#Katharine Brush

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝑿𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : 5+1 trope, pwp (porn with plot), porn with feelings (a. LOT.), poetic descriptions, fluff, with slight angst undertones, references to cards “moment’s respite” “close feelings” “fragment of time” "lightseeking obsession",  unrequited but actually requited love, yearning, miscommunication, love confessions, reader is drunk in scene 5, kissing, heavy petting, grinding, fingering, clit play, slight nipple play, multiple orgasms, first time sex (with each other), vaginal sex (raw), needy sex, creampie, praise, dirty talk, use of pet names “angel” “my starlight”. lmk if i missed any tags !! ((slightly unedited))

wc : 13.4k (😭)

an : PHEW OK. i'm going back to my roots guys ... this is LONG, embarRASINGLY LONG but. if you want to skip to the Fun Part, that's in scene 6 (which is like. more than half of the entire thing really) !! also, play the song as you read i promise you won’t regret it <3

taglist : @spotted-salamander @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valvinny [sign up here!] / +tyty @unluckywisher for beta reading a part of this the other day 🥺

AO3 LINK 🔗

Five times he couldn't say “I love you”... And one time he actually did.

—ᴏɴᴇ.

“Do you think Lemonette will finally stop bothering us for a while?”

You stifled a yawn as you walked up to your apartment, Xavier’s own footsteps following not too far behind you. The yellow wanderer had been roaming the city causing trouble, and you thought you’d gotten rather sick of seeing its face around—especially now that it had kept you both awake, the threads of sleep having slipped from you both the instant your watch went off. In that moment, a glance at the time told you that it was well past midnight. The sky surrounding the building was darker than dark, light from neither the moon nor stars enough to bring you out of it, the only comfort being the dim gleam of the hallway lights.

“We gave it a good beating, at least…” came his reply, and you shouldn’t have been so surprised to hear the grogginess present in his voice—as if he hadn’t been a large part of the reason Lemonette was rather… annihilated, for lack of a better word.

You smiled.

“Yeah, and no less thanks to you for it,” you chuckled, stretching as the door to your apartment finally came into view. You realized that you’d never once thought you wanted to be in bed any more than you did in that moment.

A momentary silence fell, and you stood by the doorway, turning around to face him.

Xavier remained still.

He seemed contemplating, scanning over your figure, fingers reaching out tentatively… only to fall back to his sides.

“Xavier?”

The call of your voice prompted a shake of his head, and a hint of embarrassment flashed briefly in his eyes.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled.

It wasn’t nothing.

“You’re not… injured, are you?”

A smile spread on your lips, then.

So he was worried.

“It’s just a scratch,” you shrugged. “You know how it is. Just the usual stuff, I don’t even need first aid for it. It’ll be fine.”

Still, he didn’t move.

“So… Will you be able to sleep okay?”

It was almost comical how he said it, what with how obviously sleepy his own gaze had turned. Eyelids heavy, slow blinks in your direction, as if everything he was doing in that moment was with the intention of conserving as much energy as he could… He was tired. Just as tired as you were. Just as jolted out of his sleep as you had been.

You nodded your head, and reached over to give his shoulder a pat.

“I’ll be okay. Really. Maybe it’s since I’m tired from all of that, but I feel like I could get some pretty good rest! I don’t want to keep bothering you with my sleeping problems, anyway…”

Your eyes met, then.

Xavier’s searched yours, as if trying to ascertain that you weren’t just brushing it off. And this time, he seemed to let impulsivity win—or, whatever it was that made him reach out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

His touch was soft. Gentle. Much like it always was; much like he always was, especially when it came to you. It lingered, the feeling of his skin against your ear, settling to rest by your cheek—and perhaps that was what made it feel more intimate, and soothing, than it otherwise would have been.

You didn’t know it could be so comforting just to look at someone like this.

To share a pause in thought, to enjoy the presence of each other… to have a little bit of your worries melt away the way that they did…

The moment offered more solace than you thought it ever could.

But Xavier tended to have that effect on you.

He always made you feel safe.

“Xavier?” You mumbled, your hand reaching up to rest on his wrist.

“Mh?”

“Um… Thanks. It’s not so bad, even if Lemonette had to bother us tonight. Since… I have you, after all.”

And at that, you watched him smile.

Somehow, the dim lighting around his figure made him appear all the more ethereal than he usually did.

“I think the same,” he nodded.

His hand dropped back to his side, then. His mouth opened and closed for a moment, as if trying to weigh what to say next, before he took a prompt step backwards.

“...Goodnight.”

It was soft, the way he said it. You could have missed it if you weren’t paying attention, and something told you that it wasn’t quite… what he had meant to say.

Still, you smiled.

“Goodnight, Xavier.”

In the end, it wasn’t so bad, like this.

—ᴛᴡᴏ.

How many days was it, now, that you’d found yourself in such a situation?

You stood in his kitchen, hands on your hips, looking at the tray of cookies in front of you. Much to your dismay, they were mostly charred, or otherwise deformed, or otherwise… much too expanded to be considered presentable. Your gaze raised to meet a very expectant one, blue eyes nearly twinkling, and you thought—how could he be so confident?

“Xavier,” you started, and you crossed your arms for emphasis.

It was in an instant that you saw him deflate. If he had ears like a rabbit—a thought you’d had for quite some time now—you were certain they would be folding over his face in near-mortification.

Or guilt, perhaps.

You weren’t quite sure which one it was.

You were sure, however, that it was difficult to scold him properly with the kind of expression he was giving you.

You reached up to scratch your cheek; “It’s not terrible… I mean, you’re getting better…”

“...I followed your instructions, though…” You watched him lean over the counter to take a look at what had become of the cookies, and then he, too, found his nose wrinkling in distaste. “They don’t turn out very well, do they?”

“On the plus side… They don’t taste bad!”

To make a point, you held up a cookie and took a cheerful bite.

“...Well, you know. Aside from the burnt ones, I guess…”

A pout formed on his face with ease, and with the way he’d been leaning over, you were able to notice the slight flutter of his eyelashes with every blink.

For a moment, your heart skipped a beat.

“How are you so good at baking?” he sighed. “I know you’ve been trying to help… But is there something you’re not telling me?” His voice sounded a little dejected, more emotion seeping into it than usual, and you could see his desire to learn reflected cleanly in his gaze. Xavier wasn’t often this expressive. You knew he was genuine with all of this, and especially with all of the impromptu baking lessons that he’d dragged you into.

Not that you ever complained, of course.

To you, any moment you got to spend with him was one of comfort; an opportunity you could never bring yourself to pass up on. 

Even if these moments often ended up in…

You took another look at the cookies.

Well, burnt things.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You knew you weren’t supposed to, and you watched his expression change from one of gloom to that of bewilderment. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as if trying to understand your sudden outburst—and with Xavier, you found, it was this expression that you so unabashedly adored. The confusion made him seem akin to a lost puppy, innocence in his eyes unveiled, a sincere glimpse into the person he didn’t often let you see.

This, with the way the sunlight streamed in through the window, the placement of his kitchen aptly weaved into the path of the sun, made the moment all the more heartwarming.

This was why you could never decline his invitations.

If only to see a little bit more of him the way that you were…

Your laughter settled into a grin, and you shook your head.

“Nothing, it’s just… Xavier, you’re so… So…” You made vague gestures with your hands, trying to find a suitable word. “So cute.”

The confusion in his face no less settled at that, but he crossed his arms. “...Well, so are you.”

You paused.

Your eyes widened.

In retrospect, it wasn’t as if this was anything new. Quips like this would often come out of nowhere; you’d learned to get a little bit used to it. That was the Xavier you were familiar with.

But there was something about the way he said it this time that made your heart skip another beat.

It had been doing that quite often in his presence, as of late.

The softness, perhaps; the directness, perhaps—or maybe it was the way the depth in his eyes made it seem a little more real. He met your gaze head-on, never wavering, never taking back what he’d said.

But in another split second, that moment was gone—and just as you had meant to tease him, now it didn’t seem like the words held much weight for him. There was an easy smile on his face, his eyes softened ever so slightly, but then he reached out for his own cookie to taste. And it was almost as if he hadn’t said anything at all. It was so typical of him to act so nonchalant about it.

Perhaps, part of you wished that he had said something more.

You cleared your throat.

“A- anyway,” you dusted some crumbs off of your clothes, “you can just—you know, try again later? You could follow along with a demonstration, or something… Maybe it was a little much just to recount the recipe to you. But, I really still think you’re improving! This’s a lot better than the last time we baked already, so with more practice I think you—”

Your words felt swallowed down in your throat, his eyes watching you with such intensity that you nearly had to take a step back.

“You’re amazing.”

Huh?

“You’re good at a lot of things. I don’t think I know what I’d be doing with all of this if you weren’t here.”

Again he spoke, with the follow of silent words that, to you, seemed like they never really made it out of his mouth. Like there was something more, something else he would have loved to say out loud, but he… didn’t.

As if he were holding back.

He took the tray from you, setting it aside, his eyes following the sunlight. You noticed him squinting slightly when he found its source, acting, as always, as if he didn’t just say something that could get the butterflies in your stomach acting up. As if the push and pull that had consumed most of the days you’d been spending together as of late didn’t… exist.

You almost didn’t know what to make of it, until he opened his mouth to speak again.

“Can we do this again, sometime?”

“I—huh?”

“I like baking with you.”

His head turned back to face you, and there was a small smile playing on his lips—one that mirrored the one you’d had just moments ago.

“Let’s do this again sometime.”

It wasn’t a question anymore, but a statement.

You swallowed down the fluster in your throat, feeling as if the implications of his words were a lot more than just… This.

But you offered a smile. “O…okay. Yeah. I… I would like that, too.”

It was so difficult to say no to him.

…Not that you’d ever want to say no, anyway.

—ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ.

He would do that quite often, you found.

Your eyebrows knitted together as you glanced up from your textbook, only to find him, chin in his hand, not at all paying attention to the book laid out in front of him. Blue eyes bore into your own, and though that selfsame flurry of butterflies whirled around in your chest, you only crossed your arms at him in response.

The library was quiet.

You were the only ones here at this hour, quite early into the morning, save for a few people scattered in their seats here and there. The only sounds were a few hushed whispers every now and then, the rustling of paper, perhaps the sound of a book closing, a chair scraping. Menial sounds, if only to add to the environment.

Sure, it was a perfect conduit for thoughts to wander, for sleeping to be induced, but—but he promised. He promised to help you study for this exam, or at the very least, that he would study with you so you wouldn't feel alone in it.

Yet here he was, not taking it as seriously as you'd hoped him to.

