#serene Christmas music

[soulfulrelaxingaudio]

0:35 / 1:04:07

Christmas Relaxing Music Peaceful Holiday Ambience

[gnosk]

I am BEGGING YouTube essayists who don't know shit about music theory to stop attempting to analyze music. Bob you don't know what you're talking about. Bob this analysis sucks. Bob you are saying nothing!!

[simplicius-simplicissimus]

Ryuichi Sakamoto - Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence

Comment: During World War II, British soldier Major Celliers (David Bowie) is captured by Japanese forces and held in a prison camp commanded by the honor-bound Captain Yonoi (Ryuichi Sakamoto). Yonoi and gruff Sergeant Hara become intrigued with Celliers' open defiance in the face of their staunchly ideas about honor and dishonor (according to Japanese belief, a soldier would rather commit suicide than surrender). Meanwhile, a translator, Lieutenant Colonel Lawrence attempts to find common ground between British and Japanese beliefs.

The main theme in “Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence” is the clash between the two very different cultures. Although the members of the European and Asian cultures in the camp try to get closer, they fail because of incompatible ideas about the role and importance of people and remain separated by a lack of understanding.

In the collectivist Japanese culture, the individual has to subordinate himself to the group and counts for little (the ascetic-fanatical devotion to the emperor counts for everything) - while the individualistic British insist on sporting fairness, an inner sense of justice and personal discipline. While the Japanese always seem ready to give up their lives for their ideals, the British make compromises to stay alive.

Below is the final scene of the film - in which Lieutenant Colonel Lawrence visits Sergeant Hara before his execution as a war criminal:

The bottom line of the story reinforces the old belief that we only find understanding for each other if we are willing to view the world through the eyes of the other. Who is always completely right or wrong? Besides greed or a feeling of (moral) superiority, war or conflict is often a result of the refusal of mutual understanding.

-Simplicius Simplicissimus

[leejenowrld]

unwrap me

pairing — kim jungwoo x reader 

word count — 7k words 

genre — smut, explicit sexual content, soft sex, riding, cock bouncing, dom! reader, blow job, big cock jungwoo, very soft christmas love 

synopsis — jungwoo teases you all night about being impatient to open your presents early, but when you get to the last box under the tree, all you find is a note that reads, “your real gift is waiting upstairs.” when you find him in the bedroom, he’s sprawled across the bed, shirtless with nothing but a red ribbon tied low around his waist, his smirk equal parts playful and sinful. “go on,” he murmurs, his voice dropping as his eyes darken, “unwrap me.” what follows is him letting you take control, your hands and mouth exploring him as he groans beneath you.

The living room glowed with the kind of warmth that only Christmas Eve could bring. The golden twinkle lights wove through the branches of the tree, reflecting off the ornaments with a quiet sparkle. Each decoration told a story—hand-painted baubles from your first Christmas together, the tiny wooden reindeer Jungwoo had found at a market and insisted on buying, and the slightly crooked star on top that he’d placed there with a proud grin. The fireplace crackled softly, its embers casting flickering shadows against the walls, while garlands of faux pine lined the mantel, intertwined with red berries and warm white lights. A plush cream rug stretched beneath the tree, scattered with wrapped gifts, and the cozy, mismatched throw pillows on the couch bore faint traces of flour from earlier, evidence of the cookie chaos Jungwoo had happily instigated. The faint hum of holiday music played from the record player near the window, its sound blending with the occasional pop of the fire, while the soft scent of pine, vanilla, and spiced cider lingered in the air, mingling with the sweetness of the cookies cooling on the counter in the kitchen just beyond.

Among the warmth and festive glow, Jungwoo’s Christmas tradition made the day feel even more intimate. His tradition was one that you both cherished and cursed every year. He would stagger gifts throughout Christmas Day, handing you one every two hours like clockwork. Today is no different. Some were small—a favorite chocolate bar wrapped with unnecessary precision, a pair of fluffy socks he knew you’d live in, or a handwritten note telling you how much you meant to him. Others were more extravagant—a skirt you’d casually mentioned months ago, a piece of jewelry that caught your eye during a random stroll through town, or something handcrafted, like the delicate wooden jewelry box he made just for you, engraved with your initials and lined with velvet.

Later, he gave you a book you’d been eyeing for months, complete with his own annotations on the margins of the first chapter, a mix of teasing notes and sweet affirmations. By mid-afternoon, a pair of hand-knit mittens emerged, soft and perfectly sized, with your initials stitched into the cuffs. Then came a tiny glass vial of cinnamon oil. “For the candles you love,” he said, trailing a kiss to your temple as he handed it over. Every gift felt so perfectly you, so thoughtful and intimate, that by the time evening fell, the pile had dwindled into memories you’d carry with you long after the day ended—yet one box, larger than the rest, still sat unopened, its promise wrapped in crimson and tied with his golden flair for mystery.

Jungwoo lounged on the floor, leaning back against the base of the couch with his legs stretched out in front of him. His green sweater clung to him just enough to hint at the lean frame beneath, the hem riding up slightly as he shifted to get comfortable. His plaid pajama pants hung low on his hips, and his bare feet poked out from under the fabric. He looked effortless, the soft light catching in his dark hair, his profile serene yet utterly magnetic.

His gaze flicked to you then, catching the way your fingers toyed absentmindedly with the ribbon of the unopened box beside you, your curiosity peeking through your feigned patience. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, watching you with quiet amusement, the subtle twitch of his brow letting you know he wasn’t about to let you off the hook anytime soon. “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone low and knowing, breaking the silence between you.

You look down at the small, neatly wrapped box in your lap, its crimson paper almost glowing under the tree lights. “I just don’t understand why I can’t open it yet,” you say, your fingers brushing over the glossy gold ribbon. “It’s already way past the time I should’ve opened it.”

Jungwoo smirked, his lips quirking up at the edges as he leaned forward slightly. “Because good things come to those who wait. Patience, baby—it’s part of the fun.”

You gulp at the tone of his voice and his choice of words, the way they settle over you like a quiet challenge, but you don’t let him see that. “I’m being patient,” you say, huffing softly, though the growing anticipation in your chest makes the words feel like a lie.

His laugh was quiet, a deep, rich sound that seemed to settle in the space between you. “Baby, you’ve been trying to sneak peeks at that box all night. I saw you shaking it earlier when you thought I wasn’t looking.”

You shoot him a playful glare, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you. “I wasn’t shaking it. I was… testing its weight.”

“Testing its weight?” he repeats, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. His eyebrow quirks, his gaze steady and soft, but there’s a spark of knowing mischief behind it, the kind that makes your stomach flip. “That’s the story you’re going with?”

The truth is, he probably can see right through you. He always can.

“Jungwoo,” you said, setting the box aside and narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“And you’re cute when you’re frustrated,” Jungwoo says without missing a beat, leaning back again with a satisfied grin.

You huff, your eyes narrowing as his attention diverts to his phone. Taking advantage of his distraction, you quietly reach for the ribbon on the crimson-wrapped box, your fingers moving to untie it. Before you can even loosen the knot, his hand darts out, stopping you with effortless precision, his other hand still holding his phone.

He doesn’t even look at you. Instead, he tuts softly, his tone a gentle warning. “Don’t even think about it, baby.”

“Jungwoo!” you exclaim, pulling your hands back with a mix of frustration and embarrassment at being caught so quickly.

Earlier, your curiosity had gotten the better of you, but he’d intercepted you just as easily, his smug grin and quick shake of his head enough to remind you who was in charge of the gift schedule. “This one,” he had said, his voice laced with playful authority, “is the one you’re going to open last. Stop trying to fight me on this. Rules are rules, baby.”

You’d groaned, flopping back onto the couch in mock defeat. “Why do you always do this to me?”

“Because I like seeing you like this,” he had replied, settling beside you on the edge of the couch. His fingers brushed over your knee, his touch light and teasing as he leaned in closer. “You’ve been impatient all day. It’s cute.”

You shoot him a glare, crossing your arms. “Well, you had the chance to let me open it earlier, you know, when it was actually time for it according to your schedule—but you got too distracted. That’s what you get.”

His grin only widened, mischief glinting in his eyes. “I got distracted? You were the one who kept begging me to let you ride my cock!”

Your face burned at the memory, your cheeks going pink as the heat crept up your neck. You opened your mouth to argue, but the vivid image hit you before you could form the words.

You’d been kneeling by the tree, rearranging the gifts, when you felt him slide up behind you, his hands ghosting over your hips before settling with deliberate possessiveness. Without a word, he had pulled you back, guiding you effortlessly into his lap. The soft fabric of his pajama pants teased against your thighs, and the golden glow of the Christmas lights bathed his face as you glanced over your shoulder. You’d expected his usual playful smirk, but his expression had been darker, more intent. The teasing was gone, replaced by a hunger that made your stomach tighten.

He’d leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “It’s time for your final gift of the day.” His voice was low, dripping with promise, and it had sent a shiver down your spine. But instead of focusing on the gift, your mind had gone somewhere else entirely. You’d turned, clinging to him, your voice breathy and desperate as you begged him to take off his clothes. You’d panted against his neck, your words tumbling out between shallow breaths, your need eclipsing every ounce of patience you’d pretended to have all day. The neatly wrapped gift had been discarded on the floor, forgotten as your hands roamed his chest, pulling at his sweater until he gave in.

He hadn’t made you wait long. His hands gripped your hips with a firmness that left no room for hesitation, guiding you down onto him in one smooth, deliberate motion. The stretch stole your breath, your knees digging into the plush rug beneath you as you clung to his shoulders, your nails pressing into the soft fabric of his sweater. The quiet snap of elastic and the rustle of discarded clothing had faded into the background, replaced by the wet, rhythmic sounds of your bodies meeting and the faint crackle of the fire. 

You moved desperately, bouncing on his cock with a need that bordered on frantic, your thighs burning as you chased every inch of him, the way he filled you, the way he groaned low in his chest with each roll of your hips. The golden lights of the tree blurred into a shimmering haze as your head tipped back, your breath catching in shallow gasps. His hands never left you, one sliding up to splay against your lower back, pulling you closer, while the other stayed firm on your hip, his grip grounding you even as the heat between you built into something that consumed every thought, every sense, until the rest of the world disappeared.

Afterward, you’d rested against his chest, your breaths still uneven, your skin flushed and trembling. His lips had brushed your ear, soft and teasing as he murmured, “I can’t wait to see your face later.” The moment had been perfect then, the scent of pine and cinnamon mingling with the heat of his skin, but now, as you sit in the aftermath, you regret it.

That’s what happens with greed. The gift he’d been saving, the one you’d begged to open, had been left forgotten in the haze of your impatience. You’ve learned your lesson now—patience really does make things better. If only you’d listened.

Now, as he tosses a sock at you from another opened gift, his grin only deepens when he catches the flustered look on your face. “You’re remembering it, aren’t you?” he teases, leaning forward slightly, his eyes glinting with the kind of knowing that makes your stomach flutter.

“Shut up, Jungwoo,” you mumble, but the way you avoid his gaze gives you away entirely.

Without a word, he reaches behind his back and pulls out a small gift, wrapped in familiar crimson paper. Your eyes widen as you gasp softly, your surprise lighting up your face.

This was another gift, not the one you had your eyes on, not the one you’d been silently hoping for all evening, but it was Jungwoo’s way of keeping you on your toes, always surprising you with the unexpected and reminding you that he knew you better than anyone else.

You sit up, putting your arms around his neck and dragging him down until his forehead rests against yours. You kiss him softly, your lips lingering just long enough to leave him chasing after you when you pull back. “Another gift? Baby, you shouldn’t have,” you murmur, the warmth in your voice softening the teasing edge.

He leans back slightly, watching as you eagerly tear into the wrapping paper. His gaze drifts over the curve of your shoulder, his eyes tracing the way your fingers tug at the ribbon and the soft furrow of concentration on your brow. His smile softens, the sharpness of his teasing melting into something more tender, though he quickly masks it when you glance back at him.

“More socks?” you ask, holding up the fuzzy pair with a raised brow, your voice filled with playful disbelief.

“Hey, don’t underestimate those. Your feet are always cold,” he says, snatching one of the socks from your hand and tossing it at you with a grin.

You laugh, the sound bubbling out of you as you giggle, “You know I’ll always steal yours.”

He leans forward, his lips brushing over your cheek before trailing down to your neck, his warm breath fanning against your skin as he presses soft kisses along the curve of your throat. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “That’s why I keep giving you more—so maybe, just maybe, I’ll actually get to keep a pair for myself.”

You laugh softly, tilting your head back as his lips linger, but before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you fully, his lips soft but insistent against yours. Without thinking, you drag him down, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he lets himself fall on top of you, the two of you collapsing into the plush rug beneath the glow of the Christmas tree. Laughter bubbles between you as you both settle there, the moment so warm and natural it makes your heart ache.

But Jungwoo doesn’t stay down for long. With a grin, he sits back up, reaching behind him to grab the box—the one you’ve had your eyes on all day. He holds it out with an almost ceremonial flourish, the corners of his mouth twitching as he watches your reaction.

“Really?” you ask, your eyes wide as your hands hover near the box, almost hesitant.

“Go on,” he says, his tone gentle but filled with quiet anticipation.

The paper is smooth under your fingers, the gold ribbon tied in a perfect bow that you hesitate to undo. The lights of the tree reflect off the crimson wrapping, making it look impossibly perfect. You glance up at Jungwoo, your heartbeat quickening at the way his gaze never leaves you, steady and intent, as though he’s watching something he’s been waiting for all day.

You untie the ribbon carefully, your hands suddenly clumsy under the weight of his eyes. The wrapping falls away slowly, revealing a plain white box. When you lift the lid, your breath catches.

Inside is a single white envelope.

You look up at him, confused. “This is…”

“Open it,” he says, his voice impossibly soft now, his teasing gone, replaced by something deeper.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you slide the envelope open, pulling out the card inside. His handwriting is neat, each letter deliberate, and your chest tightens as you read the words:

Your real gift is waiting upstairs.

Jungwoo leans in slowly, his lips grazing your cheek in a kiss so soft it feels like a whisper, lingering just long enough to draw a shiver from you. His warmth presses into your flushed skin, the intimacy of the gesture spreading heat down your spine. When he pulls back, his gaze locks onto yours for a moment—steady, teasing, and impossibly affectionate—before his hand moves behind his back. He returns with something familiar, the black silk blindfold you’ve shared so many times before, its texture as soft and inviting as the look in his eyes.

