#Top flute music

[soulfulrelaxingaudio]

Lord krishna flute music-Positive Vibration, Cleanse Negative Energy, Deep Meditation

[thecapuletjuliet]

You can post 5 of your favourite songs. Send this to 10 of your favourite followers for them to do it too

1) Lute Song Number Three

2) Lute Song Number One

3) Pan Flute Forest Melody

4) Balladry (Alehouse Version)

5) Capulet Party Song

i have been told by mine cousin, rosaline, that mine tastes are odd compared to any other dame. oh well. i shalt keep listening to lute song number three anyways... 🪈🎶

[azacello]

Royal ballet and opera season in London

[trash-can-sam]

They ran out of musicians at the theatre.

[welcometoteyvat]

yu peng chen's new album is on youtube finally..

[itsbrucey]

Hihiii! I have appeared with an invisible microphone up to you (you seem very talk to me idk why- could be your banner on your profile hmm) Jonah and Lorraine? What’s their deal? (/nf ask ofc :]])

People like commenting on my banners and I just realized both my main and side have fucked up Markipliers. Hm.

Also. Cracks knuckles. Ok this will probably be NONSENSE I am very tired but here's a fucking run down ( maybe I'll add tomorrow/later idk)

Jonah and Lorraine are two of my OCS that are in this circle of my Darling Wonderful OCS aka the ones I actively think about and make content for. They're in the same realm as Dulcie and Eli and Marley and Vio. Which is to say My Main Ocs.

They're also the select few that have a story/narrative of some kind! Of which I'd like to one day actually write or make comics for.

The basics of Jonah is that she's essentially a super soldier experiment, not being "finished" but the newest model that's being worked on. All lab grown, not a "real person" and therefore is not treated as such. She's made as an organic war machine and is extremely strong and durable; tear tanks and armies apart with her bare hands strong and durable. But she's also INSANELY dehumanized and abused within her facility to the point where she's just kind of. Completely apathetic and numb and permanently in a Fight state of being as a defensive mechanism.

She ends up turning on the facility during a regular trial run of her progress and she SLAUGHTERS most of the lab and facility workers. She escapes the facility and doesn't really have anywhere to go so she just Picks Somewhere. She ends up escaping to a city and climbing through a random window post-carnage and meeting Zach. A random fucking English major who can't really do anything about this massive murder woman who is now in his place.

Her entire thing is that she's learning what it means to be human while dealing with A: trauma and PTSD from Everything and B: a government desperate trying to get her back. Big Woman enjoyers who want someone severely emotionally stunted and permanently stressed out but trying her best may like her. Also she's bisexual and her blood is BRIGHT pink.

Lorraine is a chieftess of a sky island that floats over The Abyss, governing it with her two brothers. She basically oversees the safety of the villages and makes sure people are fed and tended to. Things have been getting hard though, as the island keeps crumbling little by little, and the island seems to have been falling apart faster after Lorraine's father died and she took over. She ends up getting betrayed by one of her brother's and challenges to a duel because he blames her for things sucking really bad + he's jealouuuuussss.

Lorraine loses the duel and gets stabbed through the gut with the family spear ( which has lightning magic fun fact ) and physically KICKED over the side of the island by her brother. She falls and falls and falls, spear STILL INSIDE HER, and she falls into The Abyss, which is like. An infinitely stretching void way below the island. If you fall over the edge, you aren't coming back.

But Lorraine falls into The Abyss. And wakes up. In a fucked up new world that is mangled and twisted and decaying. She gets attacked by some [creatures I haven't named yet ValleyStalkers idk] and manages to fight them off with her spear, but just barely. She faints bc of blood loss + exhaustion + lightning magic. But THEN. PLOT TWIST BITCH SHE JUST DRAGGED INTO A LITTLE ROCK SHELTER BY A LITTLE GIRL. PEOPLE CAN LIVE DOWN HERE.

Lorraine gets nursed back to health by this young girl and Lorraine is hellbent on clawing her way back up to the island and slaughtering her brother for his betrayal. And she adopts the girl and sets off on a journey to leave The Abyss. Also she's like in her 40's-50's and is a cool trans woman with a wife. For my woman enjoyers who like a stern and commanding lady who is also very sweet and sacrificial. Also who has a kickass lightning spear passed through her family's lineage.

Lorraine's lore document is collecting dust as we speak but I'd like to finalize some lore of the worldbuilding + Abyss, as well as OTHER CHARACTERS WHO AREN'T MENTIONED BC THE STORY NEEDS DEVELOPED. Jonah doesn't have a lore document yet bc I'm. Lazy.

Thumbs up!! This is like. The general overview of them. My beautiful amazing battle women.

[abandoned-as-mustard]

starting to understand the allure of getting your own recording equipment so you can do duets and trios and harmonise with yourself on as many instruments as you want, when you’ve got no one to do it with you

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

Bad Santa | D.M.

“Santa can’t be bad.” He grabbed you by the throat...“Sweet girls, however, always have a naughty side.”

feat. Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend Draco has thrown the Christmas party of the year, and wears a Santa hat to make you smile. But jealousy quickly throws a wrench into your festive evening.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut with a sprinkle of plot, he hates everyone but her, protective, arrogant, and possessive!draco, slightly toxic behavior, pda, dirty talk, sort of insecure reader?? (she just wants to be perfect for him even though he thinks she’s perfect 1000% of the time), Blaise is kind of a dick in this one sorry

You were running late to Draco’s Christmas party, but your red glitter eyeliner was not cooperating, and you were ready to start screaming.

You just wanted to look perfect for him, even though he loved nothing more than seeing you fresh out of the shower, bundled up in his pajamas. But this was one of the last parties he would throw at Hogwarts, and he’d worked so hard on every meticulous detail.

You refused to be the weak link.

There was a soft knock on your door, and your heart fell out of rhythm, thinking it was Draco.

“Come in!” You called, and Theo opened the door, a flute of wine in hand.

He let out a low whistle, freezing in place, forgetting that he definitely was not supposed to be checking you out.

You rolled your eyes, returning to your eyeliner in the mirror. “Eyes up, Nott. Would be a shame to see that pretty face without teeth.”

He shook himself and strode in, setting the drink on the table beside you. It was fizzy and a pale gold, with sugared cranberries floating at the top. “Yeah, yeah. Malfoy sent me to check on you, make sure you didn’t fall out the window or something. And he said to bring you that.” Theo gestured to the drink.

You smiled, taking a sip of the effervescent giggle water. “I’m perfectly fine. Tell Draco I’ll be down soon.” You set the glass down and picked up your liner brush, finishing the last line. You leaned back to make sure they were even and fucking finally, they were.

“You got it, Mrs. Clause,” he bowed and made a swift exit.