“What are you even looking at?” you nearly whined, your voice lower so as not to disturb the people around you that were reading. “A library is made for reading, you know…”

You didn't know how to feel at the expression he gave you, rather relaxed and unconcerned, head moving in a little nod. He gestured towards the open book before him; “I have a book,” he spoke matter-of-factly.

You gave him a pout.

“Yes, but you're not reading it…”

“I'm… doing more important things.”

“...Like what?”

“Studying.”

You couldn't tell if he was being serious, but his words definitely made it seem like he was playing around. In fact, had his tone not been so direct, you could have thought he was mocking you.

“Are you making fun of me?” you huffed. “If you didn't want to come here with me, you could've just said so, you know.” You made a face, and then promptly rolled your eyes. “You're not even looking at your book. What are you studying, then?”

And then he smiled. 

And it was less irritating to you than it was worrisome, for there was something about that smile that made you feel caught. 

Though in what, you weren't quite sure yet.

“Xavie—”

“You.”

You blinked, your words cut off, your brows furrowed in confusion. “...What?”

“You, I'm studying you.”

He reached over and brushed against your hair, knuckles just barely grazing over the side of your head, nearly akin to a slight flutter of the wind. In an instant, you felt a faint trace of dust fall down onto the table. Your eyes followed it, the moment passing in silence.

You bewilderedly blew it away.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak just yet, only quite having the mental fortitude to look back up at him, the confusion on your face ever more evident.

“There was something in your hair,” he smiled.

Your face flushed, then, and you weren't unaware of the particular gleam in his eyes. He might have been stating the truth, but he was obviously still… teasing.

“Xavier—!”

A finger to your lips, this time, and there was no holding back the smile that formed on his own.

“Shhh,” he spoke quietly, “it's a library. You have to be quiet.”

You couldn't help the way your cheeks bloomed into shades of pink, and you lowered your head back to your book, defeated.

He didn't know the things he made you feel.

There was little sense left in you to find some kind of retort.

—ꜰᴏᴜʀ.

“You have kind of a funny interest in all of these legends,” you mused, following him with more careful footsteps.

Your eyes focused on the cone of ice cream in your hands, delighted at the appearance that you were promised. Though you had to plod through such a touristy place such as this for it, you were glad to have the bunny-shaped sundae cone finally right there in front of you. Holding it up a little, you tilted your head to compare the side-by-side image of the vanilla ears with Xavier, and smiled to yourself.

It kind of looked like him.

Little white ears matched the shade of his hair, and you figured it was maybe just missing those blue eyes you loved so much.

The person in question, on the other hand, seemed to have other ideas on his agenda.

He barely noticed your little self-satisfying antics, brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the navigation app you’d installed on his phone. It was endearing how adamant he’d been on sticking with an old-fashioned map; this was a side to him you found that you adored dearly. Moving to circle around him, your eyes shone at his expression of concentration, his eyes narrowed, lips jutted out slightly into somewhat of a pout.

God, you really…

The thought remained uncompleted, and you cleared your throat.

“Xavier,” you reached up to lower his phone, shuffling closer to him to take a peek. “I really don’t think it’s that far… If you’re having trouble with it, just give it to me and—”

The phone screen shut as his finger moved over the lock button, and he promptly put it back into his pocket. A little smile, and a shake of his head, and then his arms were steering you forward as if nudging you along to continue walking.

“Nope,” he said, with a shake of his head to emphasize it. “I’ve studied it enough. We just have to walk a little bit in that direction. We’ll see the lovers’ bridge, then.”

Your eyebrows raised in amusement.

You let him steer you, felt the way his hand moved from over your shoulder to back by his sides, your hands brushing every so often. The only way you could distract yourself from it was to stare intensely at the ice cream in your other hand, one that had endured a few little kitten licks from you, but had its shape more obviously affected by the warmer temperature around you. You wondered, in the back of your mind, if it would last before you got to the bridge at all.

“Why do you want to go there, anyway?” You risked a glance back up at him as you spoke.

This little trip, in and of itself, had been planned on very much a whim—or, you supposed, not very planned, at all. But you could recount the few times you had been out with Xavier, and they had often been on your invite. This time, it was he who had insisted on dragging you out along with him, all to find the so-called Lovers’ Bridge that was infamous for its ‘good fortune’.

The white pedestrian bridge, stretching over the river in a sleek, sophisticated figure, had been used as a filming location for a number of romance movies. Of course, these were films that you had seen… But ones you knew Xavier had yet to, especially with the way he usually avoided all those sappy titles in the first place.

It was odd enough that he'd want to visit the bridge for such a reason… Yet there was more.

And you had found out about those reasons not more than a day before you’d left.

Because more than filming locations, was the superstition behind the bridge—a bridge that had completed its construction on Valentine’s Day, thus earning its name. And it had been swirling with promises and legends ever since, ones that reached the ears of even those outside the area. According to what had spread online, crossing the bridge with the one that you loved would ensure a long and happy life with them as a couple. And something churned in the pit of your stomach as you mulled over the thought, tongue darting out for another few licks on the treat that you held.

The taste of vanilla was cooling on your mouth, a welcoming rush of sugar that served as a means for you to ground yourself a little.

Because you and Xavier were not a couple.

In fact, you were far from it.

You were friends; yes, neighbors; yes, colleagues; yes.

Lovers?

The thought brought a blush to your cheeks, because you wished that you were. And you were aware that sometimes, the both of you tended to act like you were. You spent nearly every moment that you could together, the lingering warmth of his touches and his presence near you whenever he could be near you were burned into your memory.  The rumours at the Association didn’t fall on deaf ears, either. You knew what people were saying about the both of you, and you oftentimes wished them true—you did. The affections you held for him were undeniable.

But that was quite frankly not the reality you lived in.

Xavier had never been clear about it with his signals, nor direct about his feelings, nor—nor anything else. Nothing official had ever occurred between either of you, not in this oddly-structured game of tag, so shrouded in this push and pull, where the rules remained ambiguous, and where the outcomes presented just as vague.

And it was a terrifying thing to assume.

Yet, without properly explaining why… he had been adamant all day to walk straight into it—the bridge, its surrounding legend, all of it. 

“When good luck is involved, it’s better to believe they exist. You have nothing to lose.”

Those were words he was fond of saying, and the only words he would ever use to give you a reason.

The same could be said for this moment.

You found yourself being thoughtful as you fell into step with him, eyes scanning your surroundings, watching the couples that seemed to float in and out of your peripheral vision. There weren’t as many of them as you thought there would be—the bridge was now in your line of sight, its pearly-white structure jumping out against the backdrop of the setting sun. At the very front of its steps was a little bed of flowers; blue, you noted, tinted ever so slightly with the swirl of cotton candy from the clouds above.

The river below it rippled with a darkening pinkish hue.

The sun would be below the horizon in just a few moments.

And at the same time, in perhaps a minute or two, the bridge would be lit up in an equally captivating display of beautiful colors.

Even without the legend, you wouldn’t have minded getting to see something so pretty.

“...Your ice cream is melting.”

You blinked at his voice, your eyes drawing away from the scenery and back to him.

It could have been the shadows of the sunset that made him shine a little brighter in your eyes, now, that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to formulate any sort of response.

His eyes softened, the gentle breeze brushing through his hair.

Sometimes, you thought, there was something about him so inexplicably out of reach. Yet here he was, giving you attention, reaching for your hands, allowing for the heat from his skin to linger upon your own for even just a moment…

And then in these moments, you couldn’t help but think of how lucky you were.

“Aren’t you going to finish that?” he mumbled. There was a slight shift of his gaze towards the cone in your hand, before he looked at you again. “It might make your hand all sticky if we go and walk on the bridge right now…”

He was right, of course.

Your own gaze drifted down to the hand with your ice cream, now less of a rabbit, and more of the standard scoop of ice cream for all that it had melted. Parts of it had even begun to drip down onto your hand, but you had barely noticed the feeling.

“Oh, I… I mean, we can wait for the lights to turn on first, so…”

Blinking again as if to snap yourself out of your reverie, you lifted your hand—

Xavier beat you to it.

He had his thumb and index finger wrapped around your wrist, slowly pulling it towards him.

A smile.

You didn’t miss that smile, how could you? Slight, and perhaps, barely visible otherwise, but your breath caught in your throat—Something had you gravitating towards him, nearly entranced in the heat of his stare, sucking in a sharp intake of breath as his tongue darted out to lick at the stains of vanilla that ran over your palm.

You were blushing, probably.

You couldn’t even tell, at that point.

Soft, tiny little kitten clicks at your skin, almost as if to clean up the mess—you couldn’t really have bothered to focus on the expression you were making, feeling your own heart beat so loudly out of your chest that you were certain he could hear it.

“Xavier…” you mumbled.

His eyes twinkled, and he moved his mouth to the treat in your hand, taking a bite of his own.

“Can’t let it go to waste, right?” he licked at his lips.

The clusters of people, then, long-forgotten in the moment you had dared to share with each other, let out a resounding exclamation at amazement, as a click resounded in the air and the bridge before the both of you erupted into dazzling colors. Yet, your skin still tingled at the feeling of his touch, and you felt dazed as you turned your eyes back to him.

“I guess we, um… We should finish this before we go…?”

He chuckled, and then he nodded—“I… Think vanilla isn’t a bad flavor.”

—ꜰɪᴠᴇ.

The spin in your head made your vision hazy. You couldn’t remember, anymore, what time it was—only that your system had become intoxicated long past coherence, and the grass you sat on had a strangely soothing texture to it. And in front of you, right then, was that red, empty solo cup you’d brought with you outside.

You vaguely made out some loud music, and a voice in the background—Tara’s, probably. But you couldn’t be bothered to decipher what she was saying. You didn’t register that she was actually right beside you, trying to keep you engaged in conversation, a hand over your shoulder.

How long it had been like this?

You weren’t quite sure, either.

What you could remember was that Tara had planned a little girls’ party of her own, and it had gotten bigger than anticipated… And you supposed you’d ended up drinking more than you’d expected to. Eventually, you found yourself out in her front yard. It was the night breeze that felt comforting, despite the cold. There were stars out that night—a few of them shone brilliantly above you, and though you weren’t looking at them anymore, their presence made you smile.

It was only when a shadow passed over your figure that you looked up again, head lolled a little to the side, rapid blinks trying to steady on the person in front of you.

“There you are!” Tara stood up from beside you, dusting off some of the dirt from her pants. With a grunt, she managed to pull you up, though your weight naturally rested on her shoulders. Unbeknownst to you, she let out a pleading sigh. “Sorry, Xav… I didn’t notice how much she drank until she went wandering out here…”

Oh…

Xav.