Your breath catches, the sight of it setting your pulse alight. “Jungwoo,” you whisper, your voice trembling as anticipation and excitement twist together in your chest.

His lips curve into a knowing smile as he leans closer, the faint scent of him—clean, warm, utterly him—enveloping you. His breath brushes your ear, sending a ripple through your body as he chuckles softly, a sound so low and teasing it feels like a caress. “Trust me,” he murmurs, his voice smooth but edged with a tenderness that steadies your nerves even as your heart races.

The air around you seems to hum, the room growing warmer as his words settle between you. Your lips part slightly, caught somewhere between awe and surrender as you tilt your head up to him. He’s already standing, towering over you with a presence that feels magnetic, his hand extended toward you with quiet confidence.

“Come on,” he says softly, his tone not commanding but inviting, every syllable wrapping around you like a promise.

You let him guide you up, his hands firm but gentle as he ties the blindfold over your eyes. Without sight, every other sensation becomes sharper—the heat of his palm against yours, the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the faint creak of the wooden floor as he leads you toward the stairs. The house is silent now, save for the soft sounds of your bare feet against the floor and the quiet rhythm of your breathing.

He pauses at the base of the staircase, turning you gently to face him. His free hand brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek for just a moment too long. “You trust me, right?” he asks, his voice low and steady, almost a whisper.

You nod, unable to do anything but surrender to the moment. “Always,” you reply softly.

The warmth in his gaze, though unseen, feels tangible, wrapping around you as he guides you up the stairs. Each step deepens the anticipation coiling in your chest, your heartbeat quickening with every soft creak of the wood. By the time you reach the top, your pulse is racing, your grip on his hand tightening slightly as he leads you to what you can only imagine awaits.

He stops just outside the bedroom door, his hand slipping to your wrist. His touch is deliberate, unhurried, as if savoring every second. “I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he says, his voice steady but laced with a deeper, more intimate promise.

You feel his fingers untie the blindfold, the fabric slipping away from your eyes just as he pushes the door open.

The soft light from the hallway spills into the bedroom, revealing the scene inside. The bed is illuminated by a string of fairy lights draped along the headboard, their golden glow casting a warm, romantic hue over the room. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air, subtle but unmistakable, blending with the crisp, clean scent of him. Every detail feels deliberate—the fluffed pillows, the carefully arranged sheets, the way the room seems to hum with the energy of what’s about to happen.

“Baby…” you gasp, your voice filled with wonder as you take it all in.

You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. Your hands trail down his back, and you expect him to respond to your touches, his lips devouring yours, his hands gripping your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls back slightly, his gaze steady and commanding. “Cover your eyes,” he says softly.

You do as he says, your trust in him unwavering. The rustle of movement fills the room, and you hear him shifting, the sound of fabric being discarded making your breath hitch. You can’t see, but you can feel him, the weight of his presence, the quiet dominance in his movements.

“Open your eyes now,” he murmurs.

And there he is. Sprawled across the bed like a masterpiece meant only for you, his sweater and pajama pants discarded to reveal smooth, golden skin that seems to glow under the soft flicker of the fairy lights. The lean muscles of his chest and stomach catch the light, a faint sheen of warmth glistening on his skin as though his body itself is anticipating your touch. A single red ribbon sits low around his waist, its silky bow nestled just above the tight waistband of his boxers, where the outline of his cock pressed hard and insistent against the fabric. 

It’s impossible to ignore how thick and full he is, the strain of the material doing nothing to hide just how ready he is for you. Your eyes drift lower, catching on the handcuffs tied neatly to the bed frame—not yet on his wrists, but waiting, a silent promise of what’s to come. The air between you feels charged, every detail of him—his body, his arousal, his unwavering gaze—pulling you in and stealing the breath from your lungs.

The silence between you is electric, thick with anticipation and the weight of everything unspoken.

“Jungwoo…” you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a confession, barely audible but trembling with need.

His lips curl into a slow, knowing smile, the kind that makes your chest tighten and your thighs clench. He stretches a hand out toward you, his fingers beckoning as his voice drops lower, rough and sultry. “Come here, baby. I’ve been waiting for you all night.”

You crawl toward him with deliberate slowness, your gaze devouring him piece by piece. Your eyes linger on the sharp definition of his thighs, the way the muscles flex with every subtle shift, before they travel to the unmistakable curve of his cock, thick and straining against the tight fabric of his boxers. The sight alone makes your breath catch, and your hands tremble as you reach for him, your fingers brushing the heat of his skin.

You start at his legs, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the hard planes of his thighs, savoring the way his muscles tighten under your touch. His breath hitches audibly, his chest rising and falling in shallow waves, as your lips trail higher, the warmth of his body drawing you in like a magnet. His quiet groans fill the room, low and guttural, spurring you on as you reach the edge of the ribbon. Your tongue darts out, teasing the sensitive skin just below it, your breath hot against his stomach, and the way his hips jerk slightly makes your core ache with need.

Attached to his boxers is a small note, the words scrawled in his familiar handwriting: Unwrap me.

Your hands move with deliberate slowness, untying the red ribbon as you savor every sharp intake of his breath, the way his chest rises and falls under your touch. The silky fabric slips away, pooling on the sheets as you lean forward, pressing a soft, teasing kiss against the hardness straining beneath his boxers. The heat of him radiates through the fabric, making your lips tingle, and you drag your mouth over him again, this time letting your teeth graze faintly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hips lifting involuntarily as a strained groan escapes him, the sound rough and raw. His chest rises and falls, each breath shallow as his head tilts back against the pillows.

The fire in your belly burns hotter at the sight of him, and you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down agonizingly slowly. His cock springs free, thick and heavy, the flushed tip glistening with precum. Your eyes flick up to his face, drinking in the way his jaw clenches and his lips part as he watches you.

“You gonna suck my cock now, baby?” he rasps, his voice low and dripping with that teasing edge you know too well. “Make up for how fucking greedy and impatient you were earlier? Couldn’t even wait to open your gift before bouncing on my cock by the tree.”

Your breath stutters, heat pooling between your thighs as his words sink in. He smirks, catching the way your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his gaze locked on you. “Go on, then. Show me how sorry you are.”

When his cock springs free, thick and flushed, the sheer size and weight of him makes your breath catch. Your mouth waters instinctively, your hand wrapping around his base as if drawn by some magnetic pull. He’s impossibly hard, and you take a moment to appreciate the heat and texture under your fingers, the way he twitches slightly as you run your thumb over the head, spreading the bead of precum that’s already formed. He’s big, so big that you have to wrap both hands around the base just to steady him, the weight of him heavy in your grip.

You don’t tease for long. Leaning forward, you let your tongue dart out, circling the tip in slow, deliberate swirls, tasting the salt and warmth of him. Jungwoo’s head falls back against the pillows with a guttural groan, his fingers digging into the sheets beside him.

“Just like that,” he groans, his voice thick and rough, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips despite the desperation in his tone. “So fucking good… Maybe you do know how to behave after all.”

Encouraged, you press your lips to the head, taking him into your mouth inch by inch, your tongue flattening against the underside as you sink down. The stretch is intoxicating, the weight of him filling you as you hollow your cheeks and draw him deeper. The first full glide of your mouth along his length pulls a broken sound from his throat, his hips jerking slightly as he fights to stay still. The thick girth fills your mouth, the heat and weight of him sending a pulse of arousal straight between your legs.

“God, you’re so fucking good at that,” he groans, his hand tangling in your hair, his fingers flexing just enough to hold on but never forcing you. His head tilts back, his lips parted as a shaky breath escapes him. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough and full of praise. “Don’t even have to guide you… You know exactly what I need.”

You drag your tongue along his cock with unhurried precision, letting him feel every flick and swirl. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking in tandem with your mouth as you work him, your spit-slick lips gliding over him effortlessly. The sounds he makes—low, raw, and utterly wrecked—are enough to make you clench your thighs together, desperate for relief but too focused on him to care.

When you take him deeper, relaxing your throat as you push him further past your lips, his reaction is immediate. His hips buck upward, his groan breaking into a curse as his hand tightens in your hair. “God, just like that,” he moans, his voice strained and desperate. “Take it all, baby. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

You hum around him, the vibration making his thighs tense under your hands. You pull back slowly, your lips dragging along his length, leaving him glistening and throbbing. Your hand replaces your mouth momentarily, stroking him as your tongue flicks against the sensitive ridge just beneath the head. His whole body jerks at the sensation, and the low, desperate sound that escapes him sends a rush of heat straight to your core.

“God, you’re going to ruin me,” he murmurs, his voice cracking as you take him back into your mouth, this time setting a deliberate rhythm. Your lips stretch around him, your cheeks hollowing with each pull, the wet, obscene sounds of your efforts filling the room alongside his ragged breaths and groans.

You glance up to find his eyes locked on you, heavy-lidded and dark with lust. The way he watches you—like he’s barely holding himself together, like every move you make is unraveling him—makes you double down, your pace quickening as you take him deeper.

Your free hand moves to his balls, cupping and rolling them gently, and his response is instant, a shuddering gasp ripping from his chest. “Fuck, you’re so good, so fucking good,” he groans, his voice breaking as his hips lift off the bed, chasing the heat of your mouth.

You moan around him, the vibrations drawing another deep groan from his lips. He’s throbbing against your tongue, every inch of him hot and heavy as you work him, your hand stroking in time with the bob of your head. The tension in his body coils tighter with every movement, his breaths coming faster, his grip on your hair almost trembling.

But you’re not stopping. You take him back into your mouth, moving faster now, your head bobbing as you hollow your cheeks and suck hard. Your hand squeezes the base, stroking in rhythm with your mouth as your tongue drags along the underside, pressing against the ridge with every pass.

Jungwoo’s body tightens, his abs clenching as his moans grow louder, more desperate. His hips lift off the bed, thrusting into your mouth as his hand grips your hair tighter.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his voice breaking as his cock pulses against your tongue. “I’m so close—don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop.”

You hum again, the vibrations sending him over the edge. His hips jerk violently, and with a guttural cry, he spills into your mouth, hot and thick as you swallow him down. His cock twitches as you milk him for everything, your tongue still teasing the sensitive head as his body shudders beneath you.

When you finally pull back, your lips are swollen, your cheeks flushed, and your throat sore—but the look of pure bliss on Jungwoo’s face makes it all worth it. He’s wrecked, his chest heaving and his hair damp with sweat as he looks down at you, his eyes dark and full of something that makes your stomach flip.

“Come here,” he growls, the words rough and cracking with desperation as his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist and pulling you toward him with a heat that makes your breath hitch. His chest is heaving, his skin flushed and glistening, and the intensity in his eyes is almost overwhelming. “I’m not done with you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking as his grip tightens, his free hand sliding up your thigh, fingers digging into your skin.

“Get up here—now.” The command in his tone is undeniable, his voice rough and cracking with raw hunger. The way his lips part and his gaze drops to your body, devouring every inch of you, sends a jolt of need straight through you. You waste no time, climbing over him, your hands steadying yourself on his chest as you lower yourself slowly, feeling the thick head of his cock stretch you open.

“Fuck,” he hisses through gritted teeth, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. “You’re so fucking tight… baby, I’m—shit.” His jaw clenches as you sink down fully, the movement forcing a groan out of him, raw and deep.

You start to move, rolling your hips experimentally at first before finding a rhythm, bouncing on him in a way that has his body tightening beneath you. The soreness is evident in the way he winces slightly, but the sounds he makes—low, wrecked moans spilling freely from his lips—tell you he’s not even thinking about stopping.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he groans, his head falling back against the pillows, his eyes rolling shut for a moment before snapping back to you, watching the way your body moves. His hips start to meet yours, the friction driving you both higher, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room along with his broken cries of your name.

You move deliberately, sinking down on his cock with slow, rolling motions that make his hips jerk beneath you. The stretch, the fullness, the way he fits so perfectly inside you—it all sends sparks up your spine, but tonight isn’t about chasing your own pleasure. It’s about him.

“Jungwoo,” you murmur, your hands pressing against his chest as you lean forward, your voice trembling but tender. “Do you know how perfect you are? How good you’ve been to me today? I just want to make you feel it. All of it.”

He groans, the sound catching in his throat as his hands grip your hips, his fingers digging in like he’s grounding himself. “Baby,” he breathes, his voice shaking, “you don’t have to—fuck—I already feel it. I always feel it with you.”

But you shake your head gently, a soft smile playing on your lips as you move a little faster, your thighs burning with the effort but your heart full. “I want to,” you insist, your voice barely above a whisper, but the conviction in it makes his breath stutter. “I want you to feel as good as you make me feel every single day. I just… I need to do this for you.”

His expression softens, though the strain of pleasure is evident in the way his jaw clenches and his lips part. “You already make me feel like the luckiest man in the world,” he says, his voice cracking slightly as his hands slide up your sides, trembling against your skin. “Every damn day. But this…” He groans again, his hips lifting to meet yours, his cock sinking deeper into you, making you gasp. “God, baby, you’re incredible.”

You ride him harder now, the pace of your hips quickening as you feel his body tense beneath you. His cock pulses inside you, the wet glide of your movements amplified by the slick heat between you. Your name falls from his lips in a broken moan, his hands gripping your waist like he can’t hold on much longer.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion as you press your forehead to his, your movements never faltering. “I love you so much, Jungwoo.”

“Fuck, I love you too,” he groans, his eyes squeezing shut as his head falls back. “So much. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You kiss his chest softly, your lips brushing over the sweat-slicked skin as you keep moving, your pace deliberate and loving. Each bounce on his cock draws another guttural moan from him, his body arching beneath yours as the tension builds higher and higher.

Your eyes flicker to the handcuffs tied to the bedframe, the glint of metal catching the soft glow of the fairy lights. The idea takes hold of you, sharp and irresistible, a way to give him everything he’s given you tonight—to show him how deeply you want to love him, to please him, to worship him.

With deliberate slowness, you lean forward, brushing your hands over his wrists as you guide them upward. He doesn’t resist, his body pliant under your touch, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his gaze locks on yours. His breath hitches when you wrap the cuffs around his wrists, snapping them into place with a soft, deliberate click that seems to echo in the room, heavy with intent.

His lips part, a low, guttural moan spilling from him as his hips twitch beneath you, his cock flexing inside you. “Fuck,” he groans, his voice hoarse and dripping with need. “You’re so fucking hot like this—do whatever you want to me, baby. I’m all yours.”

Your hips roll down sharply, sinking onto his cock with a deliberate, measured pace that draws a guttural groan from his chest. The sound reverberates through you, sending a pulse of heat straight to your core.

