here. Sure, you gave him a hug and kissed him when he first arrived.

But that was it and it wasn't enough.

After countless photo shoots, interviews, promotional activities, and many many hours without you by his side, He can't think of anything else but being wrapped up in your embrace. For you to run your fingers through his hair and kiss his cheeks. He's practically vibrating with need next to you and you don't even notice.

You're curled up next to him, all cute and sleepy, and completely content with letting your boyfriend wither away next to you.

You hear him sigh next to you and shift to sit up. You glance over to see him fluffing the pillow he's been laying against.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just trying to get comfortable, you know." He tries to sound casual as he moves his pillow closer to yours and turns back around. Moving closer to you now that his pillow is moved.

You hum in response, turning back to the TV. Your knees are now laid on his thigh. But it still isn't enough. At this point, He doesn't even think crawling under your skin would be close enough.

You're so close yet so far.

He could just... ask you to move closer to him and coddle him like he desperately wants you to. He is your boyfriend after all, it's not like you haven't been affectionate like that before.

Jungwon is just incredibly bad at showing and receiving affection, even if he is fiending for it. Like he is now. He always tries to pass off affection as a casual thing, like something he's doing only because it's convenient.

Except it's not. And he knows that and hopes you don't pick up on it. But sucks for him, because you do. Every time. Even now.

You clocked his attempt at nonchalance the minute he walked in the door. When you kissed his cheek upon greeting and he followed your lips on instinct when you pulled away. You can practically feel the tension radiating off him as he sits next to you on the bed now. You definitely can feel him glancing at you from the corner of your eye every 5 seconds and see his hands twitching and how he awkwardly fidgets with them like he doesn't know what to do with them.

You could say something, or just initiate cuddling with him and save him from his painfully awkward and you deprived state.

But where's the fun in that.

"It's really cold in here..." Jungwon suddenly announces, lifting the blanket you have draped over your lap and moving under it; even closer to you and closing any gap that there was between you.

"Really? I'll turn off the AC then." You move to get up and Jungwon nearly launches himself off the bed with how fast he sits up.

"No!" You turn to look at his wide eyes. Jungwon, upon seeing your furrowed brows at his sudden outburst, clears his throat. He rubs the back of his neck as he sinks slightly into the pillows.

"I mean- it's not that cold. Just... cozy. Right now. With the blanket. So, like. Don't move."

You blink at him.

He refuses to meet your eyes.

"Right," You say, lips twitching. You shift the blanket off your legs and sit up again. "It's okay. I'll just turn off the AC real quick-"

"No!" Jungwon shoots up again, so quickly you almost thought he would shoot through the ceiling. His hands fly to your wrist as if stopping you physically is somehow more subtle that just admitting he wants to stay tangled up in warmth- and you.

You break out into a smile. "You literally just said you were cold."

"I changed my mind," he says way too quickly. Then he clears his throat and adds with a shrug, "Like I said, it's not that cold. Kinda refreshing actually."

You give him a look.

He avoids your gaze.

With a grin tugging at your lips, you start to get up again anyway, just to mess with him. "Mmm, no. Now that you mention it, it is cold in here. So, I'll be right ba-"

You don't get to finish that sentence because before your feet can even touch the floor, you're yanked backwards onto the bed.

"Hey!" you squeal as your back hits the mattress and Jungwon puts his entire body over yours. He makes quick work of turning his head away into your chest to hide the pink blooming on his cheeks.

"You can't leave!" he says, but it comes out muffled because his cheek is mushed against your chest. His arms tighten around you like a vice and his body weight draped over yours anchors you to the bed. "Please, I missed you all week so just stay here and let me melt into your skin." He says it so fast and quietly you have to take a second to process what he just said.

You smile, affection blooming in your chest. "Why didn't you just say so, silly"

"I don't know... I'm bad with words... and actions." He mumbles.

You snort, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, and he melts instantly. Pressing closer, tucking his face in like he's burrowing for warmth. "You're such a baby."

To be honest, now that Jungwon is finally and completely wrapped up in you, he has no idea what you just said. He can smell your perfume and laundry detergent radiating off you and your nails lightly scratch his scalp. He is gone.

He sighs and closes his eyes. "Sure."

Ni-ki

Ni-ki likes to think he's cool. Calm, collected, unbothered, an untouchable aura with just enough energy to make people double-take. And honestly? He most definitely is. He's tall, walks like he's got theme music playing behind him, and somehow always ends up in the most expensive yet effortlessly "I didn't try that hard" outfits.

He knows his angles, never fumbles his words on camera, and gives off that effortlessly aloof energy like he doesn't even need to try.

But all of that?

Yeah, it goes straight out the window the second he's with you.

Because around you, Ni-ki becomes... himself. Less "cool guy on stage," more "dorky, lowkey clingy boyfriend who trips over his own feet trying to impress you"

And if you so much as laugh at one of his jokes or randomly compliment him? He malfunctions.

You walk down the street, hand in hand with your supposedly aloof boyfriend. You don't say anything as you notice, yet another pair of girls nudge each other and glance his way. You could tell them that Ni-ki, for all his sleek appearances, has been squeezing your hand three times every block just because "it's our secret signal" Or that he keeps brushing his pinky against yours when you're not holding hands, pretending it's an accident.

Or that earlier, when you stopped to look at some jewelry in a window display, he absentmindedly leaned his entire body weight on you like a sleepy dog.

But hey let them, and him, think he's cool.

As your walking a sudden chill breeze blows through and makes you scrunch your nose and shiver slightly. "You cold?" he asks, voice low in your ear. But before you can answer, he's already tugging you into his side, unzipping his jacket so you can fit under his arm. You huff a laugh into his shoulder.

"Was that for warmth or because you missed me?"

He gives you a nonchalant shrug that's completely ruined by the way his hand over your shoulder reaches down for yours and intertwines your fingers. "...Both."

The two of you pass a bakery. Then a claw machine arcade. Then a bookstore. He doesn't say much- letting you do most of the talking (aka letting you yap your life away to him) but every time you stop to look at something, he watches you, not the display. Like he's trying to memorize the way your face lights up when something excites you.

"You wanna go in?" you ask when you catch him eyeing a shop window.

"No," he says quickly. Then,"...Unless you do. Then yes."

You tilt your head. "You're not very decisive, huh."

"I'm very decisive." He deadpans. "I've decisively decided to do whatever you want."

You laugh. Ni-ki beams.

"Whatever I want?" You ask, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. The way you look at him makes his brain melt in real time and all he can reply is with an affirmative hum.

"Ah, you really have no backbone. I could humiliate you and you would just stand there and take it." You let out a faux sigh and shake your head. Turning to face the street ahead and resuming your walk with Ni-ki right beside you.

"Yeah." He agrees, making you side eye him with a raised brow. He laughs and takes hold of your hand again. "You can do whatever you want to me. You're pretty."

Oh.

Now you look uncool, muttering a 'whatever' as you turn your head, pretending to look at a store across the street to hide your flustered expression. Ni-ki smiles but doesn't say anything. He starts playing with your hands as you walk, this time comparing them to his.

"Why are your hands so small?" he mumbles, mostly to himself. "Mine could eat yours."

He presses your palm to his, and then- because apparently because this is his thing now- starts swaying your joined hands back and forth as you walk, like two kids on a playground. It might be the least cool thing he's done all day.

Key word might.

Ni-ki doesn't know what it is about you that makes him act like an absolute idiot with no senses at all. It's crazy, really, like who needs drugs when you can just have an insanely gorgeous girlfriend who looks like she descended down on earth with wings and a halo.

Still, he tries to play it off like he's smooth, walking down the street like a cover model with his girlfriend beside him. It would be convincing too- if he weren't so busy watching you instead of the sidewalk.

"Ni-ki-"

Clunk.

He walks straight into a pole. A metal one. Full-on, loud, direct hit to the forehead.

You gasp. "Oh my god!"

He winces, holding his head. "I didn't see that."

Well no duh.

"Are you okay??" You quickly step in front of him as he steps back from the pole, reaching up to brush his bangs out of the way and check the damage.

"Yeah," he mutters, completely mortified, eyes darting left and right as if witnesses are the worst possible outcome. "Yes. Totally. I just- was checking the, uh, skyline."

"Uh huh." You gently take his face in your hands, turning it from side to side to inspect him like a mom inspecting a scraped-up kid. "That skyline must've looked so good right in front of your face."

He groans. "You're actually so mean."

"You're the one in love with me."

"...Unfortunate."

Still, he doesn't pull away. He stands there obediently while you kiss his lips once, then rub the reddening spot on his forehead with your thumb.