The nickname registered in your head, and your vision, a little less blurry at the snap the information had given you, managed to form Xavier’s figure in front of you. His hair was a little unruly, the white hoodie so familiar on him a little more disheveled than you knew it to be—his eyes, too, held a certain level of concern that you were able to make out.

He had probably been sleeping.

There was a twinge of guilt that lapsed over your face, but it didn’t last—his presence brought on a giddiness you couldn’t have thought to control, and a lopsided grin easily came to prove it.

You slid off of Tara to fall straight into his arms; the scent of his laundry detergent had you sighing. It was almost by instinct that your arms wrapped around his waist.

“Xavier…”

A nuzzle against his chest had Tara clearing her throat then, and she made a pointed gesture.

“Well! She couldn’t stop talking about you, so I figured you were the person I should call! Sorry, really! I didn’t realize it would get this out of hand, but I do need to get to the other guests, too, so I hope I can leave her in your hands! Thanks, Xavier!”

You didn’t notice her leave, not until you felt a warm hand on your back, a familiar, soothing voice speaking softly into your ear.

“Hey… Let’s get you home. Let me just… Call a cab, and—”

“...But you’ll just leaveeee…”

He paused.

“I’m… Taking you home, so you can get some rest.”

“T’my place?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ll stay w’me?”

The silence that followed only had you clinging to him tighter.

“Seeee…! You’re not answering! You’re gonna leave me ‘gain… N’I dunno when I’ll see you ‘gain, n’theenn…!”

Your voice trailed off on its own, resorting to nuzzling against him, feeling as if parting from him in this moment would never give you another to hold him so close like this.

But it didn’t last.

The fact was: Xavier was gentle with you; still.

Patient. 

Enough to pry you away from him, enough to get you to comply to get in the cab with him, enough to usher you up to your apartment and unlock the door… until the familiar warmth of your couch had you happily sprawling out, hugging the pillows close to you.

You barely had any recollection of what had happened; it was enough for you to know that he had been with you.

That he was still with you.

“Xavie…”

Your hands reached out for his, registering late that you’d been reaching for the glass of water he was holding rather than the hands themselves.

And you frowned.

“Huh? C’mere… Wan’ hold you…”

You made out the shake of his head, gentle gestures to sit you up properly on the couch.

“You have to drink water first,” came his reply.

His voice was so soft.

You could let it get to your head, the mere sound of it bringing a silly grin onto your face, a giggle bubbling past your throat. “Oooh… Can you say it again?”

It was clearly nonsensical, and you noted yet another shake of his head, the patience in his eyes ever evident despite all of your antics. It could only make you giggle even more, your hands falling to your lap, expression clearly very much out of it.

Until—

“Angel… You’re too drunk. You really need to drink this.”

Angel.

The giggles, the laughter, all stopped abruptly. You felt your expression shift into that of wonder, your eyes wide and blinking curiously. Somehow, the nickname sent all kinds of flutters into your stomach—ones you couldn’t bring yourself to understand, especially in the state that you were in.

You leaned forward:

“You’re right… You’re like an angel…”

Your voice was light and airy, nearly akin to a gasp, and perhaps you might have giggled it off again had Xavier not reacted with a sigh. Because before you could do anything else, he moved his hand to rest gently over the curve of your spine, bringing the glass up to your lips.

It registered, then.

Your response was immediate, as if nearly conditioned, allowing him to tilt the glass upwards. You found yourself eagerly gulping at the water as it flowed down your throat; you hadn’t realized how much you needed the water. You were suddenly all the more grateful he had given it to you, gasping for air once the glass had been drained empty, and then blinking to look at him through hazy eyes.

“Better?” he murmured.

The hand on your back gave you soft, gentle rubs as he set the glass down, and then he reached up to brush the strands of hair from out of your face.

Immediately, you stilled. All traces of your giggles seemingly washed away with the water you’d drunk. You certainly didn’t feel any less intoxicated than earlier, but his touch through your shirt, and the soft caress on your cheek, felt all the more heightened that this moment felt nearly surreal to you. It was then that you could notice those favorite blue eyes of yours, staring into your own, searching your own, soft, and full of worry, and—

And something else. 

Something you weren’t coherent enough to put a label to.

But something that caused tears to well up in your eyes.

“Xavie,” you pouted, though you kept relatively still nonetheless, if only to lean more into his touch. “Why’re you lookin’ a’me like that?”

You caught the faintest trace of a smile on his lips, but he didn’t move away.

“Like what, angel?”

That nickname again.

You groaned as you fell back against the couch, grabbing a pillow to bring it up to your face.

Something about that nickname was driving you insane.

You felt your cheeks flush a cherry red, not just from the alcohol, and more likely from whatever else he was making you feel. You couldn’t quite tell what expression you were making, hidden behind the pillow, fighting some sort of giddy urge to let out a squeal. You didn’t even know how you had the space to overanalyze it. But the questions swirled in your head before you could stop it—has he said it to anyone else before? Was it just… you? Was it supposed to be… Common, and you weren’t aware of it?

The possibilities that plagued you only allowed another groan to sneak past your lips;

“Wh- why’re you callin’ me that, too! A-an’ being all soft with me, s’like… like you mean something…”

You felt the couch shift beside you, and although you still refused to look at him, you felt yourself naturally gravitating into his warmth.

“Do you… want me to mean something?”

This time, you sniffled.

Saved from his gaze, you quickly moved to bury your face back into his hoodie, allowing yourself to focus on his scent, on the way he held you like this, on the way—for even just a moment—he felt… yours.

“Dunnoooo,” you whined. “I’unno what you’re thinking… I never knowww what you’re thinking! Always so nice to me n’then you leave me all alone the next, then I’unno where to find you anymore… Say all these things n’keep me all close t’you, then you act like nothin’ happened…”

You rambled into his chest, your voice slurred and muffled into the fabric, gripping at his hoodie as if he could disappear in any next second. They were similar words to what you’d said by Tara’s front yard, similar feelings of refusing to let him go. But speaking them out with more clarity—whatever clarity you could muster the way you were speaking now—felt like twisting a knife into your heart.

Because all your thoughts had been clouded with him.

They were all-consuming, deliberately buried down into the pit of your stomach only to resurface with an intensity you could barely fathom yourself. How he’d been treating you, the words that he’d say… For the past days, for the past weeks, just—just him. Him, and his eyes, and his hair, and his voice. His touch. His presence. His comfort.

The Xavier you knew you’d come to love.

A hiccup bubbled in your throat, and you let out a quiet whimper in attempts to quell it.

Love.

Was that the emotion you couldn’t pinpoint?

Was that what you were feeling?

The visceral grip that he had on everything that you were; was that what you could call… Love?

“This isn’t the kind of time we should be talking about this…” You felt him murmur into your hair, a soft kiss placed on the crown of your head. Yet he wasn’t pulling away. He kept his hand on your back, soft, gentle caresses, trying to soothe you from the outpour of emotions you had barely the consciousness to control. “You’re not going to remember this tomorrow. How about we talk about it then?”

“B-but… But you always make excuses!” 

“Angel…”

You looked up this time, sniffling in irregulated breaths, eyes watery with tears that were threatening to spill.

“You can’t call me that!” you insisted. Your hands balled into a fist. “D’you know what that means?! W-what if it’s making my heart all restless? N’you can act all calm like it’s nothing!”

“...I’m sorry…”

“An’—an’ you’re… You’re so warm… You’re like a fluffy cloud… N’what if you leave? What if you’re only here ‘cause m’like this, and then the rain passes n’you just leave me all alone again, an’... A-an’ then the sky won’t have any stars, either, n’I’ll be all alone—”

You could register the mix of confusion and concern on his face, your words barely making sense even to you, but your grip on his hoodie remained tight. You felt it, the way your tears rolled down your cheeks, your own expression a mix of desperation and a confusion that likely mirrored his own.

“Just… Just don’t… Don’t leave, Xavier…” you felt your lower lip tremble. “I’on wanna be left all alone… M’scared… I’on wan’ you t’leave…”

Your voice became smaller and smaller with each word, and you were left there, sniffling for a moment, looking up at him with a certain kind of hopelessness.

You were aware, at least, that you likely looked pathetic in his gaze like this.

“...M’sorry, Xav, I-I’unno what…”

Your words swallowed back into your throat when he reached out, brushing his thumb over your cheeks, over the corners of your eyes, wiping away your tears. His touch, as always, felt like a gentle caress. Patient, despite the incoherence of your thoughts and your actions; kind, despite the way you were keeping him here with you very likely against his will.

But he squeezed your hand.

You knew what that meant.

You gulped, looking up at him again, allowing his touch to lull you into a calm as it often did.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “I won’t leave. You have me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Through the haze of your eyes, half blurred from the alcohol and half from the tears, you caught the softening of his gaze. He moved closer, a little bit—slow, steady movements. And then he pulled your arm back over him, his own moving to rest in your hair… Until you were encased in the warmth of his embrace.

Almost just as earlier, except this time more… real.

He didn’t feel like an afterimage, not now.

Not in this moment.

His head dipped down, nuzzling against your neck, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way, I’ll… I’ll do better. I’ll stay with you. I’ll be right here.”

His breath tickled your skin when he spoke. And, to you, these were words that you felt were more genuine than you had heard from him in a while. It was enough to have you comfortably settling into his hold, eyes falling closed, breaths beginning to even you out.

Your head still throbbed.

It was a combination of everything; all of these feelings, and the alcohol that had planted itself into your system far past any level of sensibility.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe you wouldn’t recall any of this when you woke up the next day.

You tended not to remember things when you got like this, after all.

But still, your arms wrapped around him, returning the embrace.

“...I love you, Xavier,” you whispered.

Maybe he wouldn’t remember anything, either.

—ꜱɪx ... xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ.

The soft clinking of spoon against the mug was all he could hear.

It was late in the afternoon, leaves rustling gentle against the kitchen window. The atmosphere was quiet, and peaceful—enough for him to let out a little yawn, eyes blinking slowly in the golden rays of the light.

The tiredness was catching up to him.

Fluctuations had been far more unsteady than usual these past few days, and it only meant another morning full of missions for the both of you. Now, here, where in his apartment the both of you decided to relax in, was the first moment of pause the two of you had been granted in a while.

He recalled, too, the complaints you’d muttered on the way back. Though you’d done so on the premise he wouldn’t hear you, he did, anyway. It brought a little smile to his face thinking of the tone of voice you had taken.

For though headstrong and dedicated to your job as you were, you, like all Hunters in the Association, had the right to feel weary. You deserved moments of rest, such as now. Xavier couldn’t blame you for your complaints. He wouldn’t dare.