Mrs. Clause? You shrugged it off. Theo was always spouting random shit, anyways. You fluffed your hair and stood, straightening your black slip dress. An inch shorter, and it would be considered lingerie, but you wanted Draco to be unable to keep his hands off of you, and this dress would surely do the trick.

You slipped your hands into a pair of black, satin elbow gloves, and stepped into your black platform heels. For the final touch, a swipe of oxblood red lipstick, and you were ready.

The music was loud enough to feel through the floor as you made your way down the stairs, drink in hand, the party in full swing. The room was completely covered in green and white christmas lights, with dozens of trees decorated in Slytherin colors and tinsel snakes scattered throughout the room. Fake snow fell gently from the ceiling, covering everything in a sheen of silver glitter, though it wasn’t cold when it kissed your skin, collecting in your hair and eyelashes.

It was a wonderland, and your heart swelled with pride that your man made it happen.

You turned your attention back to the stairs so you didn't fall face first, and noticed Theo was waiting for you at the bottom.

”Really?” You teased, taking his arm when he offered it to you.

“Are you really surprised?” He muttered in your ear as he lead you through the crowd. “It’s a fucking circus in here.”

Despite your teasing, you were glad for his company once you got into the thick of the party. It seemed your housemates were pulling out all the stops for this one, already teetering into rager territory and it wasn’t even 10 o’clock.

“He’s going to crash out when he sees you,” Theo chuckled, puffing up his chest when some Ravenclaw boy drifted a little too close to you.

“That’s the idea.”

“Crash out indeed.” Draco suddenly appeared in front of you, stepping from the crowd like he’d apparated there, and you nearly tripped over your heels.

He was dressed in all black, like you’d discussed, his suit decorated with black lace and silver trim. But what really threw you was the velvet black Santa hat on his head, the fur trim and bauble like a silver wolfs coat. He looked…sinful.

“Draco!” You exclaimed, flush with excitement. “How did you—”

“Followed the broken necks,” he replied, his gaze roaming from the top of your head to the very tip of your toes with a predator’s gleam. “That’s all, Nott,” he said, an edge of command to his voice, and Theo dissolved into the crowd.

He extended a hand to you and you placed your fingers in his palm, butterflies rioting in your stomach despite having been with Draco for close to a year now. He pulled your bodies together, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other bringing your gloved knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss.

“I’m speechless, baby,” he murmured, releasing your hand to catch your chin. He tilted your head up towards him, turning you just slightly to watch the shimmer around your eyes dance.

You reached up to flick the bauble on the end of his hat, grinning. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Let me see you,” he purred. He took your hand again and stepped back, spinning you in a slow circle as the snow fell around you. It was like there was no one else in the room, just you and Draco in a winter wonderland. “That’s simply unfair, darling,” he said, pulling you back into him. “Am I meant to fight off every student in attendance?”

“You’re so dramatic,” you snickered, pecking his cheek, and he chuckled.

“C’mon, let’s get you by the fire. It is winter, you know—”

You swatted his arm, letting him lead you through the crowd. Though, Draco had a considerably easier time with it that Theo did, the party-goers shifting apart like the Red Sea. In a few moments, you found your and Draco’s friends sitting in a circle of couches and chairs by the roaring fireplace. The largest arm chair, closest to the fire, was unoccupied, and you noticed two drinks sitting untouched on the table beside it.

A fire whiskey that was certainly Draco’s, and another frosty flute of giggle water with cranberries, presumably for you.

Your friends all greeted you with warm smiles and a wolf whistle from Pansy, and you broke free from Draco to catch up with her and a few of your girls.

“You have no idea, he was so bitchy when you didn’t show up at 9:30 on the dot,” Pansy whispered, giggling.

“Not at you, of course. He’s just never happy when you aren’t around,” another one of your friends muttered.

You glanced over at Draco, who was sitting in his seat, an ankle propped up on the opposite knee, fire whiskey in hand. He was watching you over the rim despite poor Blaise trying to talk to him, and you could feel his gaze like a caress over your exposed back.

“It was my damn eyeliner,” you chuckled, batting your eyes to show them, and they squealed. “Couldn’t get it straight.”

“That’s amazing! Where did you get it—”

“It makes you look like a crazy vixen or something. Slayed.”

“It’s flawless, well worth being thirty minutes late—”

“Thank you, thank you,” you flushed.

“Let’s go dance!” Pansy said, grabbing you by the wrist, and you turned to check with Draco. Not that you needed permission, just to let him know what you were doing.

“Go dance, baby. I’ll be right here, watching very closely,” he called with a smirk, waving you off.

You swallowed the rest of your drink as the girls dragged you out to the edge of the dance floor, where it wasn’t quite as crowded, and the boys could keep an eye on all of you in case anyone got any ideas. You let yourself get lost in the music and the movement, Draco’s watchful the eye the only thing rooting you to the present. Even from across the room, he made you feel secure as gold in Gringott’s, which was why you felt comfortable wearing a dress so revealing, or going to a wild party in the first place.

But, after an hour or so, you started to feel that longing tug in your lower belly, missing his voice, his touch. You grabbed Pansy, shouting in her ear over the roar of the music. “Excuse me, I have to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I want for Christmas!”

“Ask for a million dollars!” She shouted back, breathless.

You turned and sauntered across the room to Draco, eyes locked on him, taking care to sway your hips in time to the music.

He set his foot down, patting his thigh with his free hand, a smirk lifting his handsome face. You stepped between his thighs and eased onto his lap, his arm immediately wrapping around your back to grip your thigh, the fat dimpling beneath the pressure as he hauled you closer.

“Hi, Santa baby,” you flirted, lifting your legs to rest them across his other thigh, your heels dangling towards the ground.

“I’d ask if you’ve been a good girl, but I think I know the answer to that,” he hummed, pressing his lips beneath your jaw and kissing downwards at a leisurely place.

“Does that mean ‘no’?” You giggled, letting the heat of his affection flow through you, warming your blood until a buzzy desire bloomed between your legs.

“Good girls don’t dance like that in an attempted murder against their boyfriend,” he chuckled, nipping at your ear before sitting up.

“Attempted murder” You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. “I would never.”

He passed you your drink, watching your lips as you took a long sip of the fizzy beverage. “I like that lipstick,” he said, softening his voice. “Is it new?”

You nodded. “Santa bought it for me at Hogsmeade.”

Draco laughed, the vibration in his chest making your thighs clench as your arousal continued to build. “Did Santa buy you that dress too?”

“Of course.” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing his ear. “And what’s underneath it.”

His grip tightened on your thigh, and you felt something hard nudge against your hip. “I suppose Santa should let you take his wallet into town more often,” he muttered, a little raspier than before.

“At his own peril,” you warned, smiling.