"You're lucky it didn't leave a bump," you say, trying not to smile, concealing it with a pout.

He closes his eyes. "Please stop fussing. You're making it worse."

You cup his cheeks and continue pouting. "What if I kissed it better?"

He almost melts. "You'd do that in public?"

"You already embarrassed yourself in public. I'm just finishing the scene."

You kiss his forehead- gently, so gently- and he just stares at you like you're the most unfair person alive.

"...I'm gonna walk into more poles if you keep looking at me like that."

"Try not to." You loop your arm around his waist, guiding him away from the pole and continuing your stroll. "I like your face. Would be a shame if it got ruined."

Ni-ki rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are pink, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder, tucking you in close beside him. "So, you should watch where you're going, you dork."

So yeah, he looks cool to everyone else. But only you get this side of him: clumsy, smitten, and so totally gone for you it hurts. literally.

⭑𓂃

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[nylwnder]

little secret

a/n: hiiiiii bbs, sorry for the long gaps between fic drops for this series, life hates me and sometimes i just dont have the time to write </////3 or the motivation which is worse. waahhhh!!! HOWEVER, i was gifted some free time the past month, and because i love you guys so so much, i birth to you all: my first am34 fic <333333

pairing: auston matthews x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT! sex toys (lush toy), edging, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, overstimulation, cockwarming, swearing, auston being in loveeeeee, secret relationship, confession of feelings

word count: 3.4k

taglist: @shoot-the-puck , @lukepangburn118, @eastoncowan , @boqvistsbabe , @sweetiet , @p1tstop , @occasionallyaurora , @laurenairay , @fallinallincurls , @andrea9 , @dylpickle4791 , @biznastysloneshift12 , @dramatic-queen

series masterpost

the vibrating feeling in between your thighs made you grip the edge of the counter top, almost dropping your drink. a moan escaped your throat as the pressure increased, your legs bucking before you felt yourself coming close to the edge.

“please please oh please” you mumble quietly but then the vibrations disappear all together again. you take a deep breath with a little whine.

you walk back to the couch, setting your small snack on the coffee table. watching as the leafs began to make it back out to the ice for the third period. knowing the teasing would take a break for the rest of the game unless he so happened to have his phone on the bench too.

—

it all started with a birthday present. a more mischievous gift for a relationship that's just freshly bloomed in the last few months. but your relationship is open and free and gratifying like that.

it was a small, curvy, hot pink toy. one that has devilish capabilities with the mere connection to a phone app. auston knew you would love it, and you also knew he would use the toy to its fullest potential—edging and overstimulating your folds as much as he can. and you do in fact love it, so it isn't surprising that you obliged when he handed it to you this afternoon. a mischievous grin on his face.

“need you to put this on for me, baby” he mentions gently, handing you the toy.

you take it in your palm, already imagining the impending feeling between your thighs. “when would you play with me though?” you ask, pondering the thought on how he’d manage in front of the team, nevermind the coaching crew.

he grins again, “i'll find a way. just need you to be a good girl and keep it in until i come home okay?”

you nod, biting your lip.

“i'll be nice, i promise” he mentions with a kiss to your cheek before a kiss to your lips.

—

unless his idea of nice was having you edged every single fucking time his finger began to play with the controls of the toy, then he was in fact nice. you were flustered, frustrated, being edged to reach any sort of release. you squirmed and whined as it tickled the bundle of nerves inside of you again as the team prepared for press. ready to discuss the well earned blowout win against the ducks, and the sixth hattrick of the season for auston.

you couldn’t deny it, auston looked so good out there on the ice—working the puck around bodies like nothing. and it made your heart swell that during the intermissions he couldn’t help but take the time and think of you, play with you, but oh did you want him home. in your arms so he can do you right.

you weren't even sure if you were overstimulated, even though he's been playing with you on-and-off for the past three hours and a half, you just wanted to cum. and oh god please on his cock.

—

auston kept his interview short and sweet, wanting to make it home earlier than usual despite the attention and requests regarding another outstanding performance. he wanted to get home to you.

the boys noticed his eagerness to skim through the usual routine, poking around and asking him if he's got a girl waiting at home. he gave a low smile, not discussing further than that. they didn't know about you yet. nobody knew.

being your boyfriend, he wasn't thrilled about the public eye getting a glimpse of you just yet. sure, he wants to take you out to a fancy dinner, hold your hand while you're walking home from the movies. of course he would want to show you off to the boys just so they can chirp him about how he landed you. but you were too special. too soft, kind and sweet. too perfect, he thought. he didn't want anyone to say otherwise, anyone to try to ruin you. the day will come when they know your name, sure. yet even when the moment arrives, when everyone finally lays eyes on you, he knows he’ll still be a protective force. always. if that means you’re his little secret for now, then so be it.

right now, you were all his. without anyone knowing. his warm soul. his dripping core. the one that he wants… no. he needs. right now. so badly.

—

when he got home his belongings were quickly discarded to the side. auston relishing in the warm and soothing atmosphere you have created out of his apartment, his senses welcomed by the sweet smell of you. the house always felt empty those nights you couldn’t be with him. your presence had brought a light to the home that it never had, that none of the other flings managed to spark.

he noticed your lounge pants laying near the couch in the living room. your slippers discarded on the other side. he moved forward to grab them, but placed it back down when he noticed your shirt near the entrance of the bedroom. a smile grew on his face.

a few steps forward granted him a beautiful view—his favourite view—the sole reason why he rushed through the toronto night traffic.

you sat at the edge of your bed in a satin lingerie slip. your hair was messy in that pretty way that framed your face, the way that made aus bite his lip in admiration. your lips softly pouted a “missed you.”

your legs slowly opened apart, showing your arousal from the night sopping through the fabric of your underwear. auston gave a low groan, and licked his lips.

“need you. so bad.” you whine.

he walks towards you, and you instantly wrap your legs around him to connect your lips. his grip on your hips yanks you higher onto the bed, allotting him space to get on and tower over you. you nip on his lip as you both break for air.

“you were mean” you murmur. he smirked, “i promised you i'd be nice, that's why i'm gonna make her feel so much better” he says, cupping your dripping core.

you whimper, “please”

his fingers hook on your panties, pulling them down and throwing them to the side. he reaches for the tail of the lush toy, making sure to gently pull the rest of it out. you squirmed at the emptiness, aus seeing the way your entrance clenched around nothing.

“you did s’good, baby. taking it like a good girl” he mutters in your ear as his lips attach to your neck. his wet kisses mixed with his nipping move down to your collarbone, then to the tops of your breasts.

he makes sure to keep his work up until he knows purple and red marks will litter your skin in a couple of hours. making it difficult for you to hide them everytime you leave his apartment. god forbid your friends see them. you're not in the mood to be forced to disclose any more details about your boyfriend. you just wanna keep living in this little bubble the two of you have managed to keep.

not yet. just a little longer.

“mmm, you looked so good out there baby” you manage to mutter. trying your best to not get lost in his kisses but sometimes it's just too hard.

you can feel his smile against your skin. “thank you” he says, kissing on top of his mouth’s handiwork before grabbing you by the hips and bringing you to sit down on his lap.

“your sixth hattrick. not everyone can do that” you speak again, smiling, running your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck.

his smile didn't leave his face, leaning in to kiss you tenderly. “…nevermind the fact that this was your second back-to-back hatty” you say against his lips.

this time he begins to blush, in what you think is quite literally the most beautiful way possible. you can't help but to kiss him again. he looks down while squeezing your hips before looking back up and letting out a light chuckle. “we gonna keep talking about it or are you going to let me celebrate with you? hm?”

it's your turn to flush a bit. embarrassed you may have been discussing something in a situation where you shouldn’t even be talking in the first place. but you couldn't help it, you wanted to give him all the possible affirmations you could.

“m’sorry” you reply, wrapping your arms tighter around his frame, endeavouring in the taste of his mouth once again. you can feel the mint from the gum he was chewing on the drive back home. it relaxes you.

one of his hands stays pressed on your spine, scrunching the material of your night slip between his fingers, while his other hand travels down. his large palm shamelessly grabbing your ass, moulding your flesh to the shape of his fingers. your skin quickly heats up again and your mind swirls over the rhythm of his tongue against yours and the bulge growing beneath you. aus presses you down, hard, against his clothed lap, it feels like he's already fucking you. but it's the illusion of his fingers bluntly sliding between your folds and pressing over your opening, stirring a good moan out of you.

he sticks in a finger and you subconsciously bite down on his lip. he hums before sticking in another and you accidentally do the same thing again. there's a burning feeling between your thighs, perhaps you are overstimulated after all. but that's not stopping you. you still want him to help you to that finish line that he so cruelly didn't let you reach.

he pumps in and out a bit, making sure you’re wet enough. that was surely a fact, with the way your juices covered his fingers so exceedingly. anticipation continued to build inside of auston, causing the bulge between his thighs to strain against his dress pants. hes been thinking about you the whole night, and your pussy even more.

you untug auston’s shirt, allowing you to unbutton his pants. he helps you pull them off of his legs, while you take off his shirt from his sculpted chest. you run your fingers down his torso, following the lines that shape him. his lips connect to your neck, immediately finding your pulse point. you grind down on him and he allows a groan to escape his lips and echo in your ear. you smile.