“Good boy,” you murmur, your voice soft yet commanding as you lean down, your lips brushing over his in a kiss that’s both tender and possessive. You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation. All you find is surrender. “Let me take care of you.”

His head falls back, his lips parting as a shaky exhale escapes him. His bound wrists tug lightly against the cuffs, not in protest but in response to the overwhelming need coursing through him. His eyes, half-lidded and glassy with desire, flicker back to yours, and the trust in them makes your chest ache in the best way.

“I want to show you,” you whisper, your voice trembling but full of conviction as you plant your hands on his chest, your palms pressing into the hard planes of muscle glistening with sweat. “How much I love you. How much you mean to me. Let me make you feel it, Jungwoo.”

You bounce on him with reckless abandon, your body moving instinctively, completely consumed by the rhythm. Each upward lift of your hips is sharp and immediate, followed by a desperate slam back down, taking him so deep it leaves you breathless. Your thighs burn with the effort, but you don’t stop, your need to please him overpowering everything else.

His cock stretches you perfectly, filling you completely with every bounce, the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room. Your hands splay over his chest, pressing into the hard, sweat-slicked muscles as you struggle to maintain control, your own gasps mixing with his groans. His bound wrists tug uselessly at the cuffs, his knuckles whitening as his fingers flex, desperate to touch you but unable to.

His eyes flutter open, dark and hazy, locking on the way your breasts move with every bounce. He groans, his frustration palpable as his hands continue to tug at the cuffs. “Fuck, baby,” he breathes, his voice trembling. “You’re gonna kill me. I can’t even—shit—I can’t even touch you.”

You glance down at him, your movements growing faster, more erratic, your breasts bouncing wildly with the force of it. His eyes darken as they fixate on your body, but his inability to touch you drives him wild. His hips jerk beneath you, meeting your every bounce with a raw urgency that makes your body quake. The sight of him so wrecked, so helpless under you, keeps you going. “You don’t need to touch me,” you whisper, your lips brushing over his jaw before pulling back. “Just lie there and take it like my good boy. Let me love you, Jungwoo.”

His hips buck up instinctively at your words, pushing himself deeper, and you gasp, your nails digging into his chest as you pick up the pace. Your movements become erratic, driven by the desperate need to push him over the edge. You’re bouncing so hard now that your body feels like it’s moving on instinct, your breasts swaying with every motion, completely out of his reach.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your voice breathless but full of reverence as you ride him harder, faster. “So good for me. You’ve been so good all day—so attentive, so perfect. Let me make you feel how much I love you.”

His jaw slackens, his moans breaking into ragged gasps as his cock throbs inside you, the tension in his body coiling tighter with every movement. “Fuck,” he chokes out, his head pressing back against the pillows, his bound wrists flexing again like he’s desperate to anchor himself. “I’m gonna—baby, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you whisper, your voice soft but commanding as you grind down on him, circling your hips once before slamming back down. “You’re so good for me, Jungwoo. Let go. Let me feel you.”

His bound hands strain against the cuffs one last time as his body tenses beneath you, and with a shattered cry, he comes, his cock throbbing violently as he spills deep inside you. The heat and fullness of his release push you over the edge, and you throw your head back, your own orgasm ripping through you as your body clenches and shakes around him.

Jungwoo’s chest rises and falls beneath your palms, his skin still flushed and damp from everything you’ve just done. His wrists are free now, but he hasn’t moved much, his hands resting lazily against your thighs as his dark, half-lidded eyes roam over you like he’s trying to memorize every detail. The glow of the fairy lights softens his expression, but there’s a spark in his gaze that keeps your pulse racing.

“So,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, tinged with the remnants of his satisfaction. “Was the present worth the wait?”

A grin tugs at your lips as you lean down, brushing your nose against his before pressing a soft kiss to his jawline. “Absolutely,” you whisper, your voice playful but sincere. “Best one yet.”

For a moment, his expression softens even more, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin. But then, without warning, his grip tightens on your hips, and before you can process what’s happening, you’re on your back, the cool sheets beneath you sending a shiver up your spine.

“Jungwoo—” you start, but the words catch in your throat when his hands grab your wrists, pinning them above your head with surprising ease. His grin is slow, wicked, and full of intent as he reaches for the handcuffs you’d only just taken off him.

“I have one last gift for you,” he says, his voice lower now, rich and teasing, with just enough authority to make your breath hitch.

Your heart pounds as the cuffs click around your wrists, securing you to the bedframe. His hands linger, his fingers brushing over your skin as he leans down, his breath warm against your ear.

“Stay still, baby,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a smirk that sends a jolt of anticipation through you. “This one’s going to take a little patience.”

[aventurineswife]

I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA

AVENTURINE X READER THEY MARRIED THEY HAVE A CHILD (or children idk) AND LIKE YEAH ITS CHRISTMAS AS A FAMILY AND AVENTURINE GETS EMOTIONAL

A Family of Our Own

Summary: You and Aventurine, now married, are celebrating Christmas as a family. Your life together has evolved beyond the high-stakes gambles and manipulative games that once defined Aventurine’s world. As you enjoy the holiday with your child, Aventurine becomes unexpectedly emotional. He reflects on his past, his trauma, and the family he never thought he'd have. In the warmth of the holiday and the love of his family, he grapples with feelings of gratitude, guilt, and the realization that happiness may finally be within his reach.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Winter Special, Family Fluff, Christmas Celebration, Emotional Vulnerability, Hurt/Comfort, Character Development, Domestic Life, Love and Healing.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma, Emotional moments, Brief references to violence in Aventurine’s past, Light angst (in Aventurine’s emotional struggles).

The flicker of golden lights from the Christmas tree cast a warm glow across the room, reflecting off the delicate glass ornaments. The soft hum of holiday music played in the background as your child giggled, unwrapping presents under the tree. Aventurine, dressed in a velvet green robe that matched the festive decor, sat on the couch, his usual confident smirk softened into a serene smile.

The air was filled with the scent of cinnamon and pine, a reminder that you had finally managed to convince Aventurine to let the holidays be about more than just the game of life he so often played. This year, it was different.

He leaned back, watching the scene unfold before him: your child holding up a glittering card-shaped ornament, exclaiming about how it was "just like Papa's lucky charm," and you, laughing softly as you adjusted the tree's golden star.

"Careful with that," he teased, his tone light but carrying a flicker of concern. "That ornament's as fragile as the odds in my favor when I first gambled on you."

You turned, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, you mean the safest bet you ever made?"

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, far removed from the sharp laugh he often wielded to mask his emotions. "Safe? Hardly. I was convinced I'd lose you the moment you realized what a mess I am."

Your child, curious and full of energy, interrupted with a wide-eyed question. "Papa, what's a gamble?"

Aventurine's eyes sparkled with amusement. "It's a game of chance, little one. Like when you open a present—you never know if it'll be something you love or something silly."

"Like socks?" they asked innocently.

"Exactly," he replied, his grin widening. "Except I don’t gamble on socks. I gamble on life. And your parent," he added, glancing at you, "was the highest-stakes game I've ever played."

You rolled your eyes playfully, settling beside him on the couch as your child became engrossed in their new toy. "And yet, you always seem to win."

His smile faltered for just a moment, his gaze growing distant as he reached for your hand. The weight of his past—the lies, the betrayals, the scars—lingered in the unspoken spaces between his words. "Not always," he murmured, his voice quieter now. "But this… this is a victory I never thought I'd have."

You squeezed his hand, grounding him. "You're here, Aventurine. With us. That's all that matters."

He exhaled slowly, his usual mask slipping away completely. "Do you know how terrifying it is? To love something so much, to have something to lose?"

Your child’s laughter filled the room again, and his eyes flickered toward them, shimmering with unshed tears. "I never thought I’d have this—a family, a home. It scares me, because it feels… fragile. Like if I blink, it’ll all disappear."

You rested your head on his shoulder, your voice steady and sure. "It’s real, Kakavasha. You’ve built this. We’ve built this. Together."

His name—his true name—spoken in your voice always unraveled him. He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You’re too good to me," he whispered.

"And yet, here we are," you replied, smiling. "Aventurine, the great gambler, finally learning that not every win comes with a price."

The night unfolded with warmth and laughter, the three of you sharing stories, unwrapping gifts, and basking in the glow of the season. When your child finally fell asleep under the twinkling lights, Aventurine carried them to their room, his steps careful, his expression softer than you’d ever seen.

Later, as you sat together by the fireplace, his arm draped around your shoulders, he spoke again, his voice thick with emotion.

"Thank you," he said simply, his eyes meeting yours.

"For what?" you asked, leaning into him.

"For showing me that some gambles aren’t about winning or losing," he replied, his smile small but genuine. "They’re about what you’re willing to risk. And for this—for you, for them—I’d risk everything a thousand times over."

You smiled, brushing a hand through his hair. "Merry Christmas, Aventurine."

He kissed your hand, his voice soft but steady. "Merry Christmas, my love."

For once, Aventurine didn’t feel the need to chase the thrill of the unknown. This was enough. This was everything.

[ducksido]

Haii!!!! I have an EVIL request😈😈😈😈😈 okay imagine rook with a color blind reader, who is constantly arguing that the color they see is the right one, reader refuses to believe that his hair is blond, or that his dorm uniform is purple (reader sees colors inverted so black is white and red is green type)😝😝😝😝 so basically it would just be reader arguing with rook that the pillow or whatever they are holding up is NOT purple and in fact YELLOW and rook is like « wow Mon amour the way u see the world is a fascinating mystery but I regret to inform u that the pillow is in fact magenta » and readers like « NUH HUH »

Yayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayaya

(EVIL REQUEST ACCEPTED EVILLY 😈)

It started with the pillow.

You had it clutched dramatically in both hands, shaking it in front of Rook's face with the passion of a revolutionary. It was not purple. It had never been purple. It was YELLOW. As bright as a lemon on a hot summer day.

Yet here stood the absolute madman across from you, smiling serenely as if you’d just handed him a flower and not a declaration of WAR.

“Mon trésor,” Rook said, eyes shining with awe and amusement. “That pillow is magenta.”

“NO IT ISN’T,” you shouted, scandalized. “You are LYING. That’s yellow. Like. Sunflower yellow. Corn-on-the-cob yellow. Pikachu yellow!”

“Non, non, non~” he chimed musically, stepping closer like he was inspecting a rare bird. “Magenta. A rich, flamboyant hue like the final flourish in a ballet! C’est magnifique!”

You stared at him. HARD. “You mean to tell me. You actually think this... sunshine-colored marshmallow of a pillow... is magenta.”

“But of course!” Rook grinned. “I suspect this is like the time you insisted my hair was green.”

“Because it IS,” you said, offended. “Like, the green you see on fake Christmas trees. Or, like, radioactive lettuce.”

“Blond, mon ange. It is the color of fields kissed by the golden sun!”

You clutched your head like you were losing your mind. “Golden sun?? What sun is green, Rook??” You pointed accusingly. “You are gaslighting me!”

“I promise, I am not trying to deceive you,” he said, looking genuinely delighted. “You simply see the world differently! You once claimed my dorm uniform was a ‘horrific shade of neon lime’—but as it happens, it is a royal violet.”

“And I stand by that,” you said, crossing your arms. “Your whole dorm looks like a pack of mint gum. But like. Fancy villain mint gum.”

“I must admit, the poetry in your perception is unlike anything I have ever known,” Rook sighed dreamily. “To live in your world must be like seeing through an enchanted mirror.”

“Yeah, a mirror that lies to me constantly.”

You both stared at the pillow again.

“…It’s so yellow, though,” you whispered.

“It’s so magenta,” Rook whispered back, just as reverently.

You let out a groan and flopped back on the bed, clutching the offensive pillow to your chest. “You’re lucky I’m cute.”

“I am blessed that you are cute and mysterious,” Rook said, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Every day with you is a new discovery! Who knew a disagreement about color could be so thrilling?”

“You’re just happy you get to say fancy words and stare at me like I’m a puzzle.”

“But you are a puzzle,” he said lovingly. “And I shall dedicate my life to solving you.”

“…Even if I never agree that this is purple?”

Rook smiled and kissed the top of your head. “Even then.”

(You still think the pillow is yellow, though.)

[kathlare]

The One Where We Hit Reset

Welcome to the masterlist for this phase of Amelie and Lando’s story, set in 2024—a year where they’ve finally found their way back to each other. After years of missed chances, misunderstandings, and unresolved feelings, they are now in a serious and committed relationship. This timeline explores their growth, both individually and together, as they navigate the challenges and joys of being in each other’s lives again.

previous year / next year

Their journey hasn’t been easy—far from it—but it’s exactly what makes this year so meaningful. It’s a story of second chances, healing, and the realization that sometimes, the right person comes back at just the right time.

Thank you so much for reading and being a part of this journey! Your support and love for these two means everything to me, and I hope you enjoy watching them figure it all out (with plenty of laughs, love, and maybe a bit of drama along the way). 💕

full masterlist // request over here!

electric nights

behind the scenes

northern scapes

caught in the silence

fractures in the glass

across the world, for us

between us

taking the leap

this love

fanboy - Eras Tour Melbourne

just us

the little prince

the sushi test - Bahrain Grand Prix

sneaking glances - Saudi Arabian Grand Prix

caught in th glow - Oscars

tease and temptation

behind the grin - Austalian Grand Prix

reckless realizations

through the storm - Japanese Grand Prix

when the lights fade - Coachella

shifting tides

before the goodbye

burning midnight - Chinese Grand Prix

orange chaos

the alchemy - Miami Grand Prix

golden hour - Met Gala

bed chem

out of the bag - Emilia Romagna Grand Prix

stages of success - Saturday Night Live

virtual connection

drunk words, sober hearts - Monaco Grand Prix

tension on the field

inked in love - Canadian Grand Prix

please please please

surprise in the spotlight - Governor's Ball

between the quite moments

rebuilding bridges

sweet distraction - Spanish Grand Prix

perfectly still

shattered moments - Austrian Grand Prix

balancing act

it's so romantic in paris - British Grand Prix

stage lights & stolen glances - Summertime Ball

echoes of sacrifice - Hungarian Grand Prix

drunk calls

shifting focus - Belgian Grand Prix

homecoming haven

sunsets & sparks

sun, fun and a whole lotta you

mullet madness - Outside Lands Festival

short n' sweet - Short n' Sweet Release Day

even miles apart - Dutch Grand Prix

surprise, baby

fuck papaya rules - Italian Grand Prix

unspoken tension

shattered sparks - Video Music Awards (VMAs)

unspoken words - Azerbaijan Grand Prix

electric feel - Singapore Grand Prix

showtime - Short n' Sweet Opening Night

call it what you want - Amelie's Birthday Special

center stage - Short n' Sweet New York City

quiet chaos

a call to connect

shit show - United States Grand Prix

a night to remember - Mexico City Grand Prix

you are enough - Sao Paulo Grand Prix

tears of triumph - Grammy nominations

juno - Lando's Birthday Special

everything as it should be - Short n' Sweet Los Angeles

under the neon lights - Las Vegas Grand Prix

thankful for you - Thanksgiving Special

quiet respite - Qatar Grand Prix

tangled in love

papaya on top - Abu Dhabi Grand Prix

shining bright

feeling snowflakes

a symphony of lights

goodbye for now

just six more days

distant glow

through the screen

homecoming serenity

interrupted magic - Wicked World Premiere

buy me presents - Christmas Special

wake-up call

is it new year yet? - New Year's Special

[millyh23]

Lonely Nights Part 1

word count: 1k

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Arsenal training facility, transformed into a haven of festive cheer for the annual Christmas party, hummed with the soft strains of holiday music. Strings of fairy lights draped over every surface twinkled against the warm, fragrant air, suffused with the scent of pine and mulled wine. Laughter and cheerful exchanges punctuated the room, where teammates and staff mingled, sharing intimate moments with their partners in a tableau of connection and joy.