Like a distant whisper in his mind came words that were familiar to him; words that he wished he had another moment to comfort;

“I’m tired, Xavier… What if I can’t brandish my sword one day? What then?”

The memory made him close his eyes, jaw tightened in a grind of his teeth.

What he’d said, then, were words he had never gotten the chance to fulfil—words he could never take back. He could remember them, still. It was of the last few times that their conversations had been cordial.

And it was the moment he realized that words were not enough; they never would be. Not if he couldn’t live by them. Not with all the promises he had easily broken.

He wondered, then, how many things of the past he’d come to regret.

With a shake of his head, Xavier carried the mug carefully out the kitchen, sure not to let its contents spill. This was your favorite flavor of tea, and it always had been. If he couldn’t make up for lost hours and missed opportunities then, he would make up for it now.

He would try to.

“Hey, Xavier?” Your voice called out, getting steadily clearer to him as his footsteps padded the wooden flooring of his living room. It was his apartment, one he’d know the layout of like the back of his hand—yet he found, instead, that his path had moreso been mapped out by the sound of your voice. “I realize I never got to ask what these are. Is this… Are these what I’m thinking they are…?”

He blinked.

You weren’t where he’d left you, just earlier.

You’d stood up from the couch, the soft rabbit plushie now out of your hands and since left to the side, looking a little dazed. His own gaze flitted from the toy up to your figure, crouched beside a little wooden stand by the corner of the room. In a manner he’d always found familiar, your head was tilted to the side, pure evidence of your own curiosity. And on top of the stand lay a case, beige as most things in his home, raised slightly open to reveal the touches of a little turntable.

Immediately, his eyes softened in understanding.

“It’s a record player. And those are vinyls.”

He walked up behind you to tap on your shoulder, and the way your eyes lit up at the sight of the mug in his hands nearly made his heart skip a beat.

“Really?!” you exclaimed, taking the tea into your own hands. Your shoulders lifted, whether by the warmth of the drink or your own excitement, Xavier wasn’t quite sure. But he smiled, nonetheless.

“Really.”

“Aren’t those from… Incredibly long ago? I mean, I’ve always known you were old-fashioned by nature, but I didn’t expect you to have things like these, too… I don’t think I’ve ever seen them outside of those little antique shops we pass by sometimes.”

You were rambling, almost.

He knew you got like this when you were excited.

Your expression became more animated than usual as you spoke, leaning in to get a closer look, and he almost laughed.

For all the times you’d call him adorable, he almost wanted to say it back to you, this time.

He almost did.

But when you looked at him next, there was a certain plea to your gaze, the corners of your mouth then turned down into a little pout. “Please can we play something?” The hopefulness laced into your voice didn’t go unnoticed by him. “I’ve never heard you use it before! What’s the use of having it sit around if we don’t get to hear what it plays?”

It felt ironic, looking at the image presented before him. The stand the player rested on had two shelves lodged within it, the bottom hosting a set of vinyls, the one above it hosting none other than a stereo. And suffice to say, the stereo had been used a lot more. The case of the player was well-kept, cleaned and shined every now and then… But it was obvious it had barely been used. It might as well have been new. Xavier himself couldn’t recall the last time he’d used it.

But that you were asking him to, only meant that he would give in. It was difficult to say no to you.

He could hardly dream of it.

“Okay,” he said finally, nodding his head in the direction of the vinyls.

The both of you crouched down to look at the titles, Xavier watching intently as your fingers traced over the record sleeves. They were soft, slow, contemplating motions. You took each one out of its place to look at the cover, eyes skimming the title, before putting it back down—rinse, and repeat.

This time, he did laugh. There was a confused sort of wonder on your face; he was sure that these titles were anything but familiar to you.

“Are you having trouble choosing?” he offered, leaning in closer to look at the records themselves.

Here, sitting so close to you, he could feel the warmth from the tea that you had only taken a few sips of, the scent of your perfume equally as notable in the space between you. Part of him, perhaps, wanted to prolong the moment.

He liked being close to you.

“Mmh… I’m not sure what to expect from either of these,” you admitted, your face scrunched up in concentration. Still your hands trailed over the jackets, and without thinking, he reached over to rest his own hand over your wrist.

When you looked at him, he was pleasantly surprised to find the faint traces of a blush over your cheeks.

You truly were adorable.

But he shook his head.

“Well… They’re a lot different from what we’d be used to now,” he leaned in closer to you to give you a little nudge. “I could choose for you, but I want you to experience it for yourself, too. So, maybe… Choose something you feel drawn to?”

He stood up, then, willing his heart to calm enough for you not to notice how your proximity was affecting him. Instead, he busied himself with the case, lifting up the lid completely to reveal the knobs and switches not otherwise visible just earlier. He tried to remember the last time he’d cleaned it, but it seemed to be in a condition good enough to be able to work, anyway. There was a part of him that let out a sigh of relief at the confirmation; the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you with it.

“Katharine McPhee…” you mumbled, then.

“It’s a pretty name. The cover looked interesting, too, and the song title is… Well…” Your voice trailed off with a shrug, and he looked back at you, blinking at the vinyl you held in your hands.

Slowly, his lips turned back into a little smile.

Oh. That song.

You handed it over to him, expression expectant, as you took another sip of your tea.

“I actually… Don’t really remember how to use it.”

The soft admission fell from his lips, an honest warning that only earned a scoff from you in reply. He didn’t look at you this time, as he gently slid the record out of its jacket and placed it on the turntable. He didn’t need to, after all. He’d memorized enough of your expressions—the mirth in your eyes, the tugging of a teasing smirk against your lips that would eventually spill into a grin… He was sure you had your head tilted in quiet observance, his own hands moving to push the needle flush against the record.

After he reached over to flip the power switch on, he straightened, arms crossed, a hope in his eyes that could have mirrored your own. In a similar manner, you peeked out from behind him.

And then the first notes of a song flouted out from the box.

Mellow tunes wafted around the living room, a different kind of fullness to it compared to the music that both of you were used to hearing from the speakers. The gentle strumming of the guitar, the soft hums that started off the song—he breathed out a sigh of relief, while you, on the other hand, let out an exclamation of amazement.

In his head, he would have likened your behavior to that of a puppy who’d gotten a new toy. The mere thought of it had him glancing away for a moment, the back of his hand covering his mouth to hide his smile.

Yet, he—couldn’t quite look away from you.

It was hard to look away.

It always has been, when you had since filled his heart with a song of its own, and he’d always been so vividly aware of your presence ever since.

As if you were the only thing that truly mattered to him.

And perhaps, you were.

He could think back to these past months, every little glance the two of you would share, every brush of your hands, every caress he dared to initiate, every hold on you he’d be greedy enough to take for his own.

One of the earlier nights he’d let his self-indulgence get the better of him, he almost said those words—always on the tip of his tongue, always surging through his heart with an intensity he had to fight back so as not to scare you. And I love you became goodnight; I love you became stay; I love you became come back; I love you became come with me.

It became a glance. It became a touch, it became the tug of your hand. It became gentle ruffles of your hair, it became smiles, it became laughs, it became—you.

Love became you.

And now, the crisp noise emanating from the player seemed to wrap you in its embrace, smoothly, as you began to sway. Your feet shifted side to side as you let your head bob in time with every step, every little shuffle. You’d tucked your hair behind your ear, and your eyes closed. And he couldn’t help but notice—admire—the warm cascade of sunlight over your hair, shrouding you with a glow more ethereal than he’d ever seen… even with you. You were brighter than the sun. Brighter than the stars. Brighter than anything else, brighter than whatever light his Evol could possibly conjure, and just enough to match the warmth that being here with you, unfiltered and peaceful… filled him with.

“You know… I really like this song!” Your voice echoed through the music then, more noticeable to him than any other sound in the room. You turned your head, eyes meeting his own—”You’re right, it doesn’t sound at all like the kind of music we’d listen to these days, but the melody is really catchy, and her voice is really smooth, and—”

“Dance with me?”

Xavier spoke before he could stop himself.

In the next second he felt a sudden surge of heat at his own statement, nearly retracting his words to look away in embarrassment…

But he didn’t.

Instead, he reached out his hand.

He was sure the tips of his ears were near-glowing red.

He tried again.

“May I… Have this dance?”

And for all that his heart rate had always been naturally slow, he could hear the steady thrum of it in his ears. Louder than usual, quicker than usual, more anticipating than usual. If there was anything that could get him nervous, it was you.

Always you.

But you took his hand.

Your palm in his was small, but just as warm as you always were to him. Just as beautiful, as you always were to him. And perhaps, the world began to fade away, then. It often did, when he was with you. Only, now, in the confines of his home, symphonies echoing in the background, he knew that he was free to hold you as close as he did.

Neither of you spoke for a while as he pulled you up against him, his arms wrapping around your waist, your head against his chest. This was the closest the two of you had ever been in a long, long while, and he realized, then, that the pulse of your heart seemed to beat readily in time to his.

“I didn’t peg you to be a collector type, huh,” you mumbled.

You weren’t looking at him, eyes focused on the shuffle of your feet. He took the opportunity to rest his chin on the top of your head.

“I’m not,” he said quietly. “It was… A gift from a friend, but I haven’t gotten to use it much. It’s… been sitting around.”

He felt you laugh softly against him.

“Yeah? But you’ve kept it around, anyway. Who knows just how old this thing is…”

“...But, it works.”

“Mmh… yeah, it does. Thankfully. And… You know how to use it.”

“I hoped that I would.”

This time, you raised your head, and his breath hitched in his throat. Seeing your eyes, so up close like this, brought on a wave of emotion that he found he had to choke back.

It didn’t stop him from speaking.

“I… thought it might be something you’d like. I’m glad that you do.”

The smile that spread across your face in response to that nearly made his heart jump out of his throat. And the tug of your body closer to him was all he could do to keep those words from spilling out of his mouth.

I love you.

He could say it with a look.

And, sure, you had said it.

He remembered that night.

He’d barely gotten a wink of sleep, holding you in his arms as he had, but you weren’t—You weren’t sober. 

And neither of you had talked about that night.

It was as if your relationship had meant to continue for as long as it could without addressing it, and it was driving him insane, and—

And if he could, he would have this moment drag on forever, just you in his arms, a slow dance to the music, as far as he could lie to himself that you were already his without either of you having to say it.

But he knew that was not the case. It couldn't be. And he knew that you knew it, too. He saw it in the way your expression flickered into one of apprehension, and your lips parted to speak.

“Xavier… What are we?”