“can i take this off?” he asks, tugging at your slip.

you nod needily, the cold air hardening your nipples at the exposure. auston can't help but groan again, yanking you up so he can attach his lips to them. you whine sharply, feeling the tip of his cock nudging near your entrance as well.

he releases your one nipple with a “pop”, sinking you down on his length before you can even make out a sound.

“m’fuck” you mumble, your body ablaze.

“god you’re truly the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen” he says. holding your hips back to get a good look at you.

“auston…” you whine at him, blood rushing to your cheeks again in slight shyness. however your walls clench around him.

“let me compliment you.” he laughed, helping your hips sway against his lap. left, right, up and down, it all felt exactly how you wanted. perfect.

your cunt was soaking wet. the sounds the two of you make where your bodies connect is unholy. auston’s fingers have a tight grip on your love handles, trying his best to keep himself together for you. he chose to focus on littering whatever skin he can reach with more marks, making sure you remember you’re his when you wake up tomorrow morning.

with all the emotions and sensations it truly doesn't take you long to feel the addictive feeling deep in your stomach again. eyes fluttering shut, mewls escaping your pink plump lips, boobs swaying gracefully with your movements, it's like a scene out of a dream the way your walls have a snug grip on auston’s cock. shes perfect, he notes to himself.

he holds you close to him, before moving you to lay down on the bed. he pushes his hands under your thighs and lifts your hips. the position slides him even deeper. makes his cock push up into you, into that spongy part inside that forces your eyes to roll back even more. your thighs begin to tremble.

“take me so good baby, s’like you were made for me.”

“i am.” you respond, because he’s made you honest. in the delirium of him, you’re saying what you’ve had buried inside of you for the past months, waiting for moments like this. with the way he makes you feel it's impossible not to think this way. my god, you’re sure you love him.

with your breathing heavy, recovering from your high, auston groans against your lips––pumping himself into you like a man fueled by pure hunger. the warmth of his cum spilling into you makes you all the more lightheaded.

you grip at the nape of auston’s neck, bringing him in for a kiss. both of your lips already hot pink and puffy. but the need to ground each other is so strong.

the euphoric feeling of relief from your earlier pent up frustration begins to make your body soften. your head felt more vulnerable and you couldn't suppress the words any further. “aus..” you say, kissing his lips before looking him in the eyes. he gives out a small hum in acknowledgment.

“i-i love you. i really do.” your hands squeeze the ends of his hair in anticipation of his response.

did you know that a 6’3, beefy, sassy hockey player can feel butterflies? cause auston is pretty sure he just did. a smile crept up from the corners of his mouth and overtook his entire demeanour. you couldn’t help but reciprocate it.

“yeah?” he asks softly.

you nod, auston’s hands moving to drop your legs and grip your sides instead.

“i love you too, baby.” why wouldn't i? you're too good to be true.

a feeling of bliss overtakes your body. pent up emotions finally all out on the table. its been a lovely set of months now and perhaps you both are ready for that next step.

both of his hands interlock with yours, moving your arms up and over your head. the grip is snug and safe. you can picture holding hands in the cold weather, his palm big and warm enough that you don't need mittens like you used to.

his lips meet yours in a slow gentle kiss. your cheeks blush at the thought of kissing auston straight from the locker room, or his lips leaving a peck on your forehead as you two wait for a table at a restaurant.

the little things.

a whimper leaves your lips, an angelic sound, and an unconscious reaction to auston’s kisses. you can feel auston twitch inside you. so in response, you rock your hips upwards.

“there she is,” he smirks down at you, “there’s my fucking dirty girl.” he notes the dreamy glint in your eye, “you want some more, huh?” you bite your lip, nodding. auston pulls out, just for a moment and your pussy aches at the cruel feeling of emptiness.

kneeling in front of you, aus guides you to turn to your side, straddling one of your legs and grabbing the other one to curl around his side. he aligns himself to your entrance and pushes in without hesitation, already missing the warmth of your wet walls. he continues with his sharp thrusts, one of his hands moving to play with your breasts, rolling your nipples in between his fingers. moans fill the space in the room, and slips of his name fill in the gaps.

the stimulation you feel is so fucking good, for lack of better terms. in contrast to his earlier teases, his thrusts don’t seem to stop anytime soon and you couldn't be any more grateful. your cunt clenching around him so tight that auston hisses, groaning deeply. he shakes his head as if he can’t believe it.

“you’re fucking purring angel, like i didn’t just cum on your pretty pussy. what am i gonna do with you, huh?”

his words make you cry, looking up at him with doe eyes, urging him to bring you to that beautiful edge. “fuck dontstop–so close–so close–” you mumble out quickly. searching for his hand laying on top of your breasts, you tangle your fingers around his again, he squeezes them lovingly. your cheeks fill with a blush tint.

“didn’t plan on it, baby.” he says, making his other hand move to your clit, pressing to rub circles around it, then triangles and then squares and then fucking diamonds. god you didn’t know you just wanted him to keep going and drive you through that burning feeling inside of you.

and so he does, eliciting more sounds from your soft lips along with shivers down your body. he whispers to you how beautiful you are in your ear, while he cums in your sweet cunt once again. you’ll never get over that feeling.

auston grabs you close as he flips the two of you, allowing him to lay down on the pillows, your body sprawled on top of him. his cock still snug in you. you softly hum, this position letting both of you settle down from your shared highs. aus feels your smell calm him, the faint scent of your floral shampoo steadying his breathing, his heartbeat relaxed. he has never felt so safe, so comfortable.

he didn’t want you to move, not even dare to leave this warmth the two of you have created. he's used to getting up after a sexual endeavour like such, two people going their separate ways, hell he's even urgently guided girls out the door. but you? never. if he could keep you here, with him–just him–forever, he would.

you felt auston slowly get soft inside you, and you took that as a queue to take a quick trip to the bathroom to clean yourself up. trying to detach yourself from the soft and gentle embrace of your boyfriend was hard, you didn't want to leave him.

“where are you going?” auston asks, grabbing your waist as you sit up from his chest.

“just the bathroom.” you mention, getting further up and feeling him slip out of you. you let out a small instinctive whimper to the loss. you notice the pout in his eyes, “i’ll only be a minute, don't worry.”

auston was hesitant to let go of your hand, missing the soft feeling contrasted to his rough hands, despite the fact they aren't as calloused as they could be. you smiled at his clinginess, it truly was a compliment. you got up and swiftly made your way to the bathroom mats, as the cold floor sent a quiver up your body. after cleaning yourself up you looked at yourself in the mirror while you washed your hands. you could see the love marks appearing around your breasts, not an uncommon place to find them. aus makes sure to leave new ones each time they start fading.

you make your way back to the bed, seeing auston settled in the sheets. he looks at you with genuinity. a twinkle in his eye. love pouring out of his tender gaze. your skin grows hot. you smile and drop your head to his shoulder once you reach him. “you should see the look on your face”

“what?” he asks curiously.

you look up at him, after wrapping your legs around his own. “you look absolutely smitten.”

he smiles. “good.” he exclaims. proud.

you are quick to get soothed back into his pool of warmth, along with his hand running against your back. here and there reaching the top of your bum, before making its way back up.

you think about your shared confession from earlier. the weight of those immense feelings towering over the two of you gone. all the opportunities and possibilities at your fingertips. “so when do you think i’ll get one of those cute playoff jackets the wives and girlfriends get?”

“you want one?” auston asks, you can hear the smile in his words, if you chose to lift your head you would probably see the smirk too.

“yeah,” you reply, playing with the fingers on his other hand. “i want to be at every game.”

“i’ll make sure you’re the first to get yours then.” you now chose to look up at him, your own happiness radiating across your face. “promise?” you ask, lightly giggling.

“promise.”

“good.”