Y/N stood apart near the drinks table, a glass of sparkling water in hand. Her choice, long removed from alcohol, symbolized the discipline that had carried her to this point—an illustrious career punctuated by Champions League triumphs, Ballon d’Or nominations, and records with Arsenal and her national team. On paper, she was the epitome of success.

Yet, as her gaze drifted across the room, a subtle disquiet settled over her. Katie leaned casually, her arm draped around Caitlin’s shoulders as they laughed at Kyra's story. Leah twirled her girlfriend on an impromptu dance floor, their faces alight with shared delight. Even Lina lingered in a private corner with her wife and kids, their quiet intimacy a stark counterpoint to the festive clamor.

Y/N sipped her water and turned her attention elsewhere, managing a polite smile as Beth waved her over. “Enjoying yourself?” Beth asked as she settled beside her.

“Always,” Y/N replied lightly. “You?”

Beth’s face softened as her gaze drifted to Viv, animated in conversation with Lia. “It’s nice to unwind, especially with Viv leaving. This year’s been… challenging but I'm just glad she's home for a while”

“I’m glad you have her,” Y/N said, her sincerity unblemished by the peculiar ache the sentiment left behind.

Beth’s smile lingered, though her scrutiny deepened. “And you? Anyone special waiting under the mistletoe?” she teased, nudging Y/N with playful insistence.

Y/N’s laugh came easily, but her response betrayed nothing. “Just me, myself, and I.”

Beth’s humor dimmed into faint concern, but before she could probe further, Viv called her over. Y/N waved her away, maintaining her outward cheer as Beth departed. The hollowed quiet that followed left Y/N pondering her solitude.

Relationships, once peripheral, now loomed in sharper relief. She had known fleeting affections, impermanent and inconsequential. Football’s supremacy in her life had obviated deeper bonds, and she had convinced herself that her singular focus sufficed. Yet, surrounded by the tactile, tangible affections of her teammates, the absence of such intimacy struck a discordant note.

Seeking solace, she wandered to the expansive window overlooking the frost-tinged training grounds. Reflected in the glass was the image she had cultivated over years: poised, resolute, and self-sufficient. Yet, in the faint shimmer of unshed tears, she glimpsed a vulnerability that had eluded her reckoning.

The frost-dappled grass outside seemed to mirror her inner state, serene yet cold, beautiful yet devoid of warmth. Memories of her youth surfaced—days spent running drills with unrelenting fervor, nights studying game footage while her peers pursued youthful indiscretions. Every sacrifice had carved her path to greatness, but at what cost? The accolades lining her shelves were mute witnesses to a life devoted to singular ambition, but now, they felt hollow without someone to share in their glory.

“You alright?” Leah’s voice, uncharacteristically subdued, interrupted her reverie.

Y/N turned, her practiced composure quickly restored. “Just needed a moment,” she said, her tone carefully modulated.

Leah joined her at the window, her posture relaxed but her concern evident. “It’s a lot sometimes, isn’t it? All the… togetherness.”

Y/N’s laugh was faintly sardonic. “Not exactly my area of expertise.”

Leah’s expression softened. “You’ve got us, though. Don’t forget that.”

“I know,” Y/N replied quietly. “And I’m grateful. But sometimes it feels like I’ve spent so much time chasing dreams that I’ve forgotten to leave space for anything else.”

Leah remained silent, then offered a gentle nudge with her shoulder. “You’ve got time. And we’ve got faith in you. Maybe this is just the beginning of something new.”

For the first time that evening, Y/N smiled with unguarded warmth. “Maybe.”

The night unfolded with renewed vigor. Y/N allowed herself to be drawn into the festivities, her laughter genuine as she engaged with her teammates. She joined a spirited debate over Christmas trivia, shared a dance with a giggling Beth, and even let Katie convince her to wear a ridiculous Santa hat for a group photo. Yet, as she returned to her quiet flat that evening, the stillness carried an unfamiliar weight. Facing her reflection once more, she resolved to confront the void she had long ignored.

The days that followed saw subtle shifts in Y/N’s demeanor. At training, her focus remained sharp, but there was a new openness in her interactions. She lingered in conversations, laughed more freely, and even joined a team lunch unprompted. Still, the nagging sense of incompleteness lingered.

Two days later, in the locker room after training, the team launched their ambush. Katie, her grin equal parts mischief and determination, crossed her arms as she delivered the proclamation. “Y/N, we’ve decided to set you up on a date.”

“What?” Y/N asked, her incredulity evident.

“You don’t get a say,” Leah interjected, her stance casual but her tone resolute. “We’ve seen you moping, and we’re not having it.”

“I don’t mope,” Y/N protested, her reddening cheeks undermining her argument.

Beth raised an eyebrow, her skepticism plain. “Right. Look, you’ve mastered football, but even the best need someone to share it with. Trust us on this.”

Y/N hesitated, her gaze flickering across the eager, teasing faces of her teammates. Their camaraderie was infectious, their concern genuine. For years, she had prided herself on her independence, but in that moment, she realized that accepting help didn’t diminish her strength—it complemented it.

“You’re relentless.”

Katie smirked triumphantly. “So, that’s a yes?”

After a long pause, Y/N exhaled a resigned sigh. “Fine. One date. But if it’s a disaster, I’m never listening to any of you again.”

The room erupted in cheers, and Katie clapped her hands. “Oh, it won’t be. We’ve got someone perfect in mind.”

As the team dissolved into excited scheming, Y/N couldn’t suppress a quiet laugh. Perhaps relinquishing control, for once, might yield something worthwhile. The prospect of exploring a new chapter, however uncertain, brought an unexpected lightness to her step as she left the locker room, her teammates’ laughter echoing behind her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The End of Part 1

[bonny-kookoo]

More someone older smut drabble pls

When he wakes up, he feels somewhat.. anxious?

He slowly sits up in his bed to look around, checking the digital clock next to his bed on the small table twice just to make sure that he's truly not asleep anymore. Because this- just doesn't feel quite real.

There's faint music playing in his home, outside the bedroom. The smell of something cooking fills the room as well, dishes clattering a bit in the sink in the kitchen. He knows it must be you- he's aware that you're staying with him after all. But still.

This feels too much like his mind making things up.

The bedroom door opens slowly, your head poking in, before you realize he's awake. "Oh, you're up." You say, entering more openly now. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Why did you get up without me?" He wonders, feet meeting the floor as he's moved to sit on the edge of the bed, making you giggle as you sit down on the bed on your knees.

"Cause.. I wasn't tired anymore." You shrug, reaching out to somewhat tame his slightly wild bedhead. "And I thought you might appreciate breakfast?"

"I do appreciate that." He smiles, before he catches you off guard by tugging on your arm and making you lay down, before he positions himself over you. "But you could've also woken me up." He chuckles before pecking your lips once.

"But you were sleeping so tight." You say. "Looked like you were dreaming."

"Hm.. I was." He agrees, kisses moving to your neck. "Of you."

"Oh?" You wonder, stretching your arms above your head for a second. "What were you dreaming of?" You ask.

"Things I'd love to make a reality one day." He purrs against your skin, before he releases you again. 'I'll shower real quick, alright?" He tells you, before he pecks your lips once more and leaves into the bathroom to shower-

And you're honestly not sure what makes you feel so bold.

Maybe it's that feeling of safety you have with him, this odd sense of security here in his home, as if nothing can really harm you in here. So when you move to enter the bathroom as well, shower already running with him inside, you don't feel any sort of hesitation as you shed your clothes and join him beneath the warm water.

It's a sight that easily makes him stir alive, remnants of his dream revived as he watches the water pearl down your skin. The way you easily touch and kiss him is making his head spin, making him forget about your past hesitation in its entirety.

This is how it's supposed to be. Easy, simple. No worries about what might be the best thing to do.

Just existing.

Your hand on him makes him gasp into your mouth, a sound you eagerly swallow, his back hitting the tiled wall of the shower. He manages to turn the steady stream of water up ahead a bit lower as you fall to your knees, the anti slip mat on the shower floor cushioning them quite a bit as you work on him.

It's now what his dream was about- but he's sure he could never come up with a scene as serene as this anyways, imagination not advanced enough to even think of this potentially happening.

Just like back at your place before, this time once more he's a slave to your actions. It's causing his mind to go blank at the way your tongue runs over the head of his cock, beckoning him further and further towards his release. And then your hands join in to hold and touch what you can't fit, effortlessly making the muscles in his thighs spasm as he spills inside your mouth with his head thrown back against the tiles of the shower, a hand in your hair.

He can't let this stand.

And he doesnt- returning the favor shamelessly so with both his hands and mouth, eagerly devouring you as his first breakfast before he later on sits at the table in the kitchen to eat his actual one, conversation innocent enough to mask over the things that went down not even long enough ago to dry your hair fully.

If this is a dream, he doesn't want to wake up. If all the Christmas decor and your words about baking later are lies, he doesn't want to hear the truth.

He wants to stay like this-

And he'll do anything to make it work.

[estcaligo]

Masterlist of my analyses, thoughts and some headcanons about Sebek

Previous short list with infoposts, mostly about crocodiles

On Sebek's appearance, self-image, and hidden insecurities Part of the previous post 2, added relationship with the Prefect

Sebek and Romance Sebek and Romance: Additional Thoughts (or part two) My translation of Sebek's Nightmare Before Christmas Halloween SSR vignette

Why Sebek is a great partner Sebek's opinions on partner nicknames and what nicknames he would use (headcanon in a way)

Note on how Sebek always tries to feed the Prefect Serene by Your Side (closer look on Sebek's guest room lines) (a small x reader drabble at the end)

Sebek and phones (facts and headcanons)

Character development we see through the new guestroom gifts

Sebek's future as a knight

About how doomed Sebek is as a half-fae

Some important Sebek lore from Book 7, part 11 update

Sebek as a Dorm Leader (headcanon)

Silver's and Sebek's body language analysis (I turned out to be so wrong lol but I still believe in this)

Thoughts about room temperature at Diasomnia Thoughts about the order of Diasomnia birthdays A note on Zigvolts and photos

Dark Briar Valley headcanon about Fae's ears

Classical music pieces that I associate with twst characters (all characters, but there's Sebek too)

Sebek and avocado.....(pun post)

[yanderejustforyou]

Day 24: "What are you doing with that mistletoe– oh." Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: Shoto Todoroki x Reader

The air in the school's dormitory was thick with the heady aroma of pine and cinnamon, a warm, comforting scent that should have evoked feelings of peace and holiday cheer. Instead, it felt oppressive, a cloying sweetness that contrasted sharply with the unease churning in your stomach. Fairy lights, strung haphazardly across the rafters and draped over the dusty bookshelves, cast a warm, golden glow, their soft twinkle mimicking the distant stars and creating a false sense of tranquility. Outside, a gentle snowfall descended, each flake a tiny whisper against the windowpanes, blanketing the world in a serene, silent hush. The contrast between the vibrant warmth inside and the hushed cold outside should have been soothing, but it only served to heighten the disquiet within you. It was Christmas Eve, a night for merriment and joy, and the entire school had gathered for the annual festive party. Laughter echoed from the corners of the room, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the soft, familiar melody of a holiday carol that hummed beneath the boisterous chatter. Yet, none of it felt right, none of it touched the anxiety that had been building within you all evening.

Muffled conversations swirled around you like a hazy fog, each word indistinct, meaningless against the backdrop of your rising apprehension. You could hear the delicate chime of crystal as someone raised a glass in a toast, the rustle of fabric as classmates moved through the crowd, and the low, comforting croon of the Christmas song playing in the background, yet all your senses were hyper-focused, laser-locked on the cool, calculating presence beside you. Shoto Todoroki had been acting…off, lately. A subtle shift in his demeanor, a change in the way he moved and spoke, a tension that hung around him like a physical presence. Tonight, however, those subtle shifts had morphed into a tangible force, a magnetic pull that felt both captivating and terrifying. You felt it in the way his eyes lingered on you, his gaze a smolder that both warmed and chilled you to the bone. You felt it in the way his touch, once accidental and fleeting, had become more deliberate, more possessive, each light graze sending shivers crawling up your spine. He was watching you, studying you, each of your movements seemingly cataloged and assessed.

"Do you know what this is?" His voice, a low, near whisper that sent prickles across your skin, cut through the muffled noise. He held up a sprig of mistletoe, the leaves a dark green against his pale skin, the tiny white berries like miniature pearls. His icy side, half concealed in shadow, glimmered under the fairy lights, casting him in an almost ethereal light. He looked down at you, his face a mask of impassivity, his expression unreadable, yet there was a dangerous undercurrent that you couldn't ignore. It was a look that spoke volumes, yet said nothing at all.

You frowned, a knot tightening in your chest, and your gaze flickered up to the mistletoe. "What are you doing with that mistletoe– oh," you began to ask, a playful tone in your voice that faltered and died as your eyes met his. The question hung unfinished, the lightheartedness of the moment turning to ice. In the depths of those bi-colored eyes, you saw something shift, a darkness that had been simmering beneath the surface suddenly breaking free. It was a darkness that was possessive, almost predatory, a raw hunger that made your breath catch in your throat. The sweet, innocent tradition represented by the sprig of mistletoe had been twisted, warped, into something far more intense, far more dangerous.