Your voice came as a soft whisper, with a question he found that he had no immediate answer to. He searched your eyes, brows furrowing, trying to ascertain what it is you were expecting him to say. 

He knew what he wanted the two of you to be.

He didn’t know what you were. He didn’t know what… you wanted.

So that was what he said.

“What do you… want us to be?”

It was as if all he knew how to do in that moment was deflect the question back at you.

And you frowned.

“Xavier, that’s not… I don’t…”

The turmoil that made itself obvious in your voice had his heart dropping almost immediately.

Because that was it.

You weren’t sure.

Those words you’d uttered to him just that night were nothing more than a drunken ramble, and he was right—this wasn’t the same as all those years back. Here you were, in his arms, yet every time he’d think you wanted him just as much as he did you, you’d pull back.

How cruel that you would think the same of him, when you could barely be receptive to what advances he could make.

Then, perhaps, he realized there was a limit to how much he could take.

“I know what I want,” he mumbled, then.

His hands moved up to rest against your cheek, a gesture that had become familiar to you, despite the emotional charge behind it, despite the way he could only wish to hold more of you in exactly this way.

And there was so much of you that he held in his heart.

He didn’t even know how to place it anymore. So many years of feelings he’d harbored for you, always, all this time, yet he never knew how to explain it. Neither to you, nor to himself. Because he’d never felt this way with anyone else. To be so full of contentment in someone’s presence; to be so hopelessly enamored by every little thing—even after all this time, this was new to him. New, and profound, and—

And terrifying.

To love you so wholly, so insurmountably, so… so much.

It almost felt foolish how terrifying it was.

His heart felt as though it had lodged itself in his throat, and he was sure that his voice would falter as a result, but this—this was it.

How could he move forward any longer without letting you know?

And it was the way your eyes remained steely on his that allowed him to speak again, determined—

“I want you.”

The music had since been long forgotten. Familiar, yet faded within distant memory, as the world, once more, became filled with you. It had always been like that. In his mind, there were many things that had since receded into cloudiness; a grey abyss of things that once were. Now, the only thoughts that ever seemed to hold clarity to him were thoughts of you.

How much he wanted you.

How much he needed you.

How much he… loved you.

Perhaps, he couldn’t say those words just yet.

Instead, he swallowed them with a kiss.

A chance; a risk—an obvious display of the bounds of longing that he’d reached, that had filled to the precipice, that had tortured him beyond an anguish of waiting.

It was an anguish that only you could fill.

The touch of your lips against his, soft and supple, the way you craned your neck for more of it, the way your arms tugged him closer, closer, pressing him into you if he should dare pull away… 

“Again,” you whispered.

And he had his answer, then.

You wanted this just as much as he wanted you.

So he kissed you again.

And again.

And again.

“More,” you pleaded, and each and every time you parted with one another, he could only think, perhaps, that there was no place else he would rather be than here with you. The quiet, crackling tune faded into your heedy breaths against each others’ lips. Right then, the music came to its own end, bringing with it a different kind of symphony that now danced within the depths of your eyes.

He felt your hands slide down from his neck back to tug at his sweatshirt, and his forehead moved to rest against yours.

“Satisfied?” he smiled, his voice lighter than it had been today.

“When it comes to you? Never, really.” Your noses bumped together, the slightest nuzzle filled with an insurmountable kind of affection. ”Because I want you, too.”

Those were simple words—but a direct revelation of your feelings, a direct reciprocation of his own, and—naturally, they spoke volumes. Enough for his heart to fill with warmth. Enough for his shoulders to relax, with a sort of relief he wouldn’t be able to explain to you if you asked. And he held you in his embrace, arms still wrapped comfortably around your figure, knowing that he could let go, but… he didn’t quite want to. Not at all. Not when you felt so right with him here; not when the implication of your words settled deeply into his chest.

So instead, he let out a slow, heavy breath, and perhaps he couldn’t help it anymore. His lips gradually inched back impossibly closer to yours, his gaze straying down from your eyes, dizzying, almost, at the way you were barely touching—

“How much?” he mumbled, because an agony of waiting couldn’t possibly be resolved in a single moment.

You let out a soft laugh.

“For forever,” you rolled your eyes, but you smiled. “If having you forever could ever be enough.”

His breath hitched.

Forever.

Forever sounded like bliss with you. Forever sounded far more wondrous than whatever fantasies lived in the pages of those books on his shelves; far more than anything he had ever, ever wished for. And he had wished for this for a long, long time. For you had always been in his heart. He knew, now, that he was in yours.

And forever was as long of a time he was willing to spend with you.

“I’d like that.”

Then his hands gripped your waist tightly, desperately, as his lips came crashing down once more—and this time, the desperation that had coiled itself in the depths of his heart found freedom in the way that he kissed you. Like clawing; almost, as if afraid he could never get another moment like this, as if afraid you could disappear from right in front of him, right then and there.

As if he wouldn't let you. 

He couldn't. 

And the longer the kiss continued, the hungrier it became.

There was the scent of your perfume, the scent of your shampoo, the taste of your lipgloss… All-engulfing, more, and more, until all he could feel was you. All he could taste was you. You, and you—so warm, and so right, and—his.

All his.

All while he felt your hand tangle into the roots of his hair, and you panted hazily into his open mouth, desperately wanting to breathe, and yet—neither of you wanted this moment to ever end.

And the both of you had an inkling of exactly where this was intending to lead.

Feet shuffled against the floor, a few steps backwards, but neither of you got very far before Xavier was lifting you up into the air. His arms supported the weight of your body through your back and your knees, positioning you into a princess carry—he noted the squeal that you let out, your eyes finding his in search of confirmation. It was, perhaps, instinct the way you clung to his waist next.

But he had never been more grateful for the straightforward layout of his apartment, keen to lay you down on his bed with a promise of much, much, much more. The weight on the mattress shifted, and his figure crawled over your body, the faintest brush of his knuckles against your skin. From this angle, you caged between his arms, legs slotted between yours, his weight holding him up by his forearms—you were beautiful.

More beautiful than you always had been.

The redness that surrounded your lips, lipstick askew, swollen from your kisses… Your hair was splayed out against the pillows, disheveled than things had started with. And there was a certain longing in your eyes that, he was sure, quite vividly reflected in his own.

He could feel the way his hair had likely gotten just as unruly, the sting in his scalp still tingling from where you had tugged and scraped just moments before. Yet he made no attempts to fix it, the annoyance of his hair nearly in his eyes of no importance to him in this moment. Not when you were here. Not when the tension in the air left him feeling dizzy, the prospect of having you closer making his head spin.

“My starlight,” he whispered, then.

He watched, fondly, at the blush that covered your face—and he came to the realization that the midday glow had melted into skies of velvet. 

And this was different, now, from any past sunsets he had ever watched with you.

Now, it streamed in through the window in skyburst reds and yellows. vibrant hues painted over your face, your body… A skyward hearth reflecting the solace he could only ever find in you.

And you were his sky.

You were his home.

You were his… everything.

It was these words that were swallowed back as his lips descended past your cheek, past your jaw, down your neck. He would let actions speak louder than words, this time; the words uttered instead into your skin. His fingers worked deftly to undo the buttons of your blouse, hips rolling into you, a friction that had his breath tremble against your neck. And then a suckle over the soft flesh on your shoulder made you gasp—he’d do it again, and again, lips trailing your skin in search of every mark of you he could finally, finally make his.

His eyes closed.

He could savor the sensation—hot breaths against you, the drag of his hands across the smoothness of your skin, those slow, loving circles he rubbed into your waist before he could tug your clothing off of your body.

Not a word was spoken; not yet.

Only hushed gasps and shaky breaths, every roll of his hips, the friction of his erection against the outline of your sex nearly driving both of you into a quiet dance of insanity.

You broke the quiet first.

“Xavier.”

A shaky whisper as his fingers trailed downwards, pressing flush against your lips, feeling the desperate cling of the fabric against you.

Another stroke of his finger, lewdly accompanied with the wet, sticky sound of your arousal—

“Xavier.”

He looked at you, then. Dragged his gaze from over your figure to the haze in your own.

And he whispered; “Beautiful.”

His strokes against your cunt had your bottom lip quivering, hands slipping from over his back to the mattress below. Little taps against your clit, finger dipping the fabric nearly inside, your wetness seeping through with ease… He could feel every pulse of your pussy, your need for stimulation never more clear to him than in that moment.

And—

“Xavier… Xavier.”

You sounded so sweet.

Every utterance of his name had hip drawing in a breath; he had never before in his life heard it called out with so much… love. 

He wanted more of it.

Lips moved to mouth at your breast, as your panties were pushed aside. Slow, open-mouthed kisses, dangerously close to your nipples but not quite—

His finger, then, slid directly over your folds, and you caved.

“Xavier—!”

A louder, uninhibited moan of his name, your back arching into his touch.

And there, displayed in his eyes, was a look of wonder. A look of love.

Your legs spread in response, inviting, daring. You were baring yourself to him so willingly, that you didn’t need to say anything else. The plea in your eyes was enough.

The plea in your voice was enough.

“Xavier…” you spoke again, barely a whisper, your hands moving back to thread through his hair.

And how could he ever deny you? 

You shuddered immediately as his lips moved to wrap around your nipple, the heat of your skin against him pulling the corner of his lips up into a little smile. Every flick of his tongue had your body twitching beneath him, and he felt every little jerk with a certain sense of pride.

It was so easy, then, for his finger to push inside. 

You gasped, and he pushed deeper—the gentle probing of your hole had you pliant and starved for his touch, his name falling out from your lips in a chant.

“Xavier… Xav—Xavier— Xavier—!”

He groaned against your skin. Your sounds were like music to his ears, a jolt straight down to the tent in his boxers that was almost painful.

Yet still, his eyes never strayed from yours.

He let his teeth graze over your bud as his finger curled inside you, pressing against your gummy walls, just slow, easy thrusts to guide you into the rhythm. And he could see it in your eyes. He searched them, equally as lost in the swirl of haze that had you drowned in the pleasure he gave you—and it was beautiful. Almost heart-wrenchingly beautiful. How he had always wished, yearned, to belong to the inner world behind your irises, and now he—he could.

He only pulled away from your breasts to rest his head by your ear, a low chuckle resounding. He felt the effect of it almost instantly as you clenched over his finger, but he didn’t stop there—a second digit found its way in.

“Shh, I know, angel, I know.”

Quiet, soothing whispers against your ear, his other hand moving to brush the hair out of your face.

This time, the light from the window was bathed in twilight—

He smiled.

That even the moon and the stars would smile upon you, would cover you in their light… The sky itself would speak of love. Of you.