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[astars-things]

Hi!!! Could I request a Lando x reader based on the Quadrant Hole in the Wall video? Where, because it’s cold, there’s already a bunch of cute moments between Lando and the reader but then she gets dunked and the moment after is even cuter, in which everyone goes crazy over the moment once the video is released. I hope that made sense. Thanks love 💗

here you go babes <3

When Lando came up to you with this quadrant video idea you were sceptical at first and thought it would make a great video, he knew you loved watching from the sidelines, watching the chaos and cheering everyone on from the safety of your little folding chair with snacks.

When he suggested you be in it that was another story "No no absolutely not"  you protested but one flash of his famous puppy eyes and you caved, and that’s how you ended up at the karting track, bundled up in one of Lando’s oversized hoodies, tucked tightly in his arms as cameras were being set up around you.

"Today we're playing whole in a wall but with a twist" Lando spoke to the camera his arms still wrapped securely around you like you might bolt at any second (which wasn’t completely off the table). While Aarva was explaining the rules and going over the three rounds Lando gave you a small kiss on the forehead, "Now the real question is who wants to go first?" Lando asked everyone pointing to each other but most pointed to Ethan 

"Three two one" Max called out and off Ethan went and he made it through no problem, once most of them had gone it was your turn, grabbing one of Landos old F2 helmets and putting it on your head you tilted your head up towards him. "Bub, can you do it up for me?" you asked softly, nerves starting to bubble in your stomach.  He gave you a small kiss on the top of the helmet like you normally do before he got into the car, The group around you let out a collective "Awwww," and you fought the urge to hide behind the visor. 

You sat in the kart, internally panicking and rethinking your life choices, you didn't have much experience with karting maybe ten minutes worth and most of that was spent accidentally bumping into walls. But here you were. Once you heard them scream "one" you were off, the foam wall was getting closer and you panicked serving into the wall at the last minute, Lando quickly rushed over to make sure you were okay 

"Babe! Are you okay?" Lando was at your side within seconds, concern etched across his face as he quickly undid your helmet and pulled it off gently. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “You alright?” You nodded, cheeks flushed from embarrassment more than anything. "Yeah, just… maybe not my calling in life."

"To the tank to the tank" You heard Max and Steve yell, you sat on the white ledge with fear written all over your face, "Ria I swear to-" You screamed but soon your body was submerged in the ice cold water 

Lando quickly ran over to help get you out and wrapped you up with a towel that he had under his hoodie to keep warm. He held you close, trying to rub some warmth back into your frozen arms as you shook like a leaf. "Why did I agree to this?" you muttered into his chest, teeth chattering.

"Because you love me," he whispered with a soft smile, holding you even tighter like he could shield you from the cold with sheer willpower. You went into the bathroom to change out of your soaking wet clothes and chucked on some quadrant joggers and the hoodie Lando had been keeping warm for you 

You rejoined the group now with a hot chocolate in your hands that Lando had been stealing sips out of, "fuck off this is my drink" you laughed snatching it back while he pouted dramatically. He responded by wrapping his arms around you again, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead despite your protests.

View comments 

@.user Y/N wearing his old F2 helmet is killing me they’re too cute.

@.user2 Petition for Y/N to be in every Quadrant video forever.

→ @.Quadrant we will try and convince her don't worry 

@.user3 I swear this video is just 50% Karting and 50% Lando being soft with Y/N.

please reblog and like 🫶

[gloomglimmer]

✧       ›       𝐫𝐩  𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬  .   .   .   (   a  study  of  stars   )    rp  prompts  inspired  by  unique  stars  in  our  galaxy.   ✧   ˚₊   Themes:   tension,  romance,  action. 

Betelgeuse  —  Sender  rests  their  forehead  against  Receiver's.

Sirius  —  Sender  traces  lazy  circles  on  Receiver’s  wrist.

Rigel  —  Sender  steps  between  Receiver  and  the  danger.

Altair  —  Sender  lifts  Receiver’s  chin,  locking  eyes.

Deneb  —  Sender  wraps  their  coat  around  Receiver’s  shoulders,  fingers  lingering  longer  than  necessary.

Procyon  —  Sender  grabs  Receiver’s  hand  before  they  can  leave.

Spica  —  Sender  brushes  a  leaf  from  Receiver’s  shoulder.

Pollux  —  Sender  pulls  Receiver  into  a  half-laughing,  half-panicked  hug.

Castor  —  Sender  offers  the  Receiver  a  cigarette

Fomalhaut  —  Sender  leans  against  Receiver’s  back.

Bellatrix  —  Sender  wipes  blood  from  Receiver’s  lip  with  their  sleeve.

Alnitak  —  Sender  lifts  the  hem  of  Receiver’s  shirt,  tending  to  the  wound  in  silence.

Alnilam  —  Sender  places  Receiver’s  hand  over  their  heart.

Mintaka  —  Sender  bumps  shoulders  with  Receiver,  grinning.

Dubhe  —  Sender  wraps  a  scarf  around  Receiver’s  neck,  adjusting  it  carefully.

Merak  —  Sender  places  a  blade  into  Receiver’s  palm.

Phecda  —  Sender  reaches  for  Receiver’s  hand  under  the  table,  hidden  from  everyone.

Alphard  —  Sender  kisses  the  inside  of  Receiver’s  wrist.

Nunki  —  Sender  holds  Receiver’s  gaze  across  the  battlefield.

Scheat  —  Sender  grabs  Receiver’s  collar,  pulling  them  close.

Markab  —  Sender  holds  out  a  map,  finger  tapping  on  a  place  only  they  understand.

Kaus  Australis  —  Sender  rests  their  hand  on  Receiver’s  shoulder.

Almach  —  Sender  runs  a  thumb  across  Receiver’s  knuckles.

Alpheratz  —  Sender  tucks  a  folded  letter  into  Receiver’s  coat  pocket.

[darlingsblackbook]

Zhongli x Clumsy!Reader / Part Two

He speaks your language - even if it's mostly stuttering, dropped items, and blushing silences.

Genshin Masterlist

I | Zhongli doesn’t rush. He courts you the old-fashioned way—soft gestures, consistent presence, and always treating you with a kind of reverence that makes your heart ache. He never overwhelms; he simply remains—until you finally look up and realize he’s always there.

II | Zhongli begins walking you home after your errands, offering his arm in that composed, quiet way of his. The first time you took it, you tripped over your own feet. He caught you and simply said, “Perhaps destiny wished to bring us closer.”

III | Zhongli starts showing up at your favorite tea shop and ordering your favorite blend before you even get there. When you arrive, it’s waiting for you at a table, with him sipping his own beside it. “I took the liberty,” he says softly, “hoping you’d join me.”

IV | You receive handwritten notes on the finest parchment—carefully folded and slipped between the pages of books you borrow from Liyue’s library. Some are quotes, some are compliments, and one simply reads:

“You are the most endearing constellation in my sky.”

^ 😭

V | Zhongli starts gifting you small trinkets with historical meaning. A hairpin once worn in the opera. A stone from a retired Adeptus shrine. Each time, he gives a long explanation to distract from your flustered expression.

VI | When you drop things in front of Zhongli now (which still happens regularly), he crouches with you to help gather them. He does not laugh, nor scold—he merely smiles and says, “It is as if the world wants you closer to the ground. But I would rather you rise.”

VII | Zhongli reads poetry aloud to you in parks or over tea, always in that soothing baritone. You try not to look at his lips, but fail miserably. He knows. He smiles just slightly more with each line.

VIII | Zhongli lets you ramble when you're nervous—never interrupting, never looking away. Even when you trail off with a whispered “Sorry, I talk too much,” he answers, “On the contrary. Your voice is the most gentle echo I have ever known.”

IX | One day, while walking beside Zhongli, you slip on a cobblestone. Instead of catching you this time, he tugs you gently into his side, steadying you with an arm around your waist.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs, “we should remain like this… just to prevent further accidents.”

X | Zhongli begins to lean closer when you speak, not out of necessity, but to encourage you to talk. You become a stammering mess. He remains entirely composed. His closeness is deliberate—a quiet nudge that says you are safe here.

XI | Zhongli touches you gently in small ways: brushing a leaf from your hair, offering his coat when you shiver, guiding your elbow through a crowd. Each touch is respectful but intimate, leaving your heart galloping for hours.

XII | Once, you shyly asked him why he was spending so much time with you. You thought maybe he felt pity. His eyes softened like melted amber as he replied, “My dear, do you pity a rare flower for blooming quietly in the shade? Or do you treasure it more for being hidden from the world?”

XIII | He once caught you rehearsing how to greet him behind a pillar. You were panicking, mumbling “Hi Zhongli” in ten different tones. He pretended not to hear and greeted you with a bow when you stepped out—though the ghost of laughter played in his golden eyes.