“Whatever it takes to keep you right here, Mrs. Clause.” His hand slid to the nape of your neck, the tips of his fingers chilled from holding the whiskey glass, and he pulled you in. Your lips connected in heated kiss, tasting cinnamon and drunken cherries. His tongue brushed along the seam of your lips in a request for entry. You parted just slightly for him, a tease, before biting lightly at the tip of his tongue. He grinned, retaliating by biting your lower lip, hard enough to send a delicious flare of pain straight to your most sensitive parts, and you nearly cried out. He soothed the bite with his tongue, and kissed you softly before pulling away.

You knew that lipstick was worth the price tag; barely a ghost of smear colored his lips. He just looked thoroughly kissed, exactly how you wanted him to.

“Why does this party just feel like extremely elaborate foreplay?” Blaise droned, rolling his eyes at the two of you.

“Everything is foreplay to them,” Pansy laughed, flopping down onto the couch between Crabbe and Goyle.

“Jealous, Zabini?” Draco asked, leaning back a little further into the chair, his legs spreading wider so gravity shifted more of your weight into his body. He was so warm and solid, the feel and presence of him making your head go a little fuzzy. Or perhaps it was the giggle water taking effect.

“Sorry, Blaise,” you said, nudging his shoulder with the toe of your heel. “We’ll try to keep the pda under control.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” Draco argued, grabbing your ankle and tucking your foot back against his calf. “Let ‘em suffer.”

“Draco, don’t be cruel,” you scolded, though everyone knew you didn’t mean it.

“Cruel? Cruel would be denying everyone the sight of you. He should be thanking me,” Draco countered, his hand caressing up and down your shin, the other kneading the fat of your haunch.

“Ah, yes. Thank you for allowing me to watch you all but fuck your girl in front of the entire student body,” Blaise snapped, and you felt Draco’s energy immediately shift into dangerous territory.

“Just say you’re jealous and shut the fuck up, Blaise. You’re being a dick,” Goyle shot back, with a grunt in agreement from Crabbe.

“Baby,” you murmured, quiet enough that only Draco could hear you. “Ignore him. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you and ruin our fun.” You rubbed your gloved hand over his chest, feeling his heart pounding through his expensive shirt. He was glaring at Blaise, anger slithering through the blue of his eyes, promising pain.

“No, I want him to say what he means,” Draco said, his tone deceptively light, and you inwardly groaned. “Go on, mate. Tell us the truth.”

Theo made a ‘don’t’ sign with his hand, but Blaise was glaring right back at Draco, apparently foolish enough, or drunk enough, to take the bait.

“I wouldn’t parade my girl around like that, is all. Wouldn’t want another bloke seeing what’s mine.”

Draco was up in a flash, leaving you in a heap on his chair. Blaise jumped up too, but Theo got between them before they collided.

“She can do whatever she damn well pleases. And I’m not going to let some microdicked cunt make her think twice about it,” Draco growled, and your heart gave an ill-timed flutter, your pussy tingling anew. You knew Draco shouldn’t be so protective, and it’s gotten him in trouble on more than one occasion, but you couldn’t help it. You loved seeing Draco’s dark side come out on your behalf.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Blaise replied, shoving into Theo to try and reach Draco. Theo shoved Blaise backwards and Draco managed to get around him, grabbing Blaise up by the collar. You got to your feet, fear pumping through you, but Theo blocked you before you could intervene.

“Now, I’m going to give you the opportunity to apologize to her on your own, or I will force it out of you,” Draco said, his voice menacingly low. When Blaise tried in vain to free himself, Draco shook him hard, nearly hitting his head against the stone fireplace. “Now, Zabini.”

Blaise’s eyes met yours, wide with fear, but deeply angry. “I’m sorry, y/n,” he hissed through his teeth, venomous as a hex.

Draco pushed him hard, throwing him onto the ground. He loomed over the prone boy, raising his wand.

“Draco!” You shouted, managing to get around Theo is his shock. You got between Draco and Blaise, throwing your arms around your boyfriends neck and pressing yourself to his front. “He’s not worth getting expelled,” you hissed in his ear, his eyes feral and jaw set. “Please, please don’t do this.”

You felt him soften, just a fraction.

“Merlin, I’m sorry, okay!” Blaise shouted, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, y/n.” Sincerity softened the Blaise’s voice, and Draco finally lowered his wand.

You applied some pressure to Draco’s front, trying to get him to move, and he took a step back, an unspoken acquiescence. You grabbed his hand and dragged him through the sea of onlookers and up to his dorm, his hand a vice on yours.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Draco lunged, crushing you against the wall in a fervid, desperate kiss. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the race of his heart, and knew that he needed an outlet for his temper.

“No one talks to you like that,” he growled against your neck, biting at your skin while he wrapped your legs around his waist. “I don’t care if it’s my friends, my father, or bloody Minister of fucking Magic.”

“Yes, Draco!” You cried out when he ground his hardening cock against your clothed cunt, your eyes rolling back at the friction.

“You’re mine,” he said, his lips releasing from your skin with a pop. “Mine to spoil, mine to dote on, mine to touch, kiss, fuck.”

“Fuck, yes. All yours.” You pulled off your gloves and dug your fingers into his platinum hair, knocking off the Santa hat in pursuit of another scalding kiss. He obliged you, tangling his tongue with yours and loosing a low groan. He peeled you off of the wall, not breaking the kiss, and tossed you onto a bed.

Not his bed, you realized almost immediately.

“Draco—”

“Just want to leave a little gift for Blaise,” he said, kissing down your chest while his hands pushed up your skirt, revealing the g-string you bought just for him. It was black and trimmed in diamonds, nothing but mesh covering your puffy, drooling lips. “Look at you,” he cooed, softening further. He lowered himself to rest fully between your legs and grazed his thumb over the mesh, feeling the wetness soaking through. “You bought these for me?”

You nodded, chewing your lower lip and resisting the urge to press yourself into his hand.

“How very considerate of you, darling,” he praised, hooking the fabric with his middle finger and tugging it aside. He pressed a kiss to your clit before swiping a languid lick through your slit, finally relaxing back into his usual, calm demeanor. He always settled like this when it was just the two of you, your body laid out all for him, like it appeased some ravenous beast inside of his chest.

Between your legs was where he made his confession, where he bared his soul and sought forgiveness for his trespasses.

“M’sorry for being such a brute,” he murmured against you, sucking lightly at your clit.

“I love when you stand up for me,” you said, your words tangled with a soft moan as he continued to lap at you, so soft it makes your chest ache.

You felt him smile against you before sitting back on his heels, your slick glossing his lips and chin. “That why you’re dripping for me? Did it turn you on when I got angry?” It was a rhetorical question. He knew it turned you on when he was set off, as it had resulted in many a shagging in broom closets and empty classrooms. “Or was it the Santa hat?” he teased, getting up and grabbing it off of the floor.

“Draco, come back,” you whined, reaching for him while he put the hat back on his head. He was toying with you now, seeing how worked up he could get you before either of you snapped.