He watched, as your hips, illuminated by the evening glow, began to make more desperate motions. You drew his fingers in deeper, guiding them to rub against the spot that had you crying out another chant of his name. His thumb brushed up against your clit, then, and your hand reached out to grab his arm.

Another smile.

“Is it there, angel?” he murmured. His hair fell over your face as he moved to face you, lips ghosting over yours. And he caught every gasp, every moan, ever drone of his name and every shudder of pleasure he could elicit by repeating the same actions.

Again.

And again. 

And again.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, wanting him close, his ministrations unrelenting. Long fingers dipped in and out of the heat between your legs, sounds of slick and arousal emanating from your cunt in time with the murmurs you keened into the crook of his neck.

“Close?” he whispered.

Whimpers fell from your mouth as he kissed at the corners of your lips, gently coaxing you closer to your high. Each pump of his fingers had your body arching higher, higher off the mattress, the soft cooing of his voice a catalyst to the climax you were so close to.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, Xavier… Please!”

Your words nearly made his throat close up, eyes closing momentarily as his cock twitched in response to you.

“I know,” he mumbled, “I know, starlight. You can do it, just a little more. Focus on me. Does it feel good?”

He leaned up to kiss the little beads of tears that formed out of the corner of your eyes, whispering against the flutter of your eyelids as the only coherent response you could give was a feeble nod.

“Then cum for me, angel.”

You gasped, and he felt it. Your walls constricted, your body arched, and his words, his voice playing into the heat in your core, so much so that it was much, much easier for you to let go. The coil snapped, and your hips bucked upwards, his name mixing with curses upon your lips that he found… delightful to his ears enough to smile.

“That’s it. There we go. You’re so good, angel, look at you…” He let out a slow breath as he withdrew his fingers from you, watching as your body twitched in the aftermath of your orgasm. Slowly, he slid down your body, hands gripping your thighs to spread you apart, and he placed a soft, barely-there kiss against your clit.

Your body jerked at the contact, and he immediately rubbed soothing circles into your skin, cheek resting against your thigh as he looked up at you with a smile.

“I know,” he whispered, again, “I know. You’re sensitive. I won’t do too much.”

But you shook your head.

His eyes blinked slowly, carefully, as he felt your fingers in his hair, coaxing him back up to you.

“Angel?”

“You’re an angel.”

Your breathing had calmed enough for you to speak this time, the familiar words falling from your lips in a way that made his heart skip a beat.

“You…” he breathed out in disbelief as your foreheads touched, taking in the slightest hint of mirth that became visible in your eyes.

And after all this time—through all the doubts that swirled in his head, through all the desperation to get the timing perfect, in manner with the perfectionism that had been instilled so deeply into his heart—

It was you who spoke the words first.

“I love you.”

And the lump in his throat had prevented him from responding immediately, but you knew.

Your hand reached up to cup his cheek, and like all the years he had felt such a familiar gesture, he allowed himself to surrender. The weight of his head fell into your palm as he nuzzled closely into you, his own eyelids fluttering, as if savouring every bit of affection that you held in that caress.

“My starlight…”

A feeble rasp of the little nickname he’d made for you was all he could muster in the moment, and you, in return, could only chuckle.

Perhaps, it made the moment feel more real.

A soft sigh fell from your lips as he pressed back up against you, as your hands worked to pull down his boxers, as the throbbing of his cock pushed against folds.

“Starlight, I…”

His words melted into a groan as it was you who moved your hips against him, the slide of your sexes coating his member in your slick. And the quiet of the night could not have rang in his head any louder than the wetness between the both of you, evidence of the desire that rang true in your bodies as his hips seemed to move with a mind of their own. His eyes closed as he dragged his length along your folds, breath stuttering as the head of his cock would catch on your entrance with each withdrawal of his hips.

Your breaths were shaky as you hugged him closer, receptive of his slow grinds into you and against you, and he realized, then, that this was real.

Your words were real. There was no alcohol laced into your words this time. Instead, you nodded your head, and he noticed it—a different kind of intoxication, the reflection of his figure stirring in your eyes with unspoken need.

“Xavier…” You whispered again, and it was a plea.

Such a multitude of ways that you could say his name.

“Xavier… please, take me.”

And with one slow thrust, he was there.

Closer to you than ever; as close as the two of you could be.

A moan fell from his lips as the tight passage constricted around him, the thickness of him stretching your walls to accommodate the feeling of being so full. 

And it was enough.

“I love you…”

His head fell against your chest as he felt himself tremble, the sensation overwhelming. You were so snug and warm around him, so… perfect. There was no stopping the words from falling out of his lips. He would say it again.

“I love you.”

He felt your breath stutter against the crown of his head, and he buried himself deeper into you, nuzzling into your chest, his body alight with a heat that he could barely begin to fathom.

He loved you so much, it ached.

And you moaned as your head threw back, hands clawing into his back, as his hips began to move. Slowly, at first, the languid pacing of his hips allowing you to feel the drag of his length against your walls, allowing him to soak in the way your cunt would suck him right back into you.

“Xavier, Xavier, Xavier…”

Your sounds were soft from your lips, a melody that had him rhythmically moving in the tune of, only picking up the pace ever so slightly—because he could hardly get enough of you. You drank each other in shamelessly, savouring the taste of your skin, every inch of your bodies colliding with every movement, and it was—enthralling. Breathtaking. Every snap of his hips as he breathed heavily against you had you shuddering. You would meet his grinds with needy little humps of your own, and he—

He could lose himself in this.

And all he could focus on was the endless litany of his name upon your lips, the quiet sound of skin against skin, the near-filthy squelch of your cunt with each dance the two of you would play in.

Until he could barely breathe.

Until his lips were back on yours, and you would hold each other close, hold each other tight, never letting go because this—all of it—was exactly what the both of you needed.

Xavier felt it, then. The squeeze of your walls, the flutters, the pulses—he lifted his head.

His vision was hazy.

All he could think of was you; all he could feel was you; all he could see was you. The flush of your cheeks, the way your eyes looked back at him with a darkened, half-lidded gaze, the way your mouth held open in desperate pants for air.

And he moved harder, harder, faster—

“Angel,” he choked out, holding himself up by his elbows on either side of your body.

“D-don’t stop, Xavi, please, don’t—don’t—”

“M.. M’not stopping, angel… I know… I know, feels s’good, doesn’t it…”

He angled his hips, deliberately pushing his cock against the spots inside of you that he’d memorized, and—

“X- Xavier…!”

His teeth grit as you clenched around him, legs drawing over his hips and keeping him flush against you enough to trigger his own release.

“Take it… C’mon… take it, angel, take it, take—it—”

His head dipped to bury against your hair, tucking you under his chin, keeping you caged in his arms for as long as he could. His hips stuttered as he pumped inside of you, spilling his load with a wave of euphoria that had you both letting out a cry of pleasure. And he pulled out just the littlest bit before sliding in again, shallow thrusts making a mess of his cum, the throb of his cock pulsating against your walls…

Muffled groans turn into trembling breaths, heavy pants as the atmosphere gradually relaxed into contentment.

“I love you.”

He peeled off of your body only to gently stroke at your cheek, taking in the glow in your smile at his words.

So he said it again.

“I love you.”

And he leaned in to pepper kisses over the side of your face, like little specks of stardust, a gather of constellations that could only fill his universe full of you.

You laughed, softly, nuzzling your nose against his.

“You make my heart smile,” you sighed, and he placed a kiss at your eyelids in response.

“And you make mine. Always.” An honest reply. His hands found yours, fingers intertwined, a soft, gentle massage into your palm. “...I love you. I’m sorry I took so long.”

And you smiled.

“You did take long,” you hummed. “But now that you’re here… It’s worth it. Just... Make it up to me and cuddle for a little. Okay?"

His eyes fell closed.

This time, he felt—this was a promise he could make for you. This time, knowing he had you, he thought… Perhaps, he could. 

“...Mhm. Rest now,” he whispered. “And I’ll be by your side. Always.”

“You said it again, my heart's in motion; every word feels like a shooting star. I'm at the edge of my emotions, watching the shadows burning in the dark, and I'm in love—and I'm terrified."

[Terrified ; Katharine McPhee]

⁺₊ / an: first of all scene 4 was inspired by the tamsui bridge in taiwan, second of all can you believe this is the first time i used 3rd person pov limited (non-reader)?? and it was such ??? a challenge??? and third of all DID YOU NOTICE… that i used the slow dance trope in direct contrast to sylus’ "once upon a december" drabble hehe i’m smart sometimes <3

ANYWAY my thoughts on this is that writing this made me realize why xavier/mc has always felt so special to me, and why the 21 days card made me so emotional :'> this took reallyyy long to finish because i reaally wanted to convey the gentleness in their relationship (through a reader insert, no less!) while also keeping all that fear and desperation and uncertainties of falling in love still very much real and present 🙏 writing the outline and scenes 5+6 made me cry a little,,, i hope reading this fic has allowed you to feel the depth of their love, too <3

also : mention for @sadfragilegirl for that one request you sent a while back! since you requested "passionate loving smut" with xavier i'd think this fits in with that hehe

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[sweetbuckybarnes]

No One Would Miss Me

Pairings: Colin Bridgerton + Penelope Featherington, platonic Benedict Bridgerton + Penelope Featherington

Summary: Benedict finds out Penelope’s big secret.

"Would you excuse me, Lord Debling? I require some fresh air."

"Would you like me to come with you, Miss Featherington?"

"No, thank you, I would like a moment to myself."

Penelope curtsied to Lord Debling and made her way out of the Bridgerton's ballroom and out into the garden. Like previous years, the Bridgerton's Hearts and Flowers ball was a raving success - however, this year it was hosted by the new Viscountess Katharine Bridgerton.

Stepping out into the garden, she looked around at the decorations, before making her way over to where the swings she and Eloise once played on were. Only to see they were currently occupied by the second Bridgerton son.

"Oh, I wasn't expecting to see you, Benedict, I'll come back later," she says, turning around and just as she was about to go running away, Benedict spoke up.

"I don't mind, Penelope. You can keep me company." Penelope sighed and took the free seat next to Benedict. "Are you alright?"

Penelope shut her eyes for a moment, then looked over at him. "If I find myself marrying Lord Debling, I believe I may end up killing him not long after our wedding."

"Not well then?"

She shakes her head. "If I am to be honest with you?" Benedict nods his head. "He is dreadfully boring and rather dull. He cannot hold a conversation, he brushes off every single word I say and, surprisingly, he has more of an appetite than Colin of all people!"