XIV | You once told him, in a moment of panicked vulnerability, “You’re so composed and elegant. I’m just… a mess.”

He took your hand, slowly, gently, and said:

“Even the tides are chaotic. Yet they shape the strongest stone. Never call your softness weakness, my dear. It has shaped me more than you know.”

All Rights Reserved © 2025 Darlingsblackbook

[thakefurniture]

Georgian mahogany oval drop leaf dining table. Solid leaves, raised on turned legs terminating in pad feet.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 13/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : SMAU, Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : Angst

CHAPTER 13 :

Serie Masterlist

The sun had long vanished behind the cliffs, leaving the villa wrapped in honey-warm shadows and the flicker of golden lamplight. It was the kind of evening that felt weightless, full of laughter that lingered too long and glasses that refilled themselves.

No one wanted to go out. They stayed in.

Pietra made pasta barefoot in Pierre’s oversized hoodie, Max toasted garlic bread on the stove with a chef’s reverence, and Kika’s sangria hit with deceptive sweetness. The windows were wide open. The salt air clung to everything. A speaker hummed somewhere near the bookshelf.

The night was slow and soft, the kind that makes everything feel like it’s going to be okay.

Ariana sat curled beside Lando on the floor, tucked between his legs, her head resting lightly on his chest. She wore one of his old t-shirts, threadbare and hanging halfway down her thighs. Her skin still smelled faintly of sunscreen and salt. His hand skimmed her spine in slow, unconscious circles.

She felt like a part of him. Like something that had always belonged there.

It was a perfect moment.

Until it wasn’t.

Charles, three drinks in and too curious for his own good, leaned forward.

“Okay,” he said, slouching against the arm of the couch, “I’ve always wondered something about ballet dancers.”

Ariana turned her head lazily toward him. “Mm?”

“I mean… you’re dancing up close with these guys all the time. Shirtless. Sweaty. Ripped. Like, come on, isn’t there ever a spark?”

Lando’s hand stopped.

Max snorted. “Classic Charles.”

Charles grinned. “It’s a fair question.”

Ariana sat up slightly. “It’s work,” she said, breezily. “Technique. Control. You’re thinking about placement, not attraction. There’s no time for that kind of energy.”

“But it’s human,” Max added. “You’re human.”

Kika chimed in, her voice light, “You ever catch feelings? Or at least a crush? Something?”

There was a pause. Not long. But long enough.

Ariana’s voice was calm. Measured. “Sometimes people date. It happens. Like any job.”

Pietra’s eyes lit up. “So you have, then?”

Lando didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Ariana’s tone didn’t shift. “Maybe. Once.”

The table reacted the way friends always do : teasing, laughing, letting the subject drift again like a leaf on the current.

But not Lando.

He was stone still.

Ariana felt it, the chill in his body where warmth had been a second before.

She leaned toward him, her voice low. “Hey. You alright?”

His answer was too fast. “Fine.”

“Lando—”

“I said I’m fine.”

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

The whole room felt it.

Pietra tried to break the tension. “Oh, come on. Don’t be weird. You won, you’re the one she’s dating.”

But Lando was already standing.

“I need some air.”

He moved fast, not storming, not dramatic. Just leaving.

Ariana stood too quickly. “Wait—”

He didn’t.

The glass door slid closed behind him with a soft click.

The silence after he left didn’t feel empty.

It felt haunted.

Ariana stood near the couch, arms folded, staring at the door like she could will him to come back.

“I should talk to him,” she said.

“Let him breathe,” Pietra murmured. “He’s just… overreacting.”

Outside, the air was still warm, but Lando felt cold beneath his hoodie. He walked barefoot across the stone terrace until he found the wall overlooking the cliffs and sat down hard, elbows on his knees, staring out into the dark.

It wasn’t the sangria.

It wasn’t the long day or the teasing or the wine-soft laughter from inside.

It was the way she said it.

“Maybe. Once.”

Like it didn’t matter.

Like he didn’t matter.

And maybe that was unfair, he knew it was. He knew, deep down, that she hadn’t done anything wrong. But it didn’t stop the jealousy from curling like barbed wire through his gut.

He pictured her, in a studio, in someone else’s arms, her body pressed close to someone who knew how to lift her, how to make her laugh between takes, how to see her at her most focused, her most brilliant.

Someone who belonged in her world.

And worst of all someone she hadn’t told him about.

The door slid open again.

He didn’t turn.

Footsteps behind him. Then the soft sound of her sitting down.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Neither did he.

Finally, she tried. “Lando—”

“Was it recent?” he asked.

His voice was low. Measured. Controlled. But barely.

She paused. “What?”

“The guy. The one you dated. Was it recent?”

She didn’t answer.

Lando’s jaw tightened. “Is he still around? Still dancing with you?”

More silence.

She exhaled, clearly trying to stay calm. “I don’t think this matters.”

“It matters to me.”

She looked at him then. “Why?”

“Because I’m trying to understand what I’m walking into,” he said, sharper now. “I didn’t even know you dated a dance partner until thirty minutes ago. And suddenly I’m sitting there, hearing you admit it in front of everyone like it was no big deal.”

“I didn’t hide it,” she said.

“You didn’t say it either,” he snapped. “You’ve had so many chances to bring it up.”

She pulled back, expression cooling. “So what, now I need to submit a report on every person I’ve ever touched?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you’re implying.”

“No,” he bit out. “I’m implying that maybe I’m an idiot for thinking I knew you.”

A beat of stunned silence passed between them.

Her voice dropped. “You don’t get to say that.”

Lando stood suddenly, pacing a few feet before turning back. “You could’ve just told me. After everything we’ve shared, you couldn’t just say it?”

She stood too, arms crossed tightly. “It wasn’t a secret. It just wasn’t something I wanted to drag into this.”

“This?” He laughed, short and bitter. “What is ‘this,’ Ariana? Us?”

“Yes!” she snapped. “Us. You and me. What we’re building. That doesn’t mean I want to unpack every past thing that ever meant something and put it on display for your approval.”

“It’s not about approval,” he said, but his voice was rising now. “It’s about honesty.”

“No, Lando,” she shot back. “It’s about control.”

That stopped him.

Dead in his tracks.

She stepped closer, voice shaking slightly now — not with fear, but fury.

“I didn’t lie to you. But the second I didn’t give you everything, you turned cold. You walked out. You sat here and decided I was hiding something because you didn’t like that you didn’t already know it.”

Lando said nothing.

His fists were clenched. His breathing shallow.

Ariana shook her head. “You know what’s crazy? I wanted to tell it. I almost did. But I saw your face, the way you reacted before I even finished speaking and I knew if I told you the truth, it wouldn’t stay between us. You’d twist it.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“You already are,” she said. “And that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

Something snapped.

“You want to talk about control?” he said, voice sharp enough to cut. “How about the way you never let me in unless it’s on your terms? How every time I ask you to open up, you deflect. You disappear behind metaphors and silence and artistry.”

Ariana’s breath caught. Her expression shifted not to shock, not to sadness.

But to fury.

She took a step back. “You don’t get to weaponize my boundaries. Not because your ego got bruised.”

He blinked.

Because she was right.

But it was too late.

The silence between them now was filled with anger, or miscommunication.

Clean, cold, sharp.

She wrapped her arms around herself, stepped back another pace.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Don’t,” she said. “Not now.”

“Ariana—”

She turned and walked back inside.

Didn’t slam the door.

Didn’t even look back.

Just left him there, on the terrace, under the stars, breath still heavy in his lungs, hands still trembling from things he hadn’t meant to say.

Things he could never take back.

The villa was still. Quiet. Everyone asleep.

Everyone except him.

Lando lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, the sheets tangled around his legs. Ariana was asleep beside him, curled into her side, away from him.

He couldn’t sleep.

Not with the image of her dancing with another man playing on repeat in his mind. Not with the echo of her voice when she refused to tell him who it was. Not with the ache in his chest every time he thought of the way she look at him after their last talk.

He stared into the darkness for what felt like forever.

And then he made the mistake.

The stupid, cowardly, heartbreaking mistake.

He reached for his phone.

Tried to keep the light low so it wouldn’t wake her. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.

He typed:

‘Ariana Riverria boyfriend’

Nothing came up. Just a few old fan posts. Articles about her shows. A couple of ballet photos from the Opera Garnier. No press. No gossip. No tabloid headline. She had kept her private life just that, private.

But then he opened Twitter.

And that was when it started.

At first it was small, blurry fan-taken photos from backstage. Her in costume. Her smiling with flowers.