"Shoto…" you whispered, your voice barely audible, your throat suddenly dry, the cheerful chattering of the party fading into a distant hum. You felt as if the room was shrinking around you, the walls closing in, the laughter and music transforming into a cacophony of noise that pressed against your eardrums. Panic, cold and tight, was a fist clenching around your heart.

He didn't answer at first, his gaze unwavering, his focus completely and utterly on you. He leaned closer, the subtle heat of his breath ghosting against your ear, sending a jolt of something that was part fear, part thrill, through you. "Your kisses are just too sweet…" he murmured, his voice a husky rasp that sent goosebumps erupting on your arms. "My teeth will rot if I keep tasting you, but I can’t stop." A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that held no mirth at all. "You make me feel…things I’ve never felt before. Things I can't control."

You wanted to pull away, to create some distance between you and the intensity of his gaze, to ask him what he meant by those cryptic, alarming words. But your body, traitorous and weak, seemed to have a will of its own. His hand, the side that was always chilled, reached up, the back of his knuckles lightly brushing against your cheek. A wave of heat radiated from that touch, a burning sensation that shot through you, both startling and intoxicating. His lips were close now, hovering just above yours, and when they finally brushed against each other, it was like a short circuit, a surge of raw, electric current that coursed through your veins, setting every nerve ending ablaze.

The kiss wasn't like the sweet, chaste pecks you had shared before. This kiss was intense, commanding, a forceful claiming that took your breath away. It wasn’t tender, nor was it soft. It was consuming, almost violent, as if he were trying to devour you whole, imprint himself on your very being, brand you with his soul. The cold emanating from his left side sent a shiver of icy chill down your spine, but it was the heat from his right that ignited a dangerous fire that burned deep within you, a burning that was both terrifying and achingly compelling.

He pulled away, just enough to gaze at you, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling, almost predatory desire. "Don’t you feel it too?" he asked, his voice now rough with an edge of desperation that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak, your tongue thick and clumsy in your mouth. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence, and your mind was a whirlwind of confusion, fear, and a strange, twisted excitement that both frightened and exhilarated you. Something had irrevocably shifted, something that had once been playful and innocent had been corrupted into something dangerous, all-consuming, and undeniably obsessive, a dark undercurrent that you had sensed all along, finally breaking the surface.

His hand, still cupping your cheek, gently guided you back towards him, his touch sending another wave of that thrilling, terrifying heat coursing through you. "You can't keep running from me," he whispered, his breath hot against your lips, the words a promise and a threat all in one. "Not when I know you feel the same way. I see it in your eyes, in your touch, in every shudder that goes through you."

You tried to speak, to push him away, to reason with him, to break free from the magnetic pull of his intensity, but the words seemed to wither and die in your throat. The soft, tender nature of your usual interactions had been replaced with something darker, more primal, a dangerous undercurrent that had finally surged to the surface. The kiss was no longer about affection, it was about control, possession, an unspoken claim that resonated deep within your soul, a connection that transcended simple emotion and entered the realm of pure, unadulterated instinct.

Shoto pulled you closer, his grip tightening around your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, drawing you impossibly closer. He kissed you again, this time with even more intensity, leaving no room for doubt, no space for resistance. You felt as though you were drowning in him, consumed by the raw need, the possessive power that emanated from him like heat from a forge. You were trapped, held captive by his unyielding desire, yet in some twisted, illogical part of your mind, you couldn't bring yourself to push him away, to fight the overwhelming attraction. You were just as caught in his web of obsession as he was in yours.

His lips moved down to your neck, nibbling and nipping at the sensitive skin there, sending a rush of warmth through your body, a sharp, electric shock that turned your knees to jelly. "I told you," he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky, laced with a hint of smug satisfaction. "Your kisses are addictive."

And it was true. His kisses were like a drug, a powerful, intoxicating substance that you craved with an intensity that frightened you. A forbidden fruit that was both tantalizing and dangerous. You were hopelessly addicted, tangled in the web of his obsession.

But the most terrifying part of all, the thought that truly sent a shiver down your spine, was the realization that, deep down, you didn’t know if you wanted to escape.

[hl-obsessed]

✨💎 a yuzu grows in brooklyn by @stylinsoncity

(M, 67k) harry is a recent implant in new york and a young chef opening a restaurant called yuzu. louis, a music teacher and broadway lover, has been around the block for a while. in a city that's so fast-paced, they're slow to catch on to each other.

✨ You Took My Heart By Surprise by @loveislarryislove

(T, 39k) There is reason to believe Prince Harry’s life is in danger. After a failed kidnapping attempt, Louis is assigned to guard Harry around the clock. He is the best at what he does, but he has a tendency to not get along with clients. Louis and Harry start off on the wrong foot, but it soon becomes clear that neither is at all what the other expected.

~*~*~

Queen Anne met Louis’ eyes. “While your file documents many remarkable accomplishments, it also contains a number of early terminations. Why is that?”

“It all depends on what your priorities are,” he said slowly. “If your primary concern is protection, I’m your guy. If you’re looking for someone polite…” He shrugged. “I don’t generally try to be rude, but social graces aren’t what I’m being paid for. If someone values being sucked up to over being protected, that’s their problem.”

“You seem quite well-mannered,” Anne said, frowning.

Both Nick and Louis snorted at that. “You’ve only known me for ten minutes,” Louis said. “Give it time.”

✨ Put It On Me by @stylinsoncity

(M, 15k) Harry's bachelor party doesn't go as planned.

✨ so many birthdays (that I missed) by @tofiveohfive

(NR, 11k) Louis doesn’t know nearly enough about science and the cosmos to explain how every atom in his being stands to attention; how his body immediately knows who he’s bumped into.

It’s somewhat underwhelming when the first word he hears out of Harry’s mouth after twelve months is, “Oh.”

AU inspired by Julia Michaels’ Into You

✨ No Place I'd Rather Be by @iamasphodelknox

(E, 39k) Harry's had a crush on his stepfather's friend for six years. A small crush. A tiny crush.

Honestly, if you don't look at Harry's dozens of poems about Louis Tomlinson, the crush is practically infinitesimal. They haven't even had a conversation.

But then a car wreck prompts them to finally have a conversation.

Christmas works its magic, Harry pines, Louis fonds, and they just might make it.

✨ The Places I Share With You by @iamasphodelknox

(M, 7k) Five times Louis comes home to Harry and one time he's ready to welcome Harry home.

The process of Louis and Harry finding home in each other.

Sequel/Coda/Epilogue to No Place I'd Rather Be.

Primal and Divine by WordsInBloom28

(E, 33k) Embarking on a mission to save his pack, Louis is pushed to the brink after his friend is killed in a dangerous forest. Awaiting the graces of death, Louis is saved by a peculiar healer who lives alone in the woods.

Throughout his healing process, Louis forms an unlikely bond with the healer and, with it, a life of serenity. His body grows stronger and his heart grows fonder, allowing love to take root.

In order to protect his new found peace, Louis and his companion work together to fight against the evil that threatens to take it all away.

It was always you by @defences-down

(T, 1,3k) It's their first Christmas living together, and Harry has been trying to figure out how to talk to Louis about his feelings for weeks.

He could never have expected what would happen next.

Ideal: An Advent Fic by @iamasphodelknox

(M, 40k) All Louis wanted was some god-damned time to write his novel. He didn’t expect to move his and Liam’s entire production of a Christmas variety show to a small inn in Vermont just before the holidays. He didn’t expect to save Niall’s inn. He didn’t expect Liam to fall in love. He definitely didn’t expect to fall in love himself. And he certainly didn’t expect it all to feel so much like a Christmas movie.

Oh hell. There’s a lot of things Louis didn’t expect.

A White Christmas au, complete with drama, fluff, choreographed dance numbers, and idiotic boys falling in love. Just your typical Christmas fun.

Frankincense-ational by @londonfoginacup

(T, 31k) Harry Styles works at the Hillsyde Library with his friend Zayn and best mate Niall. It’s December, which means Christmas, which should be the happiest month of the year…

Except Niall just broke up with his boyfriend, Zayn needs to let up on the rules a little, and the library is getting their fire alarm system replaced, which means that for the next few weeks there are going to be firemen patrolling the library ‘looking for fires’ while the system is down.

Harry almost hits one of them with his car right off the bat - and of course he’s the hot one.

Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.

Is that a candy cane in your pocket? by @kingsofeverything

(E, 4,8k) Louis accuses Harry of shoplifting. Harry was definitely not shoplifting.

They work it out.

Close To You by yourgorgeouscolors

(E, 5,7k) “You’re lovely,” Louis rasps out. He feels so close to Harry in a way that's different from the other intimate sex positions they’ve tried. He can see Harry, feel him all over. Feel the way he’s clenching down on his cock as he adjusts. He can feel Harry’s hot breath prickling his skin, and can feel his body everywhere. Each point of contact feels like a zap of electricity.'

Or, Harry and Louis try a new sex position.

Listen To Your Heart by @chloehl10

(E, 35k) Are you kidding me right now?

I… No? Louis frowned, feeling angry now. It wasn’t fair, he knew that, but at the same time, he couldn’t help his feelings. It felt like this had been brewing for weeks, and this was it. Give it a rest, Harry.

Why are you such a brat? Why can’t you just be happy for me for once?

You think I want to hear about you kissing James? Really, H? There’s things I just don’t need to know, okay? I’m your best mate, not your fucking relationship advisor…

***

Louis has always been comfortable being Harry’s one and only. When Harry starts to branch out, Louis has a hard time letting him go.

Harry is very lucky to have someone who listens to what he has to say, despite the fact that he’s deaf. He’s finally feeling like he’s coming into himself, but Louis seems bothered by his newfound confidence.

(do you think it's easy) being of the jealous kind by @the-larry-way

(T, 0,8k) Harry is mad and Louis isn't exactly sure why.

(or Louis comes home smelling of another omega and Harry is near heat and jealous)

Make a Dime Go One Hundred by screwstyles

(E, 18k) “Hey, Haz,” he says, encouraged in equal parts by the weed and the cocoon they seem to have created around themselves. “Do you think you could trust anyone enough to have full control over you?” he asks into the night, hoping his sentence won’t break their bubble. It doesn’t, if the way Harry’s eyes meet his is any indication.

“What do you mean?” Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough from the singing they had done earlier. Louis wants to keep this memory forever.

“You know, if someone wanted to, uhm,” he coughs, “to tie you up, or blindfold you.”

-

Friends to Lovers AU: Harry volunteers to help Louis experiment with bondage. Things don’t go exactly to plan.

✨ Chestnuts Roasting... And All That by @elsi-bee

(M, 47k) Louis is apparently the only person at his new job who is single as can be. It’s not a big deal to just tell his new colleagues that he has a boyfriend, right? Until he has to make this imaginary boyfriend magically appear at the office holiday party. Cue fake relationship antics with a certain someone who is more than willing to play along.

Linger by @yourpricelessadvice

(E, 136k) Louis has a truckload of painful memories and a custody arrangement where a family could’ve been. The last thing he’s looking for is a new relationship.

Harry has accepted that he’s not made for relationships and isn’t interested in getting burnt again.

It’s a good job they’ve both got meddling friends.

° ✨ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ✨ °

more recs | recs masterpost

° ✨ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ✨ °

[babydollmarauders]

TINSEL TIES — NICO HISCHIER

nico hischier x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which Nico finds a fun way to wait for the fire to die down

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, edging, light bondage, dominant Nico, praise, degradation, thigh riding, oral (f receiving), nipple play, fingering, p in v (unprotected). (3.9k words)

notes: welcome to day 1 of the 12 days of kinkmas! where i wrote most of these smuts in...not at all at christmas time! i’m so excited to share these holiday themed smuts with you all and i hope you enjoy!

an orange glow flickers over the living room, the soft tune of christmas music floating throughout the open space of the apartment.

my boyfriend and i stand in front of the christmas tree, meticulously draping ornaments from the prickly branches.

although it’s much too laborious to get a real tree amongst Nico’s schedule, he did agree to buy a fake one for the holidays. a beautiful faux tree that’s been sitting bare and untouched in our living room for far too long. but amidst his chaotic schedule, Nico and i have finally made the time to decorate it together on his night off.

“Neeks,” i speak gently, afraid to break the peaceful ambiance we’ve created in our home. “do you think the guys would come to a holiday party?”

the question is just the result of a fleeting thought; asked as i hang a silver bauble upon the tree, but a serene smile spreads across my boyfriend’s full lips, a glance of adoration shot my way.

“if they didn’t, i’d have them bag skating until they physically can’t get off the ice.” his response causes a soft huff of laughter to fall from my lips, shaking my head in amusement. “why? are you thinking of having a party?”

“no,” i drag out, joking sarcasm dripping from my words, “i was just curious.”

Nico levels me with a single raised brow, an unamused expression painting his face.

“yes, Neeks, i’m thinking of hosting a christmas party.” i tell him, gently hanging the next ornament as i speak, “i just feel like i don’t do enough. i mean, i’m the captain’s girlfriend; isn’t it kinda my job to host and fundraise and stuff?

“like, should i be making the team snacks or something? i don’t know how this works. is it like a soccer mom situation? should i be making protein shakes and sending apple slices with you to practices?”

my anxious ramble fades off as Nico’s hands come to rest upon my hips, pulling me towards him with an entertained smile.

“you don’t have to do any of that, süsse.” his forehead dips down, forehead pressing against mine, “although i wouldn’t mind some apple slices for myself.

“but if you would like to throw a christmas party, then we can do that.”

my arms wrap around, locking over the back of his neck and pulling him down until his lips meet mine. the kiss is sweet; soft and loving, as well as tasting faintly of store bought lofthouse cookies. when i pull back, his lips chase mine, eagerly trying not to let the moment fizzle, but i turn my eyes towards the tree, letting him lips land upon my cheek instead.

“i think it’s done.” i whisper, ignoring his aggravated groan at my rejection.

“we still have two more bags of ‘necessary’ decorations.” he reminds me, pointing over towards the armchair where a couple reusable grocery bags sit filled with various items that i had assured him we needed.

“okay, so i may have overbought.” my shoulders shrug lazily, my eyes rolling.

“you?” Nico questions sarcastically, gazing back down at me with an appalled look. “i bought them all. you just threw them in the cart.”