If there was one thing you knew for certain about Draco Malfoy, it’s that he loved the chase. Perhaps it was the Slytherin in him, the desire to scheme and plot, to coax out their prey before they strike.

He grabbed your ankle and tugged you the edge of the bed, your hips flush against his. “I’m here,” he soothed, running his hands over your thighs and spreading your legs a little further for him. “Baby, that makeup…” his eyes danced over your face. “Lose my train of thought when you look at me like that.”

You sat up, inching your hips closer to his, feeling his hardness pressing against you. “You like it?” You asked, batting your lashes while you push his jacket off of his shoulders, the blazer landing with an umph onto the floor.

“I do.” He reached up to ghost his fingers over your face, brushing your fake lashes with the gentlest touch, tracing over your nose, your eyebrows, your lined cupid’s bow. “You’re beyond beautiful, darling.”

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss underneath his jaw, sucking lightly at his pulse, and he heaved a contented sigh, his hand sliding into your hair. With deft fingers, you started to undo the buttons of his shirt, kissing down his pale chest as you went.

“How do you always manage to disarm me?” He asked, scratching gently at your scalp, watching you through heavy lidded eyes. “I was so angry, then you just—you just chased it away with your sweet little self.”

You preened under his gentle touch, loving that only you got to see this side of him, that there was a Draco you didn’t have to share with the rest of the world.

“I like myself better when I’m with you,” he murmured, tightening his grip on your hair to force you head up. “Like I’m not all bad.”

Your heart cracked, affection making it swell a few sizes too large. “Draco, you are not bad,” you shushed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pecking his lips. “You’re wonderful, and I love you. All of you.”

He smiled, catching your lips in a deeper kiss. “I love you too, sweet girl.”

“Even if you’ve been a bad Santa,” you tease, flicking the bauble at the end of his hat.

“Santa can’t be bad.” He grabbed you by the throat and shoved you back down, looming over you with a cheeky smirk on his face. “Sweet girls, however, always have a naughty side.”

“Not me!” you giggled.

“Back talk, hm?” He slid his hand down to the top of your dress and pulled it down, freeing your bare breasts. He laved a tongue over one of your nipples, making your eyes roll back when he sucked it between his teeth, biting gently.

Your hips bucked up involuntarily, a cry falling from your lips when your clit ground against his length.

“Where'd my sweet girl go? All I see now is a needy slut.” He lightly slapped your tit he'd just been nursing, making you jump and keen, a deep pulse of arousal making your pussy drip. “You know what sluts get for Christmas?” He asked, undoing the buttons of his trousers. You felt his cock spring out, scalding hot and solid.

You shook your head, already half dumb from his hot and cold teasing, zeroed in on the feeling of his cock nudging against your drooling entrance.

“Fucked,” he growled, and slammed himself to the hilt, splitting you down the middle.

You cried out, arching off the mattress when he withdrew and slammed back in, rebuilding you only to shatter you once more. Your pussy made the most obscene sounds, sloppy as it gripped him. He loosed an unintelligible stream of curses, fucking into you with all the fervor he had when you initially fled the party.

“Fuck, Draco,” you cried, muffling yourself on Blaise's now tousled quilt.

“That's a good girl, cry all you like. I want him to know exactly how hard I fucked you on his bed.” He leaned over you, grabbing one of Blaise's pillows and tucking it under your lower back, elevating your hips so he could hit a new, more intense angle.

“Mmph, so deep,” you whined, stars dancing being your eyes, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with every graze of his cockhead against that ruthless, spongy place inside of you.

“Gonna make a mess of this perfect pussy. Shit, love—so fucking tight f’me,” he groaned, throwing one of your ankles over his shoulder and biting at your calf. “So fucking pretty taking my cock,” he mumbled between kisses along your shin, holding your ankle in a bruising grip to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

You were getting so close, swallowing scream after scream as he pounded you.

“Gonna come for me, sweet girl? Can feel you squeezing harder, soaking my cock.” He released his grip on your hip to smear his fingers over your clit, rubbing back and forth at brutal pace, letting you hear just how wet you were. “C’mon, baby. You're so close—oh fuck.”

You came with a scream, biting down on the quilt in a feeble attempt to quiet yourself as your orgasm tore through you, forcing a gush of moisture from your pussy.

“Merlin, baby. That's perfect, you're doing so good for me, sweetheart,” he praised, sounding a little starstruck, and more than a little excited.

It was like he replaced your blood with fire whiskey, burning, bright, dizzying. You were soaring, awash with bliss as he fucked you through it, moving slower to savor the way you fluttered around him.

You blinked your eyes open, bleary and a cockdrunk.

“There she is,” he cooed, setting your leg down and leaning forward to kiss your cheeks, your nose, your lips. “You alright?”

You nodded, stretching your arms overhead like a tired kitten.

“Not done yet, lovey. C’mere.” He slipped out of you, ignoring your whine of protest and tugged you to the edge of the bed. He tossed Blaise's pillow, now soaked with your release, onto the floor. “On your knees, darling.”

You happily obliged, lowering yourself to the ground and grabbing at his cock before he had a chance to sit. He chuckled, letting you lap at his messy shaft, loving the taste of you smeared on his skin. Marking him as yours.

“All yours, baby. Don't fret.” He stroked your chhek, staring down at you with a lovesick smile. “Look at me.”

You flicked your eyes upwards as you start working your mouth down his cock, taking him about halfway before retreating. He was flushed and breathing hard, his black button down open to reveal his muscular chest, littered with love bites you left behind. The Santa hat was still on his head, slightly askew from the thorough fucking, and his blue eyes were blazing.

He groaned, hand tightening on the sheets. “Baby, your eyes. Got me in a chokehold,” he rasped, hips rocking forward in time with your head.

Evidently, the eyeliner was very much worth it.

You wrapped your hand around the base and increased your pace, close to gagging yourself on his length, your eyes fixed firmly on his reactions.

His head lolled back on his shoulders, throat bobbing as he moaned, mouth falling open. “Fuck, m’already close.”

A trill of pride washed through you and you pushed even further, his head nudging the back of your throat and making your eyes water.

“Shit, thats it, angel. Just like that. Open that pretty throat for me.” He fisted your hair and stalled your movements, his cock buried in your mouth and cutting off your air. “Fuck!” He cried, pulling your head back and grasping his cock, pumping himself against your tongue as the first rope of release splattered against it.

You stuck your tongue out, letting him fill your mouth with his spend while he moaned and cursed, his whole body bowing around you with the force of it.

He milked himself dry, heaving a loud exhale followed by a sly smile, and gripped your chin, tilting your head up for him. “My sweet girl,” he cooed, swiping up a dribble of cum from your chin and feeding it between your lips. “Swallow.”

You did, swallowing down every bit of cum before opening your mouth for him, sticking out your now clean tongue.

He grinned, scooping you up into his arms and raining kisses over your face and neck. “So fucking perfect. How did I get so lucky?”