And then he saw them.

One by one.

The worst is that they weren’t old. He could tell. Her hair was the same. Her body looked the same. She wore the same rings, same necklace. It wasn’t some distant past.

@parisnightwhispers

the way marc looks at ariana is NOT professional.

and never was.

@balletfangirlunhinged

Ariana latest boyfriend Marc is the lead dancer in Opera House in London

@satinshoestories

New pictures of Ariana and her boyfriend @marcbertrand_official

His breath hitched. He searches the guys insta and opens the comment of his latest post.

@marcbertrand_official

Always light. Always movement.

@danseforever

this doesn’t look like just dance partners energy 😭

@tutusandtension

WHY is no one talking about how close they still are?? that second photo says everything omg

@balletwhispers

this feels… really recent. like last month recent 👀

@rosesandruelights

his hand over hers in slide 3 made me GASP

@nocturneandnails

don’t even care if they’re “private” they’re soulmates, you can tell

@curtaincallheartache

if they broke up, someone forgot to tell their bodies 😭💔

@opalgaze

how do you even date other people after being that intimate with someone on and off stage?

@glassslipperedgirl

can we get a timeline on this or are we all just guessing if they’re back together again

@balleteditsforyou

you’re telling me he posted this knowing exactly what it looks like?? yeah they’re still in love bye

@thepasdetwo

slide two. her body language. his hands. his face. okay.

Immediatly, he recognized him.

The man.

The same man from that night at the Royal Opera of London. The man who played the prince. The one who kept his hand on her lower back all evening. The one Lando had watched with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The one she had called just a friend. Like a brother.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

She had lied to him.

She had looked into his eyes, that night by the Opera balcony and said “they’re like siblings”.

She had said “it’s not like that”.

And now here he was. In every photo. Holding her. Touching her. Loving her, maybe. Or at least, having her, in ways Lando hadn’t even asked about, because he was too scared to hear the answer.

His hand dropped the phone.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his breath shallow, eyes burning, body cold.

Ariana stirred behind him. “Lando…?”

He froze.

“Come back to sleep." she whispered sleepily.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look at her without seeing him.

He stood up quietly, walked barefoot across the room to the bathroom, and shut the door behind him. Locked it.

He stared at his own reflection.

Eyes red. Mouth tight. Hands trembling slightly.

And for the first time since he met her — since their gaze met in that stupid party, since their first kiss in front of a painting, since the balcony and the opera and the backseat of his car — he asked himself the one question he never thought he’d have to.

“Was she with someone else all this time?”

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[jijournal]

Hello! Your Draco fic with the charms was adorable I loved it! Can I request Draco x reader who’s also in Slytherin but is different from the rest of everyone and strange in a whimsical manner but still captures Draco’s heart please!

LITTLE MISS COLLECTOR | D.M

Summary: In which the strangest girl in Slytherin collects lost things in a heart-shaped box, and Draco Malfoy realizes she might be the only person who’s never truly lost herself.

cw: slytherin!reader x draco, slight verbal bullying.

wc: 1.2k

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I love this idea so much I immediately wrote it. I'm really glad you loved my "Charm Me Up" fic. Hope everyone will love this too!

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Everyone in Slytherin thought you were strange, but not in the loud, unpredictable way that made people pay attention.

Your strangeness was quieter.

Softer.

Like you lived a few steps out of time with everyone else. You didn’t seek attention; if anything, you avoided it, walking the halls like a ghost who didn’t quite belong.

Your presence was marked by the delicate clink of a wooden, heart-shaped box that you carried everywhere instead of a satchel. Inside it, as rumor had it, were dozens of trinkets and oddities: broken jewelry, lost pins, empty perfume bottles, and other forgotten treasures no one else would bother keeping.

Some said you were mental. Others laughed and called you loony. Most didn’t bother to understand.

But Draco Malfoy never mocked you. In fact, he never said anything at all. He just watched you—curious, uncertain, and increasingly unable to look away.

At first, it was idle observation. You were a fellow Slytherin, after all, and an odd one at that. But soon, he found himself looking for you without thinking about it.

In the Great Hall, his eyes would drift down the table until they landed on you, sitting at the edge with a cup of tea cooling beside your untouched plate, your fingers gently turning over a silver button as though it carried the weight of memory.

During classes, he noticed how you never quite focused like everyone else. Your quill would pause mid-note as your eyes wandered toward a bit of ribbon caught on someone’s shoe or a leaf drifting in through the window.

There was a stillness to you that unnerved him—like you were always listening for something no one else could hear. And he couldn’t explain why, but that made him want to understand you even more.

It was during one of his late-night prefect patrols when he finally spoke to you. The castle was quiet, dimly lit by torches and streaks of moonlight falling through high windows. Most students were asleep, and Draco had already scolded two third-years for sneaking into the kitchens.

He was heading back to the dungeons when he saw you—half-shadowed at the end of the corridor, crouched beside a tapestry with your wooden heart-box resting beside you.

Your hands were curled around something small, something glinting faintly in the torchlight. He watched you for a moment before stepping closer, and when he spoke, his voice was more curious than accusatory.

“You know it’s past curfew, don’t you?”

You didn’t startle. Instead, you looked up at him with calm, unreadable eyes and said softly, “The castle doesn’t sleep. Why should I?”

Draco hesitated, thrown off by your answer.

He followed your gaze to the open corridor, the soft flicker of torchlight dancing on the ancient stones. Something about your words clung to him.

He nodded toward the box you carried. “Looking for more lost things?”

You nodded. “Always.”

There was no trace of shame or hesitation in your voice—only quiet conviction. When he asked why you did it, you didn’t answer with words.

Instead, you lifted the lid of the box and offered it to him. He stepped forward, peering inside at the collection nestled carefully within. It wasn’t junk, not to you.

Each item had been arranged with care—a cracked mirror, a torn glove, a ribbon with faded embroidery. And near the top, folded neatly, was a Slytherin tie.

His tie.

The one he’d ruined with ink weeks ago and tossed aside under a library bench. He reached for it slowly. “This was mine,” he said.

You nodded again. “I know.”

“Why’d you keep it?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Your fingers traced the edge of the tie as you said, “I keep everything that’s been left behind. Things deserve to be remembered, even when no one else cares.”

The words caught him off guard, landing heavier than they should have. He glanced at the other objects again, seeing them differently now. “But why?” he asked. “Why these things?”

You didn’t look at him when you answered. “Because they were once loved,” you said. “Even if only for a moment. I don’t like when things are left behind and no one remembers they mattered.”

Your voice was gentle, but Draco felt it all the same—like something twisting inside his chest.

Because suddenly he knew you weren't just talking about things. You were talking about people.

And maybe—though you didn’t say it—you were talking about him.

He didn’t know what to say after that. The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable, but dense with things unsaid. Then you closed the lid of your box with a soft click and slipped past him into the shadows, your footsteps quiet against the stone. He stood there for a long time after you were gone.

Days passed, but Draco couldn’t get you out of his head. He found himself searching for you in hallways and between classes, his eyes darting toward any flicker of your presence.

It wasn’t obsession—at least not the dangerous kind. It was something quieter. Like he had found something he didn’t know he’d lost.

One evening, after dinner, he saw you leaving the Great Hall alone, the heart-box tucked carefully under your arm. Without thinking, he followed.

You walked with a calm kind of purpose, as if the castle spoke to you in ways no one else could hear. But before you could turn the corner, a voice cut through the hallway—sharp, mocking.

Urqheart. A seventh-year known for his cruelty and disdain toward anyone he didn’t understand. He stepped in front of you, sneering.

“What are you collecting tonight, little freak? Ghost tears? Bit of someone’s soul?”

You said nothing, only tried to move past him. But he grabbed the edge of your box and gave it a rough tug.

“Maybe I’ll take a look—see what rubbish you’re hoarding now.” That was all it took. Before Draco realized what he was doing, he stepped in, shoving Urqheart back with a glare so cold it could have frozen fire.

“Touch her again,” Draco said, his voice low and deadly, “and you’ll regret it.” Urqheart scowled, muttered a slur under his breath, but Draco didn’t move. Eventually, the older boy backed off, disappearing into the shadows.

You stood silently, your grip tight around the heart-box. “You didn’t have to do that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, I did,” he replied without hesitation. There was a pause. Then, softly,

“You don’t think I’m loony?”

Draco turned to you, and for once, he really looked. At the way your hands shook slightly, at the way your eyes, always so distant, now shimmered with something unspoken.

“No,” he said. “I think you’re the only real thing in this whole place.”