“and i obviously took my job very seriously, now we have extras for next year, if we decide to switch it up.”

my boyfriend untangles from my grasp, ducking under my arms to walk over to the bags of decor. he sticks his hand in, fishing out an unopened string of tinsel garland.

“what would we even use this for?” he huffs, glaring down at the sparkly red material in his hands.

“to put on the tree, obviously!”

Nico looks at me with a blank expression, his shoulders slumping as his eyes flicker from me to the tree and back.

“obviously.” his accent is thick and monotonous, obviously not charmed by my response. “but we didn’t use it at all.”

“well no, but we could find other uses for it!” i cheer, stalking over to try and pluck the tinsel from his grasp, but his grip on the package tightens. “like, maybe we could tie it somewhere in the apartment.”

his head snaps up from looking at the sparkly garland, eyes lighting up as he stares at me. “i think i have an idea.”

“yeah? what is it?” he throws the package on the coffee table, assuring me that we’ll use it later, before his eyes flit to the fireplace.

our fire is no longer what it once was when we started it around two hours ago. not yet dwindling but no longer blazing high and providing copious amount of heat.

“how long until the fire dies out?” i ask him, a small yawn pushing out of me. “maybe starting it so late wasn’t a good idea, i’m getting a bit tired; but we can’t leave it unattended.”

“if you’re that tired, i could watch it while you go to sleep.”

while i appreciate his kind sentiment, i shake my head, rather taking a seat on the couch instead.

“i don’t wanna sleep without you. besides, i can stay up. i’m not too tired.”

Nico sits beside me, pulling my thighs over his lap in one swift movement. one of his arms wraps around my waist, the other resting over my legs, his hand grasping at half my ass.

i lean forward, my chest pressing against his, and my neck cranes up, eyes gazing into his.

“kiss me.” i whisper, his head dipping down and his lips brushing lightly across mine.

“did you just tell me to kiss you?” he chuckles, pulling me forward to sit entirely in his lap.

“i did.” i confirm.

Nico leans forward, an arm wrapped around my waist to hold me to him as he grabs the package of tinsel from the coffee table.

as he leans back, he spins me around on his lap, my back towards his chest. i can hear the crinkle of plastic, furrowing my brows in confusion.

“what are you doing?” i laugh, attempting to peek over my shoulder.

“i told you i had an idea.”

“mhm,” i hum, “and what is it?”

“safe word?” my brows pull together again at his dismissal of my question.

“stoppen.” i recite the safe word, a german translation of ‘stop’ that he had taught me early in our relationship.

“good girl.”

his words spark a heat within me, blood rushing to my cheeks at his praise.

my arms are pulled behind my back, wrists held together with one of his own, before i feel the scratchy sensation of the tinsel being wrapped around them.

“Neeks,” my breathing picks up, chest rising and falling in quick succession as i feel him tie a knot in the garland.

i wiggle my hands, making sure the restraint isn’t too tight, and when i don’t complain, Nico pushes me up to stand on my feet. his hands spin my hips, my feet shuffling as i turn to face him.

“so pretty, süsse.” i can feel my face redden under his gaze, his gentle compliment causing fire to spread under my skin.

“thank you, Neeks.” my words are murmured softly, spoken as his hands drag along my sides.

his touch slips below my tank top, calloused fingertips smoothing along my heated skin and drawing goosebumps to the top of my flesh. a shaky breath passes my lips, his fingers dragging down until he reaches the waistband of my corduroy skirt.

“we don’t need this.” he tsk’s, popping the plastic button through the hole and letting the skirt pool to the floor around my feet.

cold air hits my now bare skin, my panties dampening as Nico’s hands rub along the sides of my thighs. he pulls me forward until i’m straddling a single leg, my panty covered core sitting on his muscular, jean clad thigh.

my lips part, eyes falling hooded as his hands grip my hips, guiding them back and forth on top of him.

“Nico,” i shudder, letting out a yelp as he smacks a hand against my ass.

“is that what you call me?” he gruffs, dark, lust filled eyes boring into mine.

his hands move my hips faster, his thigh tensing underneath me.

“Captain.” i whimper, my head tipping back as he bounces his leg lightly. a wet patch grows on the fabric of his jeans making him chuckle as i get wetter, my clit grinding down against him.

“soaking my leg like a whore.” he shakes his head as though he disapproves, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “what am i gonna do with you?”

blood rushes through my ears, drowning out the christmas music as i stare at my lover. his eyes are dark, pupils blown and his gaze stern; his thick, prominent eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watches me grind along his leg.

the well groomed stubble that accentuates his face scruffs against my cheek as he leans forward, capturing my lips in a bruising kiss.

i moan into his lips, his tongue slipping through and pushing against mine as his hands hasten the pace of my hips.

my strangled gasp breaks our kiss, the fabric of my panties rubbing against my clit making climax approach faster.

“Cap, i’m gonna-” a knot tangles in my stomach, pressure building as my legs begin to shake and my eyes roll back into my head.

my hips are forcibly stopped, my fast approaching orgasm quickly diminishing as Nico holds my hips still. a whine falls from my lips, my eyes flying open to gauge him as pleads are babbled off my tongue.

“please, no, why?” i cry, the corner of my boyfriend’s lips quirking up in a smirk.

“let’s test your memory,” he starts, eyes glaring into mine, “last week, do you remember what you did?”

i rack my brain, filing through everything i did last week before i finally settle on what he’s referencing. sunday, right before his game against the Oilers, i sent him a video i had taken that morning; my fingers buried deep in my pussy, my breath heavy and whimpering as i moaned his name.

we’ve yet to have the chance for an intimate moment since he got back on monday, between his practices, my work schedule, and his game last night, but i had hoped he had forgotten about his promise to punish me for my actions.

“no, Nico, please.” i whine, my hands pulling at the restraints. his hands slip up, sliding over my breasts and letting his thumbs circle my stiffened nipples.

“beg all you want, süsse, i stand by my promises.” his voice is stern and unwavering, his fingers hooking over the top of my tank top.

he yanks the fabric down, my breasts spilling over until the shirt is so far down that it’s held underneath completely underneath them.

“you don’t get to cum until that fire dies down.” my head snaps over to survey the fire, its flame slowly fizzling out. i’d estimate at least another forty-five minutes or so until it’s done for good.

my breath catches in my throat as he takes me by surprise, his lips attaching to my right nipple as his left hand rolls the other between his fingers.

a high pitched moan mingles with the sound of ‘White Christmas’, my arms struggling against the tinsel ties, yearning to bury my fingers into his hair. my spine arches, pushing my breasts further into his face.

i can feel his growing smirk against my skin, his fingers pinching and rolling the left bud as his tongue swirls around the right before sucking it into his mouth.

he hums, the vibrations traveling through my body, and i make a hollow attempt at grinding my hips against his leg, only succeeding in reminding him to wrap his free hand around me, holding my hips still.

“Captain, please.” i plead, my tone high and nasal as i beg, but he just hums again, this time in disagreement.

his lips release my nipple, kissing his way over to the left before repeating the process, now pinching and prodding at the right in a torturous game of teasing.

he slowly begins to rock my hips back and forth, dragging my pulsing clit along his strained thigh as an extra stimulation.

my body shakes, overwhelmed with pleasure as my head falls back, vision going fuzzy as broken sounds fall from my lips.

i can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences, but my brain is urging for me to beg to cum, hoping he’ll show mercy on me. my requests come out babbled and stuttered, not nearly what i had hoped, and Nico chuckles against my skin.

my toes curl as the familiar tightening pressure builds backs up within my stomach, my abdomen clenching as my legs begin to shake. and when Nico doesn’t pull away, i begin to believe that he’s giving me compassion, but as quick as the thought enters my mind, its expelled out.

just as i reach the precipice of my release, my walls tightening around nothing, his lips are pulled away, his hand dropping from my nipple and his arms wrapping tightly around to halt my grinding movements.

frustrated tears pool in my eyes, a silent sob wracking my chest and expelling past my lips in puffs of air. looking back into my boyfriends eyes, his expression is cocky and unforgiving, a smirk resting on his lips.

“awww,” he coos, swiftly turning and dropping me on the couch cushions beside him. “you’re being a good girl now, aren’t you? desperate to cum.”

i nod my head eagerly, shifting around underneath his gaze as i lay uncomfortably atop of my tied back arms.

“wanna cum so bad!” i whimper, my eyes fleeting over to asses the once great fire. it’s next to nothing now, and when i look back at Nico, i can tell he’s displeased by the sight.

“alright, i’ll let you cum.” a weight is lifted off my chest, a sigh of relief huffing past my smiling lips.

i eye my boyfriend eagerly as his fingers tug at the waistband of my panties, pulling them down and dropping them to the floor. he sheds himself of his t-shirt, his tight upper body on full display for me to enjoy as he hooks one of my weakened legs over the back of the couch.

bowing down between my legs, i can feel his hot breath fan over my dripping core, squirming in need as he gets closer and closer to where i so desperately crave his touch. his eyes meet mine, holding contact as he blows cool air directly onto my puffy clit, and chuckling as my hips jerk up towards him.

his arms wrap around my upper thighs, hands sprawling across my lower hips to hold me down as he licks one long stripe through my core.

“captain!”

my head falls back into the cushions as i cry out his name, wishing i could thread my fingers in his hair and push him deeper to where i want him.

he dips down again, tongue circling my clit before sliding back down towards my pussy. his tongue prods into me, flicking once before he really dives in. my back arches from the cushions, breathy moans coaxed out as he begins eating me like a man starved.

his nose nudges against my clit, his fingers sliding up to hold my thighs in a bruising grip as he slurps at my wetness, spreading it around as lubrication.

“cap!” i scream as his lips enclose around my swollen clit, rolling it through his lips a few times before flicking his tongue against it. one leg hooks over his shoulder, pushing him forward as i’m finally able to grind my hips against his face.

relinquishing his duty of holding me still, he plunges two fingers inside of me, curling them up to hit the velvety spot that makes me scream out in pleasure. pumping them in and out, he scissors the appendages, stretching my entrance in a pleasurably painful sensation.

with his fingers keeping me full, his mouth focuses on my clit, repetitively sucking and licking. my eyes roll back in my head, my vision dancing with stars as i feel my orgasm build up for what i believe is the last time.

a third finger pushes its way inside of me, the burning sensation of fullness making my legs shake around him as my breath catches in my throat. my pussy tightens around his fingers, effectively making him aware that i’m close whilst i can no longer speak.

but just when i’m about to cum, my orgasm is cruelly ripped away once more, his fingers pulling out and leaving empty as his mouth is detached from my clit, nothing but cold air hitting against it now.

“no!” i yell, voice gravely and sore as tears flood from my eyes. i open them again to find Nico sitting up on his knees, staring down at me with a dangerous an mocking smirk.

“you didn’t really think i was gonna let you cum, did you, süsse?” he teases, his lips frowning in a faux pout. “oh, you did. the fire wasn’t done yet, sweets.”

my head snaps over towards the fire for the last time, and through the blurry vision of my tears, i can see the final dying embers of the fire, nothing but a faintly orange glow of the logs now.

my chest heaves as i look back at my boyfriend, my face dropped in a pout as salty tears trail down into my hair.

“that was mean, Nico!” i sob, looking anywhere but his eyes.

his cocky expression drops, a look of genuine concern etching across his face as he comes to hover above me.

“oh, baby,” he coos, littering short kisses on both of my cheeks before pressing a long one to my lips. “it’s okay, you can cum now.”

i sniffle, peering up at him through wet lashes, “really this time?”

“yeah, really. but, you know, if it ever becomes too much, you can use your safe word.” i nod along to his words.

“i know, but it wasn’t anything that was too much.” i confess, “it was just mean. you told me i could! and then you didn’t let me!”

“are your arms okay?” he wonders, and i crinkle my nose.

“they’re fine, but this position is uncomfortable.” he nods, backing away and helping me sit up before i whine, “can you just fuck me now?”

a hearty laugh leaves his lips at my switch up, leaning forward to pull me in for a kiss.

“you wanna cum on my cock like a good girl, süsse?” he mutters, pulling back to watch me hastily nod.

his hands grip my hips, flipping me over to lay on my stomach before pulling my hips up so my ass is up in the air.

i wait impatiently, eyes set on the last of the dying embers of the fire as i listen to him unbuckle his belt, pulling his pants down and letting them drop to the floor with a thud.

the couch cushions dip down as he kneels on them behind me, one hand gripping my hip as he uses the other to give a few tugs to his cock.

my hips jerk as he slides his cock through my folds, lubricating himself in my wetness. tapping the tip of his cock against my clit, i let out a breathy whine, pushing my pussy back towards him.

“greedy little slut.” he tsk’s, prodding my entrance with his tip and watching as my walls attempt to suck him in whilst i moan.

he repeats the movement a few more times, teasing me one last time before he finally pushes into me in one swift movement. a squeak passing my parted lips as his cock bottoms out inside of me, filling me up so well.

“oh, Nico!” i breathe out, my body lighting up as his hand smooths over my spine, before gripping my waist.

Nico groans, pulling out and then thrusting back in at a slow speed before gradually picking up the pace. my hands form fists, my nails digging into my palms as he controls my hips, slamming into me and pushing my hips forward before pulling them back against him.

the sound of our skin slapping together and his hard cock sliding in and out of my wet cunt mixes with breathy moans and deep grunts, as well as the christmas music that still floats through the apartment.

the tip of his cock hits the soft, spongey spot inside of me with each stroke, my eyes fluttering shut as i curse, screaming his name without any care of our neighbors hearing.

“this pretty pussy was made for me.” he gruffs, hands tightening around my hips as my walls clench around him, my breathing picking up as i wiggle my hips.

one of his hands slides around my front, his fingertip pressing against my clit and making me whimper as he fucks into me, rubbing the bundle of nerves in figure eights.

“Nico, please!” i beg, the all too familiar feeling of my impending orgasm looming over me as my stomach ties itself in knots.

my legs begin to shake, weakening, and i’m sure if Nico wasn’t holding me up, they would’ve given out.

“let go for me, sweets.” my walls clench at his words, attempting to keep him in the same position as my body seizes up, tensing as i finally reach my long awaited orgasm.

he continues to fuck me through my release, thrusts turning sloppy and hastened as he chases his own, until he finally shudders, his hips stilling as he cums, filling me up with his release.

Nico lets out a shaky sigh, giving us both a moment to let oxygen return to our brains before reaching up and untying the knot of tinsel garland around my wrists. pulling out of me with a hiss, he drops himself to the couch, watching as i sit up and shake out my half-asleep arms.

i slump against his side, pulling my tank top back up to cover my chest as i snuggle closer into his sweaty body.