You giggled, dizzy with delight, and wrapped your arms around him, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"You wanna go back to the party?" He asked, and you scoffed, earning a relieved smile. He tucked an arm under your knees and hefted you into the air, carrying you across the room to his bed. He laid you down and rummaged through his trunk, finding a pair of pajamas you liked, before walking back over to you.

You loosed a big yawn, eyelids heavy, and he chuckled.

“Fucked out, hm?” He teased, pulling the dress over your head and tossing it aside before replacing it with one of his Quidditch t-shirts.

You answered with another yawn, flopping back onto his fancy, silk pillows.

He shimmied a pair of boxers up your legs before tucking you into his quilt, the smell of his expensive body wash wrapping around you as you settled.

He clicked his tongue. “Face towards me, sweetheart.” You turned your head, eyes closed, and felt a cool cloth wipe across your cheek, your eyes, your forehead. Diligently, he removed your makeup inch by inch, careful to not pull or tug. He even let your lashes soak off, counting to thirty under his breath before removing them, instead of just tugging them off. When he was finished, he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Your makeup was lovely, but you are so beautiful as you are “

You hummed in appreciation, eyes still closed, and puckered your lips for a kiss, which he happily provided.

Then he stood and you could hear him moving around the room, picking up your trail of items and righting the room.

“You aren't really gonna leave that on Blaise's bed?” You mumbled, peaking at him over the covers.

“Oh, I certainly am,” he replied, fluffing it up and setting it back where he found it. “Maybe he'll keep his mouth shut next time.”

You rolled your eyes, snuggling back down into the pillows. You wanted no part of their twisted drama.

A few moments later, you felt the covers lift and the bed dip, and Draco’s warm body wrapped around you, shirtless and in sweatpants. He nuzzled into your neck, taking a deep breath.

“You never told me what you wanted for a Christmas?” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the curve of your shoulder.

Your brain was sluggish, trying to piece together what you wanted. But you could only think of one thing.

“Dark chocolate frog,” you mumbled, and he burst out laughing.

“Then you'll have an army of dark chocolate frogs, my love.”

Thank you sm for reading!

[sirenthestone]

As someone who grew up listening to Jethro Tull, it's always blows my mind when someone's never heard One White Duck or Skating Away On the Thin Ice of a New Day or Bourée. Like how is that even possible? But that's just how it is.

Anyway, yall should listen to Jethro Tull.

[suzannahnatters]

Last night I remembered another of my favourite Tolkien wifeguy facts.

So in Western mythology we've often personified the Sun as masculine and the Moon as feminine. Off the top of my head: The Sun is associated with purity, reason, scholarship, illumination, constancy, dragons, gold, and masculinity. On the other hand, the Moon is associated with darkness, silver, impurity, flux, change, uncertainty, fickleness, and femininity.

You can see all this imagery being adopted, eg, in the Mozart opera THE MAGIC FLUTE, in which a benevolent scholar wizard (with solar imagery). straight up kidnaps the daughter of the evil, passionate Queen of the Night so that she can be properly educated in Enlightenment rationalism, purged of all those icky feminine night/lunar influences, and turned into a good submissive little wife for the scholar's young disciple. Guys the music slaps but the story is SO gross and misogynistic.

Anyway, what does this have to do with Tolkien? I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED.

In Middle-Earth, Tolkien does a GENDERSWAPPED Sun and Moon. The Sun is She, the Moon is He. And, like, it's not that he just thought "oh how can I make this mythology Different" - he really thought this through. In THE SILMARILLION, Tolkien tells us that the Sun and Moon are two vessels made from the last flower of Telperion and the last fruit of Laurelin, the Two Trees which once gave light to Valinor. Two Maiar were chosen to pilot these vessels. The pilot of the moon is Tilion, a hunter of Orome, and the pilot of the sun is Arien: "Arien the maiden was mightier than he", a spirit of fire whom I strongly suspect to be an unfallen Balrog.

Now, just as in our world, the Moon in Middle Earth has a reputation for waywardness and unreliability. Because, get this, apparently Tilion falls in love with Arien: "But Tilion was wayward and uncertain in speed, and held not to his appointed path; and he sought to come near to Arien, being drawn by her splendour, though the flame of Arien scorched him, and the island of the Moon was darkened."

And I just. Here's Tolkien, standing up in the face of centuries of unveiled misogynistic symbolism and saying, "oh, we've got two celestial entities, one of which is powerful and bold and glorious, and the other famous for being kind of lame in comparison? SOUNDS TO ME LIKE A SWAGLESS LOVER BOY ABANDONING HIS DUTIES TO WORSHIP HIS GODDESS. I MEAN OBVIOUSLY. WHAT ELSE COULD THE EXPLANATION BE"

[rosesandmary]

shakes back and forth i love you on derwentwater

[milkwands]

saw him earlier for probably the last time til spring semester

[saturnsorbits]

Secret Santa at the office where you jokingly tell your desk neighbour that you’d settle for a smiling Bakugo for Christmas…

Queue the Christmas party.

The soft hum of Christmas music floats through the air, layered under the gentle chatter and gossip that blooms from groups seated around glass topped tables with too many empty champagne flutes. Gifts are exchanged, some more well received than others.

Izuku buys Ochako a far too expensive necklace, that does the job of outing his crush on her so he doesn’t have to. Mineta buys Momo a G-String and is promptly escorted out with notice to report to HR come Monday. A new tie passes from Shoji to Tokoyami. A desk-weight set between Tetsutetsu and Kirishima.

You’re giftless so far and as Bakugo trudges down the stairs with his signature frown itching at his skin between his eyes - you expect to remain that way.

He strides towards you and stops short, before fumbling around in his pocket.

‘Bakugo, if you’re my secret Santa you don’t have to-.’

Swearing under his breath, he snatches the bright red bow from his suit pants and pins it to the shoulder of his shirt with a too hard smack. ‘You sure?’ He grins, flashing teeth and cocking an eyebrow. ‘Because I got you exactly what you wanted.’

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Bing Crosby - White Christmas 1942

"White Christmas" is a song reminiscing about an old-fashioned Christmas setting. Written by Irving Berlin for the 1942 musical film Holiday Inn, the song won the Academy Award for Best Original Song at the 15th Academy Awards. Originally sung by Bing Crosby, it topped the Billboard chart for 11 weeks and returned to the number one position again in December 1943 and 1944. His version would return to the top 40 a dozen times in subsequent years.

Since its release, "White Christmas" has been covered by many artists. Crosby's version is the world's best-selling single (in terms of sales of physical media), with estimated sales in excess of 50 million physical copies worldwide. The Guinness Book of World Records 2009 Edition lists the song as a 100-million seller, encompassing all versions of the song, including albums. Crosby's holiday collection Merry Christmas was first released as an LP in 1949, and has never been out of print since.