Benedict watches as Penelope reaches over, swipes the cigarette he has hanging between his fingers and takes a drag. "Would not have put you down for a smoker."

"Only when Eloise stole them from you."

"I knew it was her!"

His five-word statement got a giggle out of Penelope, as Benedict looked over at the youngest Featherington daughter, he was surprised with how much he had missed her spending time with them - she and Eloise were always joined at the hip, you would never find one without the other.

"I don't mean to seem like I am prying, but whatever happened between you and Eloise?" He asks, reaching over and taking the cigarette back.

Penelope looked down at the ground. "I kept a secret from her. A very big secret, so much so she refuses to speak to me."

"What was the secret, if I am permitted to know?"

Penelope looked over her shoulder, her auburn curls fanning around her shoulders as her head looked around them - as soon as she deemed them safe from her secret, she looked over at Benedict. "I'm Whistledown," she whispered, loud enough for Benedict to hear, but quiet enough that it would be missed.

They fell into silence for a moment, as Benedict looked at Penelope in surprise. "You? You're Whistledown?" She nodded her head. "Wow, I would not have guessed it was you. Not in a million lifetimes!"

Penelope chuckled a little before the smile fell off her face.

"What I don't understand is why you and Eloise fell out? She practically worshipped Whistledown."

"She somehow worked it out. She went on a tirade about how she never believed I could do something like this, we both said some horrible things, but I knew she wouldn't believe me if I told her the whole truth, so I let her believe I am this vindictive and spiteful woman who only sees the worst in people."

"What is the truth?"

Penelope looks out into the garden, the pair haven't realised that hiding behind a tree is two of Benedict's siblings (Colin and Eloise). "The Queen was suspicious of her. She believed Eloise was Whistledown, I had to do something so she would stop looking at Eloise. If I didn't, I think Eloise would have been beheaded by now."

Benedict's eyes widen. "That might happen to you!"

"No one would miss me."

The three Bridgerton's felt their hearts break in their chests. No more than the third son, Colin Bridgerton. Penelope deemed herself so unworthy of love and happiness, that she was prepared to die alone.

"We would, all the Bridgerton's would," Benedict says, getting off his swing and crouching in front of Penelope.

Penelope shakes her head. "You might for a time, but you would all move on. You'd move away and get married, and so would little Gregory."

"What about Colin?"

"Colin made his feelings known last season," Penelope states. Colin peeks his head around the edge of the tree, seeing his older brother wiping away Penelope's tears with a handkerchief.

"Is that why you plan on getting married this season?"

"If I marry Lord Debling, I will have a title, and I'll be protected."

Benedict tilts his head, having seen the look in his brother's eyes when he poked his head around the side of the tree. "What if you marry a Bridgerton?"

Penelope looked down at Benedict, as it looked like a was currently down on one knee. "Not me!" Benedict laughs.

"If you asked, I would say yes. After your mama and Gregory, you are my third favourite Bridgerton."

Colin and Eloise share a look, they were once Penelope's favourite people, and now they are no better than her mother.

"You know which Bridgerton I am talking about."

"Gregory is far too young, I don't even know if I would be still alive when Gregory enters society."

"You know I mean Colin."

Colin lets go of the tree and stands to the side of the tree, looking between his older brother and the young woman he didn't know he adored. He watched as Penelope shook her head.

"I told you Colin made his feelings known and I have made peace with it." Benedict's confused face must have prompted Penelope to explain. "At my family's ball at the end of last season, I overheard Colin stating to half of the men of the ton, that he would not court me in his wildest fantasies. Which is odd, because I never asked him to court me."

Colin felt all the blood drain from his face. He doesn't remember much from the Featherington's ball last season, other than confronting Penelope's Uncle Jack. They always said a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts. Not this sober man.

"That's not true, Pen," Colin made himself known, as his brother got up from the floor and Penelope looked over her shoulder at him, there were tear marks on her face. It broke Colin all the more that his stupid drunk words caused this.

Penelope shook her head and looked away from him. "You do not need to excuse your actions, Mr. Bridgerton."

"Pen, will you please stop calling me Mr. Bridgerton?" Colin crouched down in front of her, watching over her shoulder for a second as Benedict walked over to where tears were silently falling down Eloise's face. "I am Colin. I have always been Colin to you."

"We need not act so familiar with each other, Mr. Bridgerton. Especially if I am to marry Lord Debling at the end of the season."

Colin watched Penelope for a moment. "You know there is a name which holds more protection than that of Lord Debling?"

"Who's?"

"Mine."

[waynes-multiverse]

Soldier boy x breeding kink because we all know he has one 🥵🤰

@syrma-sensei

A/N: A fun one! Wasn't even surprised I got this one twice. Like lovely anon put it so perfectly, we all know that man has a heavy breeding kink, and I was all too happy to make his (and your) wishes come true. Let myself get a little inspired by the lyrics of the Zombie's song for this one 😈

Pairing: Soldier Boy x F!Reader

Warnings: +18/NSFW, drinking, celebrity name drops, smut (rough p in v, dirty talk, breeding kink, daddy kink, spanking, slight degrading, a technical age gap), naive reader, SB being a manipulative asshole

Word Count: 1.5k

Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles Masterlist

Time of the Season

April 1969

“She’s too young for you.”

Soldier Boy heaves an irritated sigh at his manager’s words but keeps his sparkling green eyes stubbornly trained on the young waitress who’s currently refilling Alan Arkin’s champagne glass. “Nonsense, Legend. She’s perfect. Just fuckin’ look at her,” he huffs and nurses his scotch.

“I am,” his manager insists. “She’s too fucking young for you. You’re technically turning fifty this year. Times are changing. You can’t just wet your dick with any pussy you want anymore. That girl doesn’t look older than twenty.”

“Twenty-three, actually,” Soldier Boy smirks cunningly. “I asked around. Prime of her life.”

The Legend scoffs and shakes his head. “Why don’t you fuck someone your age, huh? Like Katharine Hepburn?”

“You’re fucking kidding, right? That fucking broad is even older than me,” Soldier Boy bites and motions down two tables to the actress in question, admiring her little golden statue. He almost won one of those himself in 1951 for his biopic – not that he needs that useless glory.

“Do you know who has to clean up your fucking mess if you go a little too rough on this poor girl again? I do! And then there’s the reporters and the tabloids…”

“I’ll be careful, okay? Trust me. Last thing I wanna do is fucking break her,” he chuckles devilishly and empties his tumbler, flagging the young waitress down for another drink.

“Yes, sir? Can I get you another one?” She smiles brightly at him, shifting nervously on her low heels.

“That would be fantastic, doll,” Soldier Boy smiles charmingly up at her, causing a red tint to haunt her cheeks. “And how about you give me your name as well and tell me when I can get you outta this boring event, hm? Someone as pretty as you surely deserves to have some fucking fun, too.”

“Wow, I’ve never been here before,” the young girl gasps with eyes as wide as the illuminated Hollywood sign on the hills when Soldier Boy shoos her into his usual suite at the Chateau Marmont – room 29. “Was that Desi Arnaz in the lobby?”

“Uh-huh, yeah,” Soldier Boy mutters disinterestedly as he shuts the door behind them and wanders to the bar, pouring himself a glass of scotch on the rocks. “Lucy’s probably nagging the shit outta him again.”

“Really? But they seem like such a lovely couple,” Y/N, that's her name, says in surprise and eagerly accepts the glass of alcohol he hands her.

“Yeah, it’s called TV, doll. It’s all fake,” Soldier Boy forces a smile to his lips and sips on his drink as he leans against the dresser across from her, raking his eyes over her exquisite, hourglass body. Nice rack, juicy ass, and perfectly wide hips with a small waist he could squeeze between his large hands. With a figure like hers, she surely wouldn’t have any trouble bearing his sons.

“It’s so crazy. I grew up in a small town in Kansas. Never imagined any of this when I came here, much less meeting someone like you,” she explains, her cheeks blushing rosy-red.

Soldier Boy only chuckles, loving that he already has this girl exactly where he wants her without putting much effort into it. “Well, sugar, it’s my pleasure. Like I said, gorgeous girl like you deserves some attention,” he coos and saunters over to the bed, sitting down next to her. His hand reaches out and gently brushes a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, practically feeling the heat radiate off her cheeks from the simple gesture.

“I’m not that pretty,” she swallows insecurely and hides parts of her face. “Why did you pick me? There were way more beautiful and more important women in that room. I saw how Brigitte Bardot looked at you the whole night.”

Ben purses his lips, shaking his head. “Nah, you have something that these whores don’t have, doll. All they want is money and fame. I’m not interested in that. I’m not even interested in that for a fuck,” he lies before mixing in the truth, “You see, what I want is a family. A nice, obedient wife to come home to after a long, hard day.”

“Wife?” Her eyes widen in disbelief, but as he expected, she isn’t appalled by the idea.

His smile widens as he strokes the apple of her cheek. “Yeah, you know? Someone who takes care of me, can give me kids, make me dinner, bake a decent pie,” he tells her.

“Really? Well, I actually make a great blueberry pie. Even won a contest in my hometown a few years back,” she informs him proudly.

“See? I knew you were the perfect girl for me the moment I laid eyes on you,” Soldier Boy grins broadly. “And I mean, I don’t wanna impose, but you’re probably sick of waitressing and working odd jobs to make ends meet at this point, aren’t you? C’mon, lemme take care of you, huh? I can give you everything you want. You want a house? A credit card? Nice clothes? I’ll make sure every dream you have comes true, baby girl.”

For a moment, Y/N chews on her bottom lip before she meets his gaze with a hopeful look shimmering in her eyes. “You mean it?”

“Of course! I’d never lie to you, my sweet girl. You can trust me. I'm America's hero, after all,” he smiles slyly and lifts her chin with two fingers, forcing her to keep eye contact. “There’s just one thing you have to do for me.”

“Okay, anything,” Y/N all too eagerly nods her agreement. “Can I just ask your real name first? I don't wanna call you Soldier Boy during, uhm...”

Soldier Boy laughs lowly. “I’ll tell you in the morning, baby girl. How about for tonight, you just call me daddy, hm?”

“Fuck, daddy! Harder, please!” Y/N moans as he has her bent on the bed, crying out on all fours for him as he fucks into her from behind. Her perky ass is high up in the air as he grips the flesh on her hips, bruising her delicate skin purple, green, and blue.