“i think we’re going to have to clean the couch if you still wanna host a party.” he finally speaks, coaxing a bubble of laughter up from my throat.

“yeah, but i think a shower sounds nice first.” i sigh, pushing myself off the couch to stand up, but my legs feel like jelly underneath me, wobbling until Nico stands, grasping my hand in his.

“you’re right, let’s go.” he hums, helping me towards our bedroom and to our en-suite bathroom.

“who said you were joining me?” i tease, raising an eyebrow; but when he turns to look at me, a lust-driven and domineering look on his face, i shrug, “on second thought, a shower together would be nice.”

“mhm.” he simpers, turning around to turn the shower water on, and i stick my tongue out behind his back; accidentally leaving it out for too long.

he looks at me with eyebrows raised as i hurriedly pull my tongue back into my mouth, my body not nearly ready for another ‘punishment’ before he laughs.

“let’s get you cleaned up, süsse, you must be tired.”

[lundenloves]

late christmas headcannons 🎄🕺🏽⭐️🎅🏼🍻

⤷ dude i am so back. i’m sorry i took like a year off, don’t question it - you wouldn’t even believe. i was blown away by a hurricane and swept to a big green castle. never again.

∷ no warnings | 12 headcannons | masterlist

i’ll start a tag list up again hopefully soon!

⦿ hot take that simon is shit hot at wrapping presents 💀 you’ve walked in and he’s been there in silence with the big light on like a monster, screech of cello tape n big hands working magic on a spherical gift what are we talking about

⦿ refuses to buy a tree. will find one and cut it down, chuck it in the back of a jeep or smth bc if not you’re “throwing money away.”

⦿ took about three years of you being together before he’d embraced christmas. and in saying embraced, that’s because you accidentally had a child together and you’d threatened his death if he hadn’t turned up for christmas w ur baby. “she doesn’t even know what’s going on.” neither will you when you’re knocked OUT 💜

⦿ classic doesn’t know what the kids have until they’ve opened the presents, “what’s that— oh mmryeah. yeah.��� quick glance to you to make sure you’re not ticked off at his oblivion.

⦿ honestly hates christmas but lets it slide as knows you’d sort him straight if he gave hint of annoyance about it all around the kids. although you’d started playing christmas music in october and that caused a lovely spat - one you ignored after it hit november. maybe you’re the wrong-un

⦿ forgets santa is supposed to be a thing so writes from Dad on pretty much all gifts you had appointed for him to be santa for SMHGHHHJFHDH

⦿ is partial to christmas cooking ngl… chefs up whenever your house is to host though don’t disturb him - the kitchen is serenity. quietness and STILL - however soap exists, fucking around and moving things until ultimately causing simon to pour himself his first drink of the night. my shayla he was doing so well 😔

⦿ however many drinks later he’s accepting rounds of “can you lift this” in competition with soap. two grown men lifting random shit and your children simultaneously. all three of your girls hanging off him while he lifts a fuck off weight from your room. one you’d INSISTED price hadn’t bought him a couple of years back.

⦿ drunk simon is best simon imo. it’s so incredibly rare that it happens but omds late late late in the night he finally loosens up and starts talking more and eating more and caring less and fun dad appears and WHATEVER ugh

⦿ no fail he gets socks, thermal undershirts and a new patch for his deployment bag every year.

⦿ his eyes are 90% on you the whole time. for few reasons, one being a silent plead of retirement to bed and another of pure anxiety 💀 bro was used to madness around christmas when he grew up, think the bear’s fishes episode.

⦿ all and all the only reason he tolerates christmas is because he has kids and it’s your favourite celebration. otherwise it would be curtains.

festivities 😛

[jzprncess]

the missing melody ♪

part 2 previous

pairing : franco colapinto x singer!reader

faceclaim : various people!

summary: With the Grand Prix results in, Y/N returns home inspired, diving back into her music. Meanwhile, Franco, curious about the singer he met, follows her on social media. What begins as casual online exchanges soon hints at a deeper connection.

warnings : some singers do not exist in this au since i might take their songs!

note : MERRY CHRISTMAS!! here is your surprise, i know some have been waiting but ive been in a writing block. dont kill me bc its short! i suck at writing UGHHHHHH

     ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

 williamsracing just posted 

liked by yourusername, username2, and 535,290 others 

williamsracing TEAM 💙  10 POINTS IN BAKU 🔥🔥🔥

An incredible drive by both drivers and we secure P7 and P8. GET IN THERE! 👏  This is only the beginning.

view all comments 

username2 VAMOS VAMOS VAMOS 🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷

username4 this progress of williams is what’s giving me hopes for carlos next year 🥲

username6 🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷

username8 WOWWWW BRAVO 👏🏼👏🏼

username3 COLAPINTO2025 

username5 STANDING OVATION!!! 🔥🔥

username5 y/n was the good luck charm! i’m telling you! 🫵🏼

username7 simply lovely

yourusername grateful to be here and watch the team score some points. it’s amazing to watch, might just have to join for another race soon. thanks again for letting me join in the paddock! 🇦🇷🔥💙

↳williamsracing we’re glad to have you y/n, can’t wait to see you trackside again! wishing you luck on your future endeavors! 💙

↳alex_albon appreciate it! we hope to see you soon!

↳francolapinto glad you could be here! i would love for you to come to another race, let’s make it happen. 💙

↳username5 now i need her to go to another race this season

third pov

As the Grand Prix weekend drew to a close, Y/N felt a bittersweet mix of relief and melancholy. The weekend had been a whirlwind, filled with the excitement of the race and the unexpected attention she had garnered from her appearance. The crowded paddock and constant buzz of conversations had left her mentally drained, but as she walked toward the car that would take her back home, there was a certain peace settling over her.

The world outside the track seemed quieter, more serene. She could hear the faint hum of the engines in the distance as the final laps were being completed, but for her, it was time to leave the chaos behind. The press, the cameras, the questions—all of it faded away as she slid into the front seat, the doors closing softly behind her, sealing her off from the world she had momentarily rejoined.

She pulled out of the paddock, and stared out the window, watching the lights of the city blur past as she made her way back home. The city was still alive, but she felt removed from it, as though she were floating in a different space. Her mind wandered back to the people she had met during the weekend—the 2 william's drivers, the fans, the connections she made. She longed for the solitude of her room, a place where she could decompress and regain the clarity she so desperately sought. 

As the car rounded a corner, she caught a glimpse of the track once more, her heart stirring with a mix of admiration and uncertainty. She wasn’t sure what the future held, but for now, she was content to retreat into her own world and reflect on the moments that had left an imprint on her soul.

franco’s pov 

I stood on the podium, the aftertaste of victory still fresh as my team erupted in celebration. My first points of the season—it wasn’t much, but it felt like a significant step forward. The atmosphere was electric, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything was falling into place. But even with all the cheering and the congratulations, my thoughts kept drifting to something—or rather, someone—that had caught my attention this weekend. Y/N. I didn’t know much about her, but I couldn’t ignore the way she moved through the paddock with such quiet grace. It wasn’t just her fame, though that was undeniable; it was something about her presence. She wasn’t demanding attention, yet everyone seemed to be aware of her, drawn to her in a way that made me curious.

There was something magnetic about her. It wasn’t just the way she looked—it was the way she carried herself. She didn’t seem to be seeking validation from anyone. She wasn’t flashy, but there was an air of confidence, a mystery to her that intrigued me. 

I’d seen her throughout the weekend, but it was when I finally met her that everything clicked. We had a brief conversation with Alex, nothing too elaborate, just a few exchanged words, but it felt different somehow. The way she spoke, the way she listened—it was all so natural, so unassuming. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, and yet there was something about her that made me want to know more. Her smile, the subtle warmth in her eyes—it was like she was letting me see just a glimpse of who she was, without revealing too much. It wasn’t anything dramatic, just a casual interaction, but it left me wanting to understand what lay beneath that composed, almost guarded exterior. There was more to her, I was sure of it, and that curiosity lingered long after our conversation ended.

The more I thought about her, the more I found myself wondering what had brought her to this point in her life. Here she was, standing on the fringes of our world—famous, yes, but still somewhat distant, as if she didn’t quite belong to this chaotic universe we all lived in.

I read her Instagram post after the race, since I was already in the car on the grid, when she posted it. She had opened up about the struggles she had been facing, about stepping away from the spotlight and the personal battles she was fighting. It was raw and vulnerable, nothing like the polished image the world saw. It made me realize that the person I had met wasn’t the confident star I had expected, but someone much more complex. She wasn’t just another celebrity navigating the chaos of fame—there was a quiet strength to her, a kind of raw honesty that made me want to understand her even more.

Back in my hotel room later that evening, after everything had quieted down, I found myself scrolling through my phone. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about that brief moment when our eyes had met. I opened Instagram without really thinking about it, my fingers moving almost on autopilot as I searched for her name. Something inside me told me to take this small step. I followed her. There was no reason why I should expect anything from it, but I felt the impulse to reach out in some way, even if it was just this simple action.

I sat back on the bed as I hit “follow,” my heart beating a little faster as I did. I wasn’t expecting her to notice, but something about it felt right. I scrolled through her feed, each post revealing just a little more about who she was. There was an intimacy to her posts, the way she shared pieces of herself without fully letting anyone in. It wasn’t the usual curated perfection I saw from other influencers. Each photo seemed to tell a story, but only if you were paying close attention. I couldn’t help but be intrigued. Maybe it was the beginning of something, or maybe it was just a small, fleeting curiosity that would fade away. But as I followed her, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the start of something that could pull me into her world in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

y/n’s pov 

As I stirred the sauce, my phone dinged from across the kitchen. I wiped my hands on a towel and walked over to check it. When I unlocked the screen, I saw Franco had followed me on Instagram. I paused, staring at the notification for a moment, a little caught off guard. My mind raced as I thought about our brief encounter, and I felt a sudden urge to message him. Taking a deep breath, I opened the app, ready to start typing.

messages

third pov

Y/N stood in her kitchen, wiping down the last of the plates from dinner, the sounds of the quiet house filling the space around her. She had eaten alone tonight, a habit she’d fallen into over the past few months. The familiar hum of the dishwasher was the only noise, but her mind was elsewhere. Franco’s face kept drifting into her thoughts—his easy smile, the way his eyes lit up when they spoke. They’d only met today, briefly, but something about him had stuck with her.

It had been a long day at the Grand Prix, full of excitement and noise, but when their conversation had veered into something personal, something quiet, it had been like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. She had felt a spark, undeniable and electric, even though she knew he’d be leaving soon. He was on his way to Mexico for the next race, already on the plane when she had sat down to dinner by herself, yet the connection lingered in the back of her mind.

Y/N sighed, reaching for her notebook that rested on the counter. As she flipped through the pages, her fingers brushed over old lyrics, half-finished songs, and abandoned ideas. She hadn’t written anything in weeks—no inspiration, no motivation. But tonight felt different. She had this restless energy swirling inside her, something she couldn’t ignore. She sat down and began to write.

The pen moved quickly, almost without thought. The words felt raw, like they were pouring out of her all at once. She wasn’t sure if it was the memories of the day or the faint pull of something more, but she couldn’t stop herself. The chorus took shape, the melody forming like a whispered secret.

“It’s all in my head / I’ll keep it to myself / I know that you’ll never see it / I’m just looking for a reason..” (the bottom by gracie abrams)

Her mind wandered back to Franco, and she found herself replaying their brief encounter over and over. There was something about him—something real and different from anyone she’d met in a long time. But he was leaving for Mexico, and soon enough, he’d be consumed by the fast-moving world of Formula 1. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever see him again, and the uncertainty gnawed at her.

But still, there was this quiet tug inside her, a feeling she couldn’t shake. Maybe—just maybe—this moment held more than she’d first realized. It was all in her head, she thought, but she couldn’t help but hope for something more.

As she continued to write, her hand moved almost instinctively, the words flowing faster than she could process. It was like the music was the only place that made sense, the only thing that could capture what she couldn’t quite say out loud. She smiled softly as the song began to take shape, feeling that spark of something inside her. It wasn’t finished yet, but there was a sense that this was just the beginning.

The quiet of the house was only interrupted by the soft scratch of Y/N's pen as she wrote, her thoughts wandering to the conversation she’d had earlier with Franco. Her phone suddenly buzzed, and she jumped slightly. Seeing Franco's name on the screen made her hesitate, but she quickly answered, trying to sound calm.

*start of phone call*

“Hello?” she said, her shyness making the greeting almost tentative.

“Hey, it’s Franco,” came his familiar voice, sounding warm and easy. “I just landed in Mexico. How’s your night going?”

Y/N felt a small smile tug at her lips, a slight relief washing over her. “Hi, Franco. It’s going okay... just writing. How about you? How was the flight?”

“It was fine, a bit long, but nothing I can’t handle,” Franco replied, his tone light. “It feels good to be here, though. Getting ready for the weekend.”

Y/N shifted in her seat, her fingers tapping nervously on her notebook. “Yeah, I’m sure it must be a bit overwhelming. But, uh, you’ve done this kind of travel before, right?”

Franco laughed softly, clearly amused. “You could say that. But every new race feels a little different. There’s always something new to learn. What about you? I know you’ve only been to one race, right?”

“Yeah, just today.” Y/N said, a little shy about admitting she was still new to the whole experience. “It was... a lot. But really exciting too. I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did.”

“That’s awesome. What did you think of the atmosphere?” Franco asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N smiled, remembering the energy from the day. “It was wild, in a good way. I didn’t really know what to expect, but the crowd was so into it. It’s different from anything I’ve ever experienced.”

“I can imagine. There’s just something about a race day, huh?” Franco said. “It gets under your skin.”

“Yeah, I think I get that now,” Y/N replied, feeling a little more relaxed as the conversation moved away from the work side of things. “It’s... thrilling. I can see why people love it.”

“So, what did you do after the race? Did you go back hotel?” Franco asked, genuinely interested in how she was spending her time.

Y/N shifted slightly, a little self-conscious. “No, I just came home. I haven't been, um... great with big crowds recently, so I thought I’d unwind for the night. I guess it’s a good thing I like being alone sometimes.”

“I totally get that,” Franco said, his voice softer now, almost like he understood exactly what she meant. “I’m kind of the same way. Traveling and being around people can be... draining.”

Y/N smiled faintly, feeling a little more at ease. “Yeah, exactly. It’s nice to just have a quiet night to yourself.”

There was a pause, and then Franco continued, “What do you usually do when you’re alone? Like, when you’re not writing?”