The song established that there could be commercially successful secular Christmas songs - in this case, written by a Jewish immigrant to the US. Before 1942, Christmas songs and films had come out sporadically, and many were popular. However, "the popular culture industry had not viewed the themes of home and hearth, centered on the Christmas holiday, as a unique market" until after the success of "White Christmas" and the film where it appeared, Holiday Inn.

The version most often heard today on the radio during the Christmas season is the 1947 re-recording. The 1942 master was damaged due to frequent use. Crosby re-recorded the track on March 19, 1947, accompanied again by the Trotter Orchestra and the Darby Singers, with every effort made to reproduce the original recording session. The re-recording is recognizable by the addition of flutes and celesta in the beginning. In 1974, the 1942 recording of the song by Bing Crosby and The Ken Darby Singers was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame. In 1999, National Public Radio included it in the "NPR 100", which sought to compile the one hundred most important American musical works of the 20th century. Crosby's version of the song also holds the distinction of being ranked No. 2 on the "Songs of the Century" list, behind only Judy Garland's "Over the Rainbow," as voted by members of the RIAA. In 2002, the original 1942 version was one of 50 historically significant recordings chosen that year by the Library of Congress to be added to the National Recording Registry.

"White Christmas" received a total of 74,5% yes votes!

[woso-dreamzzz]

Mignon & Pollito

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

@wileys-russo's Pollito x Teen!Reader

Summary: You and your partner in crime

Whether it was the gods smiling down on you or just an extreme miscalculation on the staff's part, you and Pollito end up sharing a room.

This training camp was only a week long so it must be fairly expensive to move you all from Barcelona to here but, you're not the higher-ups at the club so you don't get much of a say.

"I'm bored," Pollito declares and you roll your eyes.

"Would you prefer sleeping on the bottom bunk?" You ask dryly," I heard that's more interesting."

Pollito's head appears above you, poking over the edge of the top bunk that she had wrestled you onto the ground to get to first.

"Don't be silly!" She says, a smug grin on her face," I'm doing you a service! I'm letting you stay away from the top bunk boredom."

"I'm sure I can deal with it."

"Yeah, but you Frenchies always change your minds."

"I'm trying not to be offended here."

Pollito's grin only widens and her fingers appear to jab you in the forehead.

"I'm still bored."

"I've got UNO."

"UNO's shit."

"Unless you're playing Jana. I made twenty euros off her in one round."

"Oh, shit, you're right. Let's go and find Jana."

"We're banned," You remind her," After that time that we rigged the game."

"Oh, yeah."

The bed above you creaks as Pollito throws her back against in annoyance.

"Is there really nothing we're allowed to do?"

"Irene said that we can get lunch. We just have to tell the others that we're doing that."

"But they'll make us eat healthy."

"Yeah."

Silence for a moment and then...

"I'm bored!"

You jab your feet up into the mattress on top of you and Pollito yelps.

"What do you want me to do about that? Play you to sleep?"

"You'd play me to sleep?" Pollito scoffs," What does that mean? Kicking a ball at my head?"

"I meant with my flute, dimwit."

There's silence again

"You can play the flute. Since when?"

"Since always? This isn't new information."

"It is to me!"

Pollito peaks back over your bed, a wide grin spreading over her face. "I think I have an idea."

It's Irene who hears it first.

It starts off quiet, barely audible over the phone call with her wife and son. But it's still audible and she frowns.

"Are you playing music?" She asks and her wife shakes her head.

"It must be coming from your end."

Irene pokes her head out of her hotel room, spotting a few of the others doing the same.

"Who's playing that music?!" Alexia complains, looking like she's been woken up from a very good nap if her messy hair is anything to go by.

"I thought it was Pina."

"Me?" Pina scoffs," I don't like classical music."

"It's hardly classical music," Keira says," It's the song from the Muppets. You know that one that goes 'do doo be-do-do, mahna mahna, do do-do do'-"

Everyone to turns to look at her, similar looks of judgement as Keira peters off, face crimson.

"Or, you know, I think that's what it is."

"Either way," Alexia brushes her off," Who is making that noise?"

What started off as soft flute music suddenly gets louder and louder until it's booming across the whole floor and Alexia's grip tightens on her door frame.

Her eyes dart to the room at the end of the corridor and she does a quick count in her head.

Everyone and their roommates are hanging out of their doors, heads poking out to see what all the noise is.

Everyone except two people.

Her teeth grind together.

"Who let Pollito and Mignon in the same room together? Who let them room together with no supervision?"

Usually, Alexia would be the one sorting out all of the rooms but she'd left it to the staff this time because she'd gotten distracted on the bus when Pollito had hidden you up in the luggage rack and you'd taken it upon yourself to drip water onto Mapi's head from your hiding spot.

"Er...They might still be in there?" Pina offers up but everyone else knows that it's a pipe dream to say something like that.

"Spread out," Alexia snaps," And find them." She massages her temples. "They take years off my life."

The longer they take, the louder the music gets until it rings in their ears with every step.

There's thumping at the door and you jolt, your flute music wavering as Pollito pops her head up to look through the window.

"It's Ingrid and Frido! Pretend we're not here!"

You both hide under the window where they can't see you.

The change in position makes your playing a bit unstable for a moment as you adjust, fingers cramping from the past forty-five minutes of nonstop repetition.

"I know you're in there!" Frido bangs on the door," This is the room with the sound system. Come out!"

"You'll never take us alive!" Pollito yells back and you want to hit her for being stupid.

"Shut up! You've blown our cover."

A hand reaches through the window and you instantly want to murder the idiot who thought windows should be able to be opened from the outside because Ingrid's hand immediately grabs onto your flute.

You yelp, finally stopping your playing as you try to wrestle it back.

"Hey! No! That's mine!"

"Give it over," Ingrid says," And we'll tell Alexia that you both cooperated."

You pop your head over the window. "Give us a moment to discuss."

"We can't just give in," Pollito says to you in a hushed whisper.

"Well when our other option is to run the laps Alexia will make us do if she finds out we fought them..."

"You make a good point but...No, you do make a good point." Pollito sigh," Fine. Let's give in."

You clap her on the shoulder. "Don't worry. We may have lost the battle but we haven't lost the war."

Frido sighs from the other side of the door, hitting her head repeatedly against the wall.

"You're both so dramatic."

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝔼𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟: ℂ𝕒𝕤𝕦𝕒𝕝

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 ℙ𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: fluff, pet names, swearing, ruthie’s a bully, ruthie and the reader fight, heavy angst, gaslighting, verbal altercation between rafe and the reader, drinking

All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! The premise the reader catches Rafe, Topper, and Ruthie talking about her from a distance (homage to s4). There will also be a nod to the beach episode with added drama between Ruthie and the reader. This post is based off an ask requesting a tie between the story and the song “Casual” by Chappell Roan ♥️

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

The Island Club Christmas Party… You never thought you'd find yourself here.

You rest your back against the wall, listening to the party from down the hall, taking a moment to yourself. Well, it started that way until you heard his voice. You couldn't help but hang back, listening to him speak candidly, intrigued as Rafe’s voice weaves deftly between a conversation with Topper and his girlfriend.

“Y/n?” Ruthie cuts as Rafe mentions looking for a bigger house, making plans for the future. Your name on her lips makes your stomach turn.

“What about her?” Rafe drawls before taking a sip.

"She’s pretty Pogue. Isn't she? Are you and y/n getting serious now? She seems… invested,” she needles, wrapping her glossy lips around her straw.

Rafe pauses for a moment, thinking of a reply, letting the words hang in the air for far too long. “Just ‘cause we hooked up doesn't mean she’s my girlfriend. Okay?” He mumbles.

“I’m just saying the two of you are together a lot… Wait, are you lookin’ for a place with her?” She asks, tilting her head slightly, letting her judgment bleed into her tone.

“I’m not livin’ with a Pogue,” Rafe answers without hesitantion.

Ruthie and Topper smile at each other and chuckle at the ridiculousness of her question. “I don't know. Just thought I'd ask,” she giggles to Top as he wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

“It’s casual… Nothin’ more. Nothin’ less,” Rafe adds, getting the final word. The rug gets pulled from underneath you. The harsh realization that you mean so little to him cutting through you like a knife, especially when he means everything to you.

You walk back to the ballroom—the party hitting you at full force—the smug laughter of the Kooks, rich music flowing, the clinking of champagne glasses between lofty toasts. All the noises battle Rafe’s cruel words, screaming in your mind.

"You coming to brunch tomorrow?" Wheezie’s voice startles you, pulling you out of the depths. She stands in front of you, bright-eyed and innocent, looking up at you with a sweet smile. “John B’s comin’ too,” Rafe’s little sister mentions a familiar friend in an attempt to sway you and make you feel more comfortable, her question just twisting the knife further, every word driving it home that you weren't anything more than a fling— your invitation to brunch apparently lost somewhere down the line.

You offer a strained smile, lips trembling. "Maybe," you say quietly, "I might have plans."

Wheezie’s lips tug to the side, and she nods, not wanting to push it further. “Well, I hope you can make it,” she smiles gently before stepping away.

You walk toward the tables, looking up at the stage, seeing Pope behind the piano playing for the crowd. His fingers move masterfully along the keys, holding their attention as he weaves between Christmas songs, flowing into the next effortlessly. He looks the part; his tailored suit fits him like a glove. You can't help but envy how well he slips into this world, which seems to weigh heavier on your shoulders with every passing second.

You reach for your champagne flute, watching it tremble in your hand. Heat builds behind your eyes as you start to pick yourself apart, just simple things. You notice how chipped your sparkly nails had gotten from doing the dishes before you left, something so superficial now a strike held against you. You toss back the rest of your drink, tucking your hands under the table.

“A drink, My Lady,” your eyes lift to another friend. JJ Maybank. He rests a glass of champagne on the table, taking away your spent drink. His smile falls as his eyes match yours. “Hey-Hey, you alright?” He asks quickly, his voice laced with concern. JJ’s gaze shoots up, scanning the party for Rafe, knowing it most likely has something to do with him.

“It’s fine, Jayj,” you breathe.

“Want me to kill him?” He asks dryly, making you laugh and roll your eyes.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” you sigh.

You look over your shoulder, heart fluttering as Rafe walks around the corner with two mixed drinks. He looks handsome—his honey-colored hair brushed back, showing off his beautiful face. His muscular body is hugged in a dark green suit, matching your dress perfectly as the two of you had planned. Rafe scans the crowd, smiling brightly as he sees you.

You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to forget everything he said, but you can't.

Casual? There was nothing casual about us. How could I not know this is how he felt? How could I be so wrong?

Six months… What’s causal about that? Were you casual this morning when he woke up in your bed? When you made him breakfast and sipped coffee as you chatted about tonight? Were you casual when he took you out to dinner? His beautiful blue eyes locked on yours while he whispered you were ‘the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen…’

Rafe Cameron, the man who trusts no one told you secrets you had to promise to say no one… Casual? I'm a fucking idiot.

Your jaw tightens, teeth-gritted, as you see Ruthie and Topper step around the corner too, following along. The three of them stroll toward your table, sitting down, making themselves comfortable as you try to compose yourself—doing your best to hide the disappointment painted all over your face.

"Wow," she calls as she looks around the room, chuckling mockingly, "We have Heyward and Maybank. I could use something to eat, y/n. Is that your job?"

You straighten up in your seat, cocking an eyebrow in her direction, biting back an angry reply as you feel Rafe’s hand rest on your thigh, grounding you in the moment. Ruthie smirks, catching the shift in your demeanor, getting off on the fact that she got to you, not wanting to stop now that she started.

"Your friends seem to know their place,” she smiles as she points to JJ, gathering some trash from an empty table, "accidentally" knocking her glass over in the process, soaking the lap of your dress before you can get a word out.

You gasp, watching the liquor spread along the fabric. All eyes turn to you. "Oh no,” she pouts, poking out her bottom lip. "Shit, y/n. I’m sorry.” Rafe quickly grabs a linen napkin, blotting the stain. You bite your cheek, fluttering your lashes to hold back tears.

“You okay, baby?” He whispers. You shake your head ‘no,’ feeling the champagne seep through your dress, trickling down your legs and onto the floor below. “Don’t know what the policy is on a rental. Maybe they’ll cut you a deal,” Ruthie giggles airily against the rim of her champagne flute before taking a sip.

The room spins around you; humiliation and sadness quickly snuffed out by a surge of rage. You shove out of your seat, grabbing for Ruthie before tearing her to the floor. “Fuck you!” You hiss as you draw your hand back, slapping her face like you’ve want to do for months, making her head snap to the side.

She shrieks in anger, clawing her manicured hands against your face and arms in an attempt to get you off as you start swinging, blacking out completely.

"Get off me!" She cries.

“Y/n, stop,” Rafe yells as he grabs your arms, pulling you off her. You lift your foot, kicking her back down to the ground, making her sob as your spike heel hits her quick and hard.

"You think you’re better than everyone?" You shout as you fight against Rafe’s grasp. "You’re not-”

“Control you, Pogue, Cameron,” Ruthie cuts over to Rafe as she thumbs some blood from her bottom lip.

“Fuckin’ cunt,” you grunt as you escape, grabbing for her, but Rafe lifts you off your feet, hauling you back. “If you keep running your mouth, Ruthie. You better learn how to fuckin’ fight-”

"Enough!" Rafe snarls in a low, angry tone.

He grabs your arm tightly, dragging you toward the door, guiding you into the freezing night’s air. You tear away from his grasp, charging toward the main road, letting the tears you held in all night go.