You stopped walking. Slowly, you turned to face him. In the torchlight, your expression was unreadable, luminous. And when you spoke, your voice carried something ancient—something too heavy for your age.

“And I think,” you whispered, “if I had to be forgotten by the world, I’d still be glad I was remembered by you.”

Draco didn’t know how to answer you. But in that moment, as the castle breathed around them and the shadows stood still, he realized something terrifying and beautiful:

You had seen him—truly seen him—before he ever dared to see himself.

And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to be forgotten either.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[theegyal]

The Silence of Love [Annie x Smoke ]

A Sinners One Shot Story

inspired by the haunting theme of His House by Remi Weekes

Fluff, Haunting, Unrequited Love, Triangle Love

Note : I tried to turn the word cornrows braid into a verb so the only thing I came with is : Corn-braided HELP. Don’t judge. So that you know

The bell above the shop door didn’t jingle like it ought to. It rasped, dry and tired, like even it had given up on making noise. Elijah Moore looked up from the tin of salted fish he was stacking, his long fingers pausing mid-air.

She walked in like fog on a still pond. Her dress was plain but clean, pale cotton faded by sun, and her afro crowned her hair, the coils hanging on her shoulders. Her shoes were muddy at the toes. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to.

Her grandmother came in behind Madam Lusseau, the root worker from out past the cane fields. People called her a witch and a healer. Nobody ever said it to her face, though. She was old and walked with a cane made from riverwood, wrapped in twine and turkey feathers.

“Lye, salt, and lemon peel, if you got it,” Lusseau said, straight to Elias at the front. Elijah stayed crouched near the shelves, pretending to work, not daring to stand.

Annie didn’t look around the store, not like other girls did, curious, flitting. She kept her hands folded behind her back like they might touch something expensive by accident. She stopped halfway down the aisle and turned her head.

And saw him.

Elijah was half-hidden behind a crate of dry goods. He didn’t move. Couldn’t. Something in his chest pulled tight, like a line on a fishing pole.

Their eyes locked, not for long. But it hit him like his uncle sunday’s sermon. Her gaze didn’t judge; it just landed soft as a leaf, sharp as glass. And then she looked away.

He stayed knelt, gripping the tin so hard his knuckles whitened.

She and her grandma didn’t stay long. Just a few coins exchanged, and a few words. When the bell rasped again as they left, Elijah’s head was still bowed.

The porch creaked under the weight of sunset and sweat. Elias stretched out on a rocking chair, shirt unbuttoned, cigarette tucked behind one ear, and a toothpick stuck between his lips. His twin brother, Elijah, sat in the corner, barefoot, long legs folded, a book balanced on his knee.

“You see them root workers come through earlier?” Elias asked, grinning. “Ol’ ma’am Lusseau with that stick of hers like she’s Moses.”

Elijah didn’t look up. The heat was brushing the back of his neck.

Elias leaned forward. “But the gal with her? The pretty thang? Tch. You ain’t see the way she walk? Quiet, like she done talk with the ground,” he explained, fascinated.

Elijah’s eyes flicked sideways, barely.

Elias grinned wider. “Nigga, I know you saw her. You froze like a damn pussy. Coulda dropped a whole crate and you wouldn’t blink.”

“I didn’t,” Elijah murmured, almost too soft to hear.

Elias laughed. “Didn’t what, look or blink?”

Elijah went back to his book. Elias shook his head, smiling, but the corners of his eyes tightened a bit. He tapped his foot, rocking gently.

“You neva talk, Jah,” he said. “Gals like her never hear you comin’. You need to act more than fold, bro.”

Elijah didn’t answer. But his thumb pressed hard into the corner of the page until it crumpled.

•

The house was too calm at dinner. The kind of stillness that presses into your bones.

Their father drank straight from a chipped glass, not looking at either of them. The kitchen smelled like grease and bad breath. Elias shoveled beans onto his plate, trying to fill the silence with clatter.

“You bring in the register money?” their father asked, eyes narrowed.

“Spent a little on thread,” Elias replied. “Store needed mending.”

Their father’s hand struck the table like thunder.

“You think I give a fuck what the store needed?”

Elijah flinched, fork trembling in his hand.

Elias sat back, jaw tight. “Ain’t think it was worth hollerin’ over, sir.”

“You don’t think much at all. Just like your bitch mother.”

Silence turned to iron.

Elijah looked down, trying to breathe through the sickness rising in his throat.

“And you,” their father said, turning to Elijah. “Whatcha think? Hmm? You just sit there, not talkin’. Always watchin’, like you better’n us.”

Elijah’s voice barely rose, his eyes cold as a winter’s night. “No, sir.”

“What was that?”

“Didn’t say nothin’,” he whispered.

The backhand was sudden. No windup. Just fire across the face.

He stumbled from the chair, hit the floor hard. The tin plate clattered beside him.

Elias was up now. “Papa, stop,” pleading.

But their father stood, towering. “You wanna taste next?”

Elijah didn’t cry. He just pressed a hand to his jaw, eyes wide and far away. Something he was used to.

“Get him up,” their father muttered, storming off. “Lil’ ghost lookin’ bastard…”

Elias knelt, hands shaking, lifted his brother slow.

“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Elijah nodded once, eyes unfocused. His rage within must not bloom. How many times had he thought about killing his father?

Elias didn’t say anything else. Didn’t know what to say. He already knew about the murderous tortures displayed in his twin’s mind.

•

That night, Annie lay on a straw mattress while her grandmother lit a small clay lamp in the next room, muttering prayers over bones and bundles. The smell of burning cedar filled the air.

She stared at the ceiling, eyes wide, arms crossed over her fluffy chest. Her coiled hair corn-braided.

Outside, something howled, different from a coyote, not quite a dog. The next second, she drifted.

In her dream, she was walking barefoot through a fog-drenched field. Something was burning far away: sweet and dark, like tobacco and ash.

Then a voice, humming low, whispering, not threatening. Just there.

“Annie.”

She turned. No one behind her. Just black smoke.

She woke up suddenly, breath tight. Sweat peeling down her forehead. The house silent again.

“I don’t know you,” she murmured, shaking.

•

In the backroom of the store, Elijah sat with an oil lamp and a watch that wasn’t broken. His left eye was starting to swell, lip cracked. But his hands were steady. The pain didn’t really reach his brain.

He opened the watch face. Click. Closed it. Click. Opened again. Click.

Under the yellow light, his breath fogged the glass.

He said the name once.

“Annie.”

The name hovered like dust in the air.

He pulled his notebook from under a stack of repair slips. In the margin of a page about electricity, he wrote her name in pencil. Never did he hear it before. But his core, gut, soul, or whatever shell the witches called, told him to remember.

Once.

Then twice.

He didn’t smile.

He scratched the black ink on the white paper until it blackened.

•

The rain hadn’t stopped in three days.

It came down hard, then soft, then sideways, as if God herself couldn’t stop crying. The streets of Delta turned to sludge. Church shoes stuck in the mud, wagon wheels groaned in the clay, and the river rose, creeping over the broken fence at the edge of town.

Annie stood under the rusted awning outside the chapel. Her dress clung to her legs, and her wet afro stuck to the back of her neck. She held a satchel tight against her chest, water dripping from the leather. She hadn’t meant to stay this long. But the road home was drowned. Her grandma had stayed behind with a sick child, and now the path to the woods was gone, swallowed by floodwater.

She hated the town’s eyes. The way old men looked too long at her curves. The way women narrowed theirs. So she stood there still, watching water collect in a ditch, hoping the world would stop seeing her for a moment.

“Jah!” Elias’s voice rang from the back of the store, lazy like always. “See lil mama stuck by the chapel?”

Elijah glanced up from the back counter, startled. He’d been fiddling with the same broken transistor all morning, only half hearing the rain.

“That root girl. She soaked through.” Elias leaned in the doorway. “She’ll catch something real bad if she stays out like that. Go give her this.”

He tossed a coat across the room. Elijah caught it by instinct, thin wool, too long in the sleeves: Elias’ coat.

Elijah hesitated, looking at the wet windowpane. The thought made his stomach twist.

“Huh?” Elias smirked. “You shittin’ on yourself for a girl?”

Elijah didn’t answer. Just stood, tucking the coat under his arm. He pulled on his boots, throat tight, hands colder than they should’ve been.

Outside, the sky hung low and gray. Water slapped the boards underfoot.

Annie didn’t see him until he was two steps away.

He moved like mist: silent, careful. One hand held the coat out toward her, not saying anything. He didn’t look her dead-on, just a fleet stare to show he knew she saw him.

She stared at the coat. Then at his face.

“You bringin’ this to me?” she asked, quiet but firm.

Elijah nodded.

She didn’t take it right away. Her eyes stayed on his, like she was trying to figure the price of it.

Finally, she took the coat. Draped it around her shoulders. It smelled like cedar and soap.

“Thank you,” she said.

Elijah’s mouth opened. A beat passed. And he said softly:

“Annie.”

She blinked hard, her brows furrowed.

“That my name,” she said.

He nodded again.

“How you know it?”

He shrugged. He looked down. Then up. His mouth moved like he had more words but didn’t know how to get them out.

Annie’s lips twitched, just barely. Not a smile. Not a growl. Just something between.

“You always this quiet?” she asked.

Another nod.

“People know that?”

He nodded again.

She let the silence stretch this time. The rain had lightened into a soft spatter. She shifted the coat around her.

“You wanna sit down or just stand there tremblin’?”

Elijah flustered. His shoulders had been drawn up like he was expecting something to fall. She sat on the chapel’s steps, pulled her feet up, still looking at him.

After a moment, he sat too. Not close. Just near enough. They didn’t talk again. But they didn’t leave.

Just sat there, listening to the rainfall.

Elias had moved from the shop, leaving it empty, unguarded. He watched them from the back alley, hands in his pockets, chewing the inside of his cheek.

They weren’t touching. They weren’t even talking now.

But something passed between them anyway: a tension, the heat before a storm. A tempest nobody could prevent.

He leaned back against the wall, squinting.

He didn’t like the way Elijah looked at her.

Didn’t like the way Elijah’s silence said too much.

•

That night, the thunder finally came.

Elijah returned home with mud to his knees, and Elias didn’t say a word. Their father was passed out cold, bottle slipped from his hand. The house stank of sweat and corn liquor.

Elijah went straight to the back room, skin still damp, shirt sticking to his spine.

He sat at the table where he worked, candle trembling in the draft.

He didn’t touch the watch. Didn’t touch the books.

He just wrote one thing on a scrap of paper, her name again, folded it up tight and put it under the floorboard, with the others.

Annie lay under her grandmother’s quilt, dry now, corn-braided again, her fingers pressed to the edge of the coat she hadn’t returned. Elias’ coat. Well, the little witch didn’t know.

She’d heard her name before, whispered in dreams, called across fields, but never like that.

Elijah had said it like it was a thing he’d never touched before. Like her name could cut him. Like her name was salvation. Like a worship song.

Annie didn’t know what to make of him.

But for some reason, she wasn’t afraid. He was the first man to never stir carnal fear from her.

Not of him. She didn’t find him unpleasant.

And that… scared her more than anything.

•

The first knock was so soft it could’ve been the wind.

The second came like hesitation: three taps, spaced wide.

He looked like he’d been dragged through the devil’s garden.

Mud dried into his hairline, one eye swollen, collar torn where someone had gripped too hard. He was standing on Annie’s porch with one hand braced against the door, knocking.

She opened.

Her eyes swept over him, from his cracked lip to the tremble in his shoulders. He looked like he had been chewed up by the night. His clothes were soaked through, shirt torn at the shoulder, mud and water dripped from his sleeves. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t speaking. He looked at her the way dogs do when they’re halfway to dying and don’t want to be touched.

She didn’t ask what happened.

“Come in,” she said, voice steady as always.

He stepped inside like he was stepping into another realm. Careful. Quiet. Afraid to stain the floor.

Annie took a thick cloth from the hook by the stove. “Sit,” she said. He obeyed.

She cleaned the blood with warm water and willow bark.

He sat on a stool while she worked, his jaw tight but still. He didn’t flinch when the cloth touched his wounded skin. He didn’t speak, either. But his eyes stayed on her hands.

“You get hit like this before?” she asked, not because she didn’t know the answer but because naming pain gives it less power.

He nodded.

She dipped the cloth again, wrung it out, pressed it to his lip this time.

“You ever hit back?”

His eyes opened in surprise.

“No,” he replied, after a long pause. His voice was rough and deep. Raw around the edges. A man voice.

“Why not?”

Elijah looked at her for a long moment. His eyes weren’t just bruised, they were glassy with something patient and dangerous. He didn’t blink when he finally answered:

“’Cause I would win.”

His tone didn’t carry pride. Just certainty. The man was dangerous but smart enough to not stain his soul with blood.

Annie didn’t laugh. She just dipped the cloth again and pressed it to his temple.

Later, they sat across from each other at the low table near the hearth. He was wrapped in one of her grandmother’s shawls, the one woven with symbols.

The house smelled like herbs and copper. The fire crackled low. Outside, frogs chirped in the dark, and the river moved slow as a funeral procession.

She was bundling rosemary and tucked bones into jars. She didn’t tell him what anything was for. He didn’t ask. But his eyes followed everything she did.

“You ever done rootwork?” she asked to break the hollow silence.

He shook his head. “Read about it.”

“Books don’t tell the truth of it.”

“I know.”

A long pause stretched, the air getting heavy between them.

“I seen things,” he said. “That books don’t talk about.”

Annie smiled, light shining her features. She was infatuated by the melody of his voice. The rough, veiled malice of his tone. He must speak again.

“You always been this quiet?” she asked, tying twine with her teeth.

“Mm-hmm,” he said.

“You like bein’ that way?”

He shrugged. “Don’t like sayin’ things I don’t mean.”

“Folks ever think you weird?”

“All the time.”

Annie didn’t reply back, immediately. She set the bundle down, glanced at him sideways and with a charming, hypnotic smile.

“I don’t.”

Elijah swallowed. Hard. His fingers twitched against his knee.

He met her gaze. And for a breath, they didn’t look away.

By the time dawn began to stretch gold fingers through the cypress trees, Annie was pouring tea into two mismatched tin mugs. Elijah sat on the steps of the porch, barefoot, arms tucked around his knees, still wrapped in the shawl.

He looked out across the early morning mist like he could read the whole world in its curls.

She handed him the mug and sat beside him.

“I think about you,” he said.

It came out so quietly he almost swallowed the words. He didn’t look at her when he said it. Didn’t dare.

“I know,” she simply replied.

Elijah turned his head, speechless.

She sipped her tea, eyes ahead. The river’s water got cold and the frogs had begun their morning chorus.

“I dreamed of you,” she said, “before I ever saw you.”

She tilted her head slightly. “You were standing in a field. Barefoot. Smell of fire and peaches in the air. You had a book in your hand and blood on your collar.”

His fingers gripped the mug tighter.

“You said my name.”

Elijah closed his eyes.

“I thought maybe I made it up,” she said.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. That woman had been haunting him. An entity he craved to taste and hold. The dangers couldn’t stop him from wanting her.

Elias showed up that afternoon.

Boots loud on the porch, breath ragged like he’d run halfway across town.

“Elijah!” he called.

Annie opened the door. Elias looked past her, his heart missing a bit when he saw his brother sitting inside.

“The hell you doin’?” Elias barked. “Disappearin’? Not sayin’ nothin’? Daddy been—”

“I know,” Elijah said.

Elias blinked. He wasn’t used to being interrupted, especially not by Elijah.

“You sleep here?” Elias asked, eyes narrowing, voice edging on something uglier.

Annie raised her chin slightly. “He ain’t a child.”

Elias’ mouth curled, somewhere between a grin and a grimace.

“You in love with her?” he asked Elijah. “Or you just hidin’ in her skirts ‘cause it’s quiet here?”

“Fuckin’ nigga… you love her?” he insisted, almost like it was a joke. But the laugh never came. Elias was hurt but tears couldn’t drop from his eyes.

Elijah stood. Holding his twin brother’s gaze. He didn’t yell.

He didn’t look ashamed.

“Yes,” he said. “I love her.”

Elias didn’t move for a long second, his lips curling up in a fake smile. Then, almost inaudibly, he spoke:

“Yeah. I see that.”

He turned and left, burying the ashes of his first love and the pride his brother took away from him. Like always.

That night, Annie and Elijah sat beneath the cypress tree by the riverbank. The moon painted everything silver.

She rested her head lightly on his shoulder. His hand brushed her fingers. Then stayed there.

She looked up.

He looked down.

Neither spoke.

And then, slowly, Elijah leaned in. Not because he was brave. He was frail in her embrace. Not even because he knew what to do.

But because her eyes said: It’s alright now.

Their lips met, wet, soft, feverish,trembling met each other in a kiss.

Not the kind of kiss that burns but the kind that heal.

NOTE : If you didn’t watch HIS HOUSE yet. Please do ! It’s incredible ! Wunmi is such a QUEEN !