Y/N has been a bit of a very positive surprise. So much so that he’s actually considering keeping the bitch. First of all, she’s deliciously loud. Dickhead Howard Hughes has already knocked on their door twice and complained about the unbearable noise level. Secondly, Y/N’s submissive and obedient and does just about anything he tells her to do. Nothing seems too shabby or naughty for that little whore. He fucked her throat till she was choking and crying, and still, she didn’t even whine once. She’s damn responsive, too, and comes faster than lightning. And last but not least, her pussy is probably one of the tightest ones he’s ever had, and if he didn’t plan on fucking a spawn into her, he’d love to fuck her asshole as well, but he supposes that one has to wait till she’s on her period, or better yet – already round with his child.

His balls tighten at the thought alone, slapping against her cunt as his thumb furiously rubs her clit to force another orgasm out of her. He just needs one more clench of his cock before he’s ready to burst as well and coat her walls with his seed.

“You’re gonna be my little breeding bitch now, huh?” Soldier Boy prompts, his palm sharply coming down on her asscheek as he spanks her luscious flesh, both globes already burning red from his constant abuse, but damn, he just can’t get enough of that noise.

“Yes, daddy… Wanna be full of your cum,” she whimpers needily and even pushes her hips back into him to meet his thrusts.

“Such a good slut you are,” he praises her and spanks her other cheek as well. “‘M proud of you, baby girl. You’re gonna make a great mother to our sons.”

“Fuck yes!”

“Gonna come for me again, hm? Need you to come one more time when I’m deep, so I can pump that pretty pussy full of cum,” Soldier Boy groans, spearing his thick cock in and out of her abused cunt.

One last harsh pound of his hips and Y/N breaks down, her pussy violently pulsating around his throbbing length and milking him dry as she takes him over the edge with her as her orgasm ripples through her small body. An animalistic grunt leaves his throat as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside her.

When he feels his dick soften, he carefully lays them both down, keeping her in place and his cock in her cunt as their sweat-clad bodies stick together on the filthy sheets. She’s breathing heavily, close to passing out, as he chuckles and lays a flat palm on her lower belly, gently brushing the spot.

“Fuck, you’re gonna look so good carrying my child, baby girl,” he whispers softly into her ear.

“Thank you, daddy. You’re the best,” Y/N mumbles blissfully, her eyes closing.

Y/N’s the sixth girl he fucked raw in the last couple of months. He always tells them the same thing but ends up fucking and leaving. All he wants is to know that his DNA is living on somewhere, running around in the world out there. But honestly? Y/N’s so perfect that he might just keep this one as a side piece and fuck a million more kids into her. Maybe he'll even buy her that fucking house.

Pfff, can you tell I had fucking fun with this one? 🤣

Btw, I've decided to keep the dirty drabbles open for now, so you can keep sending them in if you have more smutty thoughts and kinks to get off your chest 😉 I already have a loooot for Dean, so Beau, Jensen, and SB especially are very welcome! There's no timeline when I'll post them. I figured this could just be a fun little idea we can keep doing in between ☺️🤷‍♀️

So, you have a kinky request? Then fill up my ask box, bitches 🖤

Tag Lists:

Everything J: @extraterrestriali @this-is-me19 @writercole @awkward-and-indecisive @eevvvaa @panicking-outside-the-disco @globetrotter28 @imherefordeanandbones @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @xlynnbbyx @jassackles @maggiegirl17 @perpetualabsurdity @deans-spinster-witch @deandreamernp @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @deanwithscissors @mrsjenniferwinchester @justrealizedimmascifygurl @akshi8278 @flamencodiva @chriszgirl92 @wittyboldsoul @djs8891 @leigh70 @snowlovespie @b3autyfuldisast3r @ladysparkles78 @muhahaha303 @mimaria420 @creepzeyecandy @iamsapphine

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

"You keep asking questions and posing situations, and I keep thinking of my father: A man whose sink had on it one big bar of durable, good soap. And that bar of soap was used for cleaning, shaving, and brushing his teeth. It worked fine; it was fast; it was economical. He could then get on with his day. I think we clutter our minds and our lives in a way people would have liked for my father to clutter his toilet. There is too much clutter and too much thinking and too much devising. I think you need to be true to your work and your friends--these should be small circles. People who have too many friends tend to have too few ideas, I find, and they cover up their disappointment with parties and chatter and movement. Focus on working well and being there for you, your work, and your friends. One bar of soap. Taught me a lot."

~ Katharine Hepburn (Interview with James Grissom,1990)

[Thanks Ian Sanders]

[beans-across-the-multiverse]

You’ve got a friend in me! (Closed three way rp with @minusgangtime and @ask-the-kitty-crew)

*Katharine aka Miss K was out, running some errands, to get things that were needed at the orphanage. As she left the store with bags of groceries, she began to think about the new kid that had arrived, Ames was her name, the moment you gazed at her you could immediately tell she came from a bad home, she was covered in bruises, cuts and marks, her hair looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in it’s lifetime and she smelled like a bathroom was nonexistent at her home.*

*Miss K felt so sorry for a girl such as young as Ames, she was only 7 at this point and she’d already been through hell, it was horrible, and to make things worse, Pastel aka Miss P told her that some kids were making fun of Ames, calling her stupid and brain dead since she didn’t know the basic stuff that kids her age knew. It was horrific*

*Miss K kept walking until she spotted something in a nearby dumpster, but what was this something she found, well. Let’s find out!*

[audreyhepburninblackandwhite]

Audrey Hepburn's cover story for Illustrated's 2 June 1951 issue.

Carefree, off and on duty.

Audrey — The Other Hepburn

Photography by Joseph McKeown Story by Charles Hammlett

After four years of theatres, cabarets, and films, a young dancer takes a day off from career building

The Sphinx of Hollywood, otherwise Katharine Hepburn, actress and movie performer, recently spent a few days in this country wrapped in rain and  mystery, and wearing an old pair of eye-catching, publicity-snatching slacks. As one of the country’s legends, Miss Hepburn has earned the right to flinch at the rustle of a reporter’s notebook, or to duck at the sound of a photographer’s footfall.

Even as pressmen determinedly pounded the Hepburn beat, a few miles away at Ealing Studios another Hepburn was quietly performing in front of the camera—as yet blissfully unaware of the hysterical mobs and frustrated fanatics who often make the lives of Hepburns, Stanwycks, Gables, or Turners unendurable.

This other Hepburn was Audrey—Britain’s answer to every filmgoer’s hungry dreams. Twenty-two, brainy, beautiful, tantalizing, and talented, she is a girl of simple tastes to travel to Ealing by Underground from Marble Arch, takes Sunday afternoon strolls in Hyde Park, and stops to listen to the geniuses of Orator’s Corner.

Restful spirit at Rottingdean . . .

Over a gate for home . . .

She rides on buses or browses in the Charing Cross Road bookshops. Visits to cinemas and theatres are still fun for her. Given a day off, she will rush to the coast and join countless other holidaymakers. Audrey Hepburn is also a hard and fast worker. Just over two years ago, Jack Hylton selected her from 2,000 other girls to dance in High Button Shoes. After this “break,” Audrey tripped into the chorus of Sauce Tartare. There she caugh the eye of producer Cecil Landeaus sufficiently to be given a solo part in his sequel Sauce Piquante. This, in turn, caught the attention of the theatre critics and the public.

Among the regulars who went to see Audrey’s performance was film producer Mario Zampi. He went fourteen times. Like many pretty showgirls, Audrey had frequently been told she ought to be in films. Zampi not only said it, he gave her a small part in Alastair Sim’s Laughter in Paradise. Other “meatier” parts followed in The Lavender Hill Mob and Young Wives’ Tale. She obtained a contract with Associated British Pictures and a leading part in Ealing’s The Secret People—before her first three pictures were released. During the next few months, filmgoers will be able to make up their own minds about Audrey. They will see a lithe, dark-hair, large-eyed girl who slightly resembles Jean Simmons. Unlike Jean, however, Audrey has a cosmopolitan and somber background.

Secret performances for members of Dutch Resistance were some of Audrey’s experiences during the war. Now, at twenty-two, she takes the part of a refugee dancer in the film The Secret People.

A mixture of Scots, Belgian, and Dutch, she was in Belgium at the outbreak of war. After the Belgian capitulation, the family moved to Arnhem. Their house there was shelled during the airborne landing.

It was at Arnhem that she made her first public appearance as an entertainer. Black, or secret, concerts were given in private houses by performers who had refused to join the German sponsored “Chamber of Culture.” Audrey, then fifteen, was invited to appear at one of these concerts. Her mother helped her to make costumes from old curtains and chair covers. Later, conditions became so bad that cothes and jewellery were sold to provide food for the family.

Looked at from the Mayfair flat where she now lives with her mother, these days seem unreal. Though she entered show business as a dancer, Audrey is rapidly developing as an actress. Unusually tall for films—she is 5'7"—she has passed the stage where producers can brush her off by telling her she is “too lofty for camera work.” A girl with her potential star value can be as tall as a giraffe and still get by.

Audrey Hepburn could gracefully occupy a star’s chair in Britain’s studios. She might even attract some of the international attention now lavished on “Katie” Hepburn, and enable that much harassed star to pursue her life far from the madding crowd.

[kanthonyficrecs]

Collection: Soulmate AUs

a contemplation in red by anuglierend Rating: T Summary: Kate can see the red string of fate connecting her and Anthony, but he cannot.

bloom by antematter Rating: T Summary: Kate is born with a single tulip on the inside of her left wrist and a red lily on her right. This in itself is not particularly unusual.

Does Katharine Dream of Dickish Soulmates? by TeaBrigadier Rating: T Summary: Kate Sharma woke up on her eighteen birthday, read the first words her soulmate would say to her, and burst into tears. Edwina calls him The Bastard. If Kate ever meets her soulmate, she’s going to knee him in the balls. Companion piece to “The Universe Laughs at Anthony Bridgerton”

I will always love you. In every life. by LoveIsStrong Rating: E Summary: Kate and Anthony are soulmates in every life.

Of soulmates and soakings by PenguinofProse Rating: E Summary: One week which changes Kate and Anthony’s lives. Starts with the lake scene.

say my name (and every color illuminates) by carrythesky Rating: G Summary: “Your character is as deficient as your horsemanship,” she quips, brushing past him. “I shall bid you goodnight.” He catches her scent, something clean and floral. Lilies. Anthony turns, stunned— And the world bursts into color.

the inevitability of stars by antematter Rating: M Summary: “Some people are born with stars in their blood,” his father tells him. “That’s Kate. And the stars are homing beacons that constantly pull them home. To their soulmate - that’s you.” A linear Time Traveler’s Wife AU.

The Universe Laughs at Anthony Bridgerton by TeaBrigadier Rating: T Summary: In a world where the first words your soulmate will say to you appear on your arm, Anthony is horrified by the less than romantic words that appear on his