“Let me go!” You scream as he grabs you, whirling you around.

“What the fuck was that, huh?” He explodes as he steps closer.

“What was that?” You scream back, voice echoing through the dim parking lot. “I heard you, Rafe. I heard the disgusting shit that you said about me…"

He freezes, his expression shifting from anger to guilt. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers.

“‘Just ‘cause we hooked up doesn't mean she’s my girlfriend.’ What the fuck am I to you, huh?”

“Baby, c’mon…”

“You’d never live with a Pogue. We’re casual. No more. No less. I mean nothing to you.”

“You’re twisting my words.”

"I am not twisting shit!" You hiss, voice cracking with emotion. "You don't respect me. You never fuckin’ did. Admit it.”

“That’s not true!”

“Bullshit!” You bang your fist against his chest, making him shut his eyes, drawing a deep, frustrated breath. “Look at me, Rafe,” you whimper as you show him your dress.

“That was an accident-”

“You’re not that stupid. I know you're not.”

“She’s a bitch… That’s just Ruthie,” he mutters like that excuse will get him anywhere. “You know I'll pay for it. The night’s almost over.”

“And that makes it okay? You let her talk to me like that. You didn’t say anything. You just sat there while she embarrassed me.”

"I’m sorry. Okay?" He softens his voice, looking around the parking lot for watchers-on.

“You sat there and watched her tell me I don’t know my place.”

"That was wrong. It’ll never happen again. I'll fix it. I'll tell them we’re not casual. I'll tell Ruthie everything I should have said when she was talking to you like that. I'll make this right. Just let me make this right-"

You shake your head fast, the bitterness leaving your lips in a disgusted laugh. “You don’t get it, Rafe, do you? You can't repair what just happened in there. It’s done. The little regard you had for me is all they’ll remember. You do not have my back. Allowing them to talk to me like you did without stepping in is somethin’ they’ll never forget. It’s just somethin’ they can use against me. You don't think she’ll bring that shit up again? You think those little comments you made died on your lips, Rafe? ‘Cause they didn’t.”

Rafe reaches for you, his eyes desperate and glossy with tears. “You’re upset. Let’s talk about this tomorrow. Please, just—”

"No. I’m done. I am done not being good enough for you, Rafe.”

"Let me help you relax," he says, lowering his tone further as he reaches for again. "You're just overwhelmed." You shove him back, anger and heartbreak churning in your system. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me. I’m done.”

The Twinkie rumbles behind you, breaking the tension. Pope pulls beside you, opening the door, his concerned stare meeting you. JJ hops out of the van before it can even roll to a complete stop; a wide, wild smile is painted on his lips, just begging Rafe to grab you again.

“Think she told you to stop touchin’ her, Cameron,” JJ cuts to Rafe as he steps between the two of you. Rafe shoves him, the two quickly getting in each other's faces. You grab JJ’s arm, tugging him back to the van. Without another word, you climb in, slamming the door shut.

Rafe’s rapid breathing mists in the night as the blood drains from his face. "Don't go, baby. C’mon,” he begs, his pleas getting swallowed up by the roar of the van's motor.

You look back at him through the window, feeling your heart break all over again. Rafe’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears, his head hanging low as he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his phone and keys.

Pope wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. You rest your head on his chest, taking a deep, needed breath.

After a few minutes, your phone buzzes in your lap as the van heads north, leaving Figure Eight in the dust. You blink away the tears from your eyes, looking down at the text from Rafe.

Rafe: I'm sorry princess. I was a fucking idiot and I hurt you. I care about you so much more than I ever let you know.

Rafe: I'm sorry I fucked up and embarrassed you like I did.

Rafe: Please let me make it right. I'll do anything. Even if it means leaving you alone while you figure out if I'm worth it

Rafe: please give me another chance

You smear a tear into the screen and lock it, wanting to believe him, but you're too overwhelmed. As soon as you close it, another text comes in.

Rafe: I’m driving to your place right now.

Rafe: Please give me a chance to explain. There’s nothing casual about us.

Rafe: Not to me.

Your chest tightens, anger and heartbreak warring on you. Those were his words. He said you were casual. He said he couldn’t see a future with you. And he said that shit ‘cause he thought you weren't listening. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, and against your better judgment, you type.

You: Ok

Rafe’s car pulls up to the front of the château. You watch as he steps out of the car in his suit, his jacket off, and his tie loose. His hair is messy now, hanging down on his forehead, his cheeks dewy and splotchy from the tears he’d never let the Pogues see.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his words wavering. “I didn’t mean what I said back there. That was the stupidest shit I’ve ever done. Alright? You mean everything to me-”

“Do I?” You ask, challenging his words. “Because you made me feel like nothing, Rafe.”

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I’ll spend every day proving it to you if you let me.”

“You love me, Rafe? Love? Why the fuck would you say that now? Do you think I’ll let this go ‘cause you “love me”?” You hurt me, Rafe,” you whisper. “How can I trust that you mean what you say when you talk about me like that behind my back? ”

“I know,” he said. “And I’ll never forgive myself for it. But I can’t lose you.”

“I need some time, Rafe.”

“A break-”

“We’re casual…” You correct him. “A break from what?”

He buries his head in his hands as his emotions start chipping away at his icy exterior.

Rafe meets your gaze again, bushing the sleeve of his white shirt along his eyes. “Can’t we go back to the way we were before? Back to how we were before we got to that stupid fuckin’ party. I can work to prove that you are right this time. That we’re together—you and me. Boyfriend; girlfriend. There’ll be no questions from you or anyone else that it’s serious… That I'm serious about you and I,” he rambles.

You look back at the broken man before you, hating yourself for wanting to do just that, loving yourself enough to shake your head ‘no.’ “We can't go back to the way things were…”

His head falls, tears tumbling to concrete steps below. “Please,” he sniffles.

“I don't want what we had. I want something different. I'm gonna need more, Rafe.”

He nods his head, taking in your words. “Can I pick you up tomorrow? Nine AM. Brunch… With my family, if you’re interested. Please say ‘yes’…”

He steps a little closer, taking your hand in his, his eyes pleading with yours for another chance.

“I don’t know, Rafe…” You whisper.

“Please, baby. I don't deserve it, I know. I got a lot I have to fix, and if shit doesn't change, you can drop me, and I swear I’ll leave you alone. You won't have to worry about me anymore. Okay?”

“Rafe…”

“I'm sorry… I'm so sorry. Everything I just said to you I meant. And I know you said you don't believe that I love you and I don't blame you. I’m gonna show you. Okay? Everyday… Your place is beside me, alright? Where I go is where you belong. You gotta believe me.”

You look up into his tear-stained eyes, and for the second time, you go against your better judgment, putting your heart in the hands of a boy you can only hope means every word he says, unwilling to lose the man you thought you had.

“Okay.”