Y/N hesitated before answering, her fingers gently brushing over the edges of her notebook. “I, uh, watch movies sometimes. Old ones. And I read a lot too. Mostly books that... help me forget everything for a little while.”

Franco’s voice was warm, and she could tell he was trying to keep the conversation light. “I think I’d like some movie recommendations. I’ve been wanting to watch something different, but I don’t know where to start.”

Y/N smiled softly, appreciating how easy the conversation was flowing now. “I could definitely do that. If you like old films, I’d recommend some classic noirs. They’re... atmospheric, but in a cool way.”

“Sounds perfect,” Franco said, clearly interested. “I’ll have to try that when I’m not in race mode.”

“I’ll make a list for you, then,” Y/N replied, her voice lightening a little. “Maybe next time we talk, I can recommend a few more.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Franco said with a gentle laugh. “It’s nice just to talk about something that’s not... the race or the schedule.”

“Yeah, it is,” Y/N said quietly, feeling a strange sense of connection. “I didn’t expect it to be so easy to talk.”

“Me neither,” Franco agreed. “But I’m glad we’re talking.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a little more comfortable with the whole situation. “Me too. It’s... nice. I’m glad you called.”

“Glad I did too. Well, I’ll let you get back to your writing,” Franco said, though his voice didn’t sound ready to hang up. “But we’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied softly. “Take care, Franco.”

“You too, Y/N. Talk soon,” he said before hanging up.

Y/N set the phone down, a quiet smile on her face. She didn’t know why she felt so calm after talking to him, but somehow, it felt like the beginning of something she hadn’t expected. A spark had been lit inside her, something she hadn’t felt in a while. Her mind was buzzing, and for the first time in days, she felt truly alive.

She glanced at the clock—still early, though not for long—and something inside her stirred. Without thinking, she grabbed her notebook and walked out of the room, heading down the hall toward her studio. The house was quiet, still, but her mind was racing. As she flipped the lights on in the small room filled with instruments, sound equipment, and all the tools of her trade, it was as if everything clicked into place

The walls, once silent and stifling, now seemed to hum with possibility. She set her notebook down, reached for her laptop, and immediately pulled up her music software. Her fingers hovered over the keys, and within minutes, she was in the zone, the melody flowing almost effortlessly. Ideas she hadn’t known were waiting to be discovered spilled out of her, notes and lyrics coming together like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t known needed solving.

For hours, she lost herself in the music. The hours seemed to melt away, her focus unwavering as she crafted something new, something personal, something that felt like it was coming from the depths of her soul. She tweaked, arranged, and layered tracks, her mind guided only by the spark Franco had unknowingly ignited. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this inspired.

By the time the sun began to rise, Y/N was still in her studio, headphones on, eyes tired but exhilarated. She hadn’t noticed the time slipping by until she glanced at the clock again. The song wasn’t finished, but it was close. She smiled to herself, realizing that the night had passed without her even thinking about the exhaustion she usually felt. It was as though the music had become the one thing that could make her forget everything else.

She leaned back in her chair, taking a deep breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she was grateful for this new, unexpected source of inspiration. And in the back of her mind, she knew this song was only the beginning.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

taglist: @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey

[pxnsneverland]

Heartbreak Hotel | austin!elvis x oc (part 4)

(gif source: austinbutlermischief)

plot summary: Angel Casteel is a small town girl who lucked into working as a costume designer at a film studio. Unfortunately, her confidence in herself wavers as she is assigned to work with Elvis on his latest motion picture. Overcome by his star power at first, she slowly starts to realize there is a man behind the fame, a man she understands. But as they grow closer, the world grows more turbulent, especially Elvis's world. Will this Angel be able to save Elvis from himself and the people around him? Or will getting mixed up in his word prove to be her downfall as well?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

pairings: austin!elvis x oc

word count: 2198

warnings/notes: N/A

Chapter 4: Behind the Music

After a few days, it seemed strange not going to see Elvis on set every morning. Angel found myself with an unusually large amount of free time. This newfound freedom, however, gave Angel the opportunity to dive back into her own passions which had been somewhat sidelined during the intense filming schedule. She spent hours in her small studio, her fingers dancing over textiles and sketches as she conjured up new designs. Between meetings and recordings for a Christmas album he didn’t even want to continue doing, Elvis sought refuge in Angel's studio. The space was serene and flooded with natural light, the walls draped with fabrics of all textures and colors. It was worlds away from the glittering harshness of the showbiz industry that continually tried to mold Elvis into something he was not. As Angel worked, Elvis would often sit quietly in a corner, strumming his guitar lightly, sometimes humming along to whatever tune floated into his mind.

One afternoon, as Elvis watched her sketching a new pattern, he broke the silence with an unexpected suggestion. “Angel, baby,” he started tentatively, “Once all the contracts are up and everything is resolved here, the Colonel is talkin’ about goin’ back to performin’. Movin’ to Las Vegas.”

Angel paused her sketching, her pencil hovering mid-air as she processed his words. The thought of Las Vegas—a city of bright lights and endless nights—seemed so far removed from the quiet intimacy of their current moments. She looked up at him, trying to read his expression. "Las Vegas, huh?" she said softly, laying down her pencil.

“Yeah, Las Vegas. It’s a good place to start up my music again, getting away from LA and leave ‘movie star Elvis’ behind.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself it was a good move as well as her. “I want you to come with me.”

Angel felt her heart skip a beat at the invitation, the gravity of his words sinking in. She had only been in LA a short while herself, chasing something more than her old country town. She had thought getting a job at the production studio had been that ‘something more’. Until Elvis came into her life. Now, with Elvis’s proposal hanging in the air between them, a new chapter seemed to be beckoning. She hesitated for a moment, the threads of her previous life tugging at her heartstrings. “That’s a…big step, Elvis.”

Elvis watched her carefully, his eyes searching hers for any hint of what she might be thinking. “I know it’s big, darlin’. But I ain’t just talkin’ about Vegas. I’m talkin’ about us. You and me, takin’ on the world together. I can’t imagine bein’ anywhere without you.”

His words wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Angel took a deep breath. She set her pencil down fully and moved towards him, her hands reaching out to grasp his. “You really mean that?”

“Every word,” he affirmed earnestly, capturing her hands in his own and holding them tight.

Angel looked around the studio, at the creations that represented her dreams and aspirations. Could she really leave all this behind? Yet, looking back at Elvis, she realized that he *was* her dream now, inextricably woven into the fabric of her future. She smiled, the decision suddenly clear in her mind. "Alright, Elvis.”

Elvis exhaled a sigh of relief, his face breaking into a wide grin. “You won’t regret it, Angel. I promise you that.” He pulled her into his arms.

*************************************

Half of Angel’s apartment was already packed in preparation for her upcoming move to Las Vegas even if some of Elvis' description of it seemed much too excessive for her. The boxes piled high in the small living room, each labeled with meticulous care: 'Kitchen stuff', 'Sketchbooks', 'Fabric'. Angel moved among them, her heart a mixture of excitement and apprehension. As she folded another of her delicate designs into a box marked 'Studio', she paused, holding the fabric against her cheek. The texture was familiar, comforting. In that moment, the doorbell rang, pulling her from her reverie. She set the fabric down gently and walked over to open the door. Standing there, with a lopsided grin was Elvis. His eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous glint as he saw the chaos of her half-packed apartment.

“What are you doing here?” Angel asked returning his grin.

“I was hopin’ to pull you away from all this packing.” He kissed her briefly on the lips. “I want you to come somewhere with me today.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.” He motioned behind him and there was a car waiting with a driver.

Angel hesitated, glancing back at the mountain of boxes that still needed her attention. But the allure of an unexpected adventure with Elvis was too tempting to resist. With a playful sigh, she grabbed her purse and followed him out the door.

For the whole of the hour-long car trip, Angel pleaded with Elvis to reveal their destination. With a devilish grin on his face, he continued encouraging her to be patient. As the car continued driving up the mountain, past trees, plants, and the odd cactus, she eventually gave up asking. The road curved and twisted through the landscape, each turn revealing breathtaking vistas that Angel had only ever seen in photographs. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting an orange glow over everything. The car finally slowed to a stop behind the Hollywood sign. Elvis got out first then opened the door for Angel extending his hand to assist her out the vehicle. She strolled to the 'O' and stared out the center onto the metropolis. It was stunning in appearance, enormous in size, and all encompassing.

Elvis stood beside her, his presence a comforting constant. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close as they both took in the expansive view. “I wanted to show you this,” he said softly, his voice tinged with emotion.

Angel turned to look at him, her eyes reflecting the last rays of the setting sun. “It’s beautiful, Elvis. But why here?”

He smiled. “I used to come here a lot when I first moved to Los Angeles. Things seem so simple and quiet up here.” He sat down in the crook of the 'O' and leaned back. He took her hand. “I’ve arranged a meetin’. Jerry told me about these guys he had met goin’ out one night. They’re called Binder and Bones. He kept sayin’ ‘You gotta meet these guys, E.P.! They’re the ones who put James Brown and the Rolling Stones on stage. You gotta meet ‘em’. When we were talkin’ in the trailer about me gettin’ back to myself and all…I thought it wouldn’t hurt to give ‘em a call.”

Angel sat beside him, her heart beating with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. The idea of Elvis reconnecting with his musical roots and stepping back onto the stage was thrilling, yet the uncertainty of it all weighed heavily on her. "Binder and Bones, huh?" she mused aloud, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

Elvis squeezed her hand gently, his gaze fixed on the sprawling city below. "Yeah, they're supposed to be real innovators in the music scene.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “The Colonel doesn’t know about this, does he?”

A pack of cigarettes appeared from Elvis's pocket. With his lips, he drew one out and lit it. He exhaled the cigarette smoke. “No, he doesn’t. And I’d like to keep it that way for now. He’s got his own ideas about what my comeback should look like, but I need to do this my way.”

Angel nodded. “Well, I don’t have any objections. You know how I feel about that man.”

Elvis chuckled softly, the smoke curling up into the air between them. "I know, darlin'. That's why I'm doing this with you by my side. You understand me more than anybody else."

“Who knows what’s better for Elvis Presley than Elvis Presley, right?”

Elvis grinned, that familiar twinkle lighting up his eyes. “My angel…with you, I think I can finally get things right.” He drew her in and brushed their lips together.

They separated when they heard footsteps approaching. Jerry approached then along with two guys: Binder and Bones. It was clear that all three of them meant business. Angel withdrew her hand from Elvis's. His chest rose and fell as he looked out at the cityscape again.

The guys came to a complete halt. “Mr. Binder, Mr. Howe, this is Mr. Elvis Presley and Ms. Angel Casteel.”

Angel gave a friendly nod to each of them. Elvis pretended for a second that he didn't notice their presence. He looked immersed in what he was seeing. Then he spoke, “When I first came to Hollywood, I would come up here and sit for hours. Right over there…” From where he was seated, the Griffith Observatory was readily visible across the distance. “...that’s where they shot Rebel Without A Cause. Man, I used to dream of bein’ a great actor like Jimmy Dean. The sign was beautiful then.” He stopped to examine the rusty metal that was only visible from this vantage point. “And now…Feels as though lots of things are like that these days. Broke down, beat up. Rotten.”

Elvis removed his sunglasses and proceeded. “I really like what you guys did, putting James Brown and the Stones together.”

Binder responded right away. “We’re, uh…big fans of yours, too. It’s just that, Mr. Presley, we don’t usually—”

“Oh, Elvis.”

“Elvis, uh…” Binder continued, “Christmas specials aren’t really our thing.”

That made Elvis grin knowingly. “I know.” His grin, however, was short-lived and rapidly faded. “Tell me honestly, where do you boys think my career’s at right now?” 

Both Binder and Bones gazed at one other, their silence revealing their reluctance to speak. Bones answered, “Well, it’s…”

“It’s in the toilet, Elvis,” Binder said. He gave Angel a sidelong look. “Sorry for the terminology, ma’am.”

Angel gave a small smile, showing that she took no offense. She appreciated the honesty; it was something Elvis desperately needed if he was going to make a real comeback.

“My girl may look like a lady, but she’s tough.” Elvis laughed and gave Angel a knowing grin before returning to the conversation. “Oh Lord. I knew you were the right guys for this job. You know, back when I was starting out, some people wanted to put me in jail or even kill me, ‘cause of the way I was movin’.” He dismounted from his perch and began to stroll. He stopped when he reached a beam holding up one of the letters and rested against it. “So they cut my hair, put me in a uniform and they sent me away.” Once again, Elvis's mind was wandering off into the past. “That killed my mother. And ever since then…I’ve been lost.”

Angel approached Elvis and placed a protective arm over his forearm. “Elvis…”

He lowered his head and smiled at her. “I’m alright, darlin’.” Elvis turned to see Binder and Bones, who were still listening intently.  “When you’re lost, people take advantage. It wasn’t until an angel came into my life...that I realized how truly lost I was. I need you fellas to help me get back to who I really am.” His tone was pleading rather than assertive.

“And who are you, Elvis?” Binder inquired, peering upward through his oversized sunglasses.

“Well, he sure as hell ain’t someone who sings Christmas songs by a fireplace in a wool sweater,” Angel commented with her hands on her hips. Both Binder and Bones laughed nervously to themselves, then quickly resumed their serious businesslike demeanor.

“And what does the Colonel think?” Bones asked.

“I don’t give a damn what the Colonel thinks,” Elvis answered back.

That appeared to arouse both producers's attention as they exchanged happy glances. They agreed to film Elvis's special and confirmed it with a handshake.

“We’ll start drawing up plans,” Binder said, “Set designs and everything and we’ll run them by you. I promise you’re not going to regret this.”

“No matter if it works out or not, I don’t regret anythin’,' ' Elvis declared.

Jerry waved farewell as he led Binder and Bones back to their vehicle at the top of the hill. When everyone else was gone, Angel grabbed Elvis and threw her arms around his neck. He buried his face in her shoulder stroking calming circles all over her back. They held each other for what seemed like an eternity. Elvis took a step back to look her directly in the eye, but his hands remained planted firmly on her waist. “This is gonna be big, baby doll. I can feel it. Bigger than anythin’ anyone has ever done before.” He pulled strands of hair out of her face. “But no matter what happens, I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you, understand?”

Angel chuckled a little. “What’s gonna happen to me?”

Elvis drew her in for a close kiss on the forehead and then lingered there. He took a long breath in. “Nothin’.”

Stay tuned for part 5!! Click HERE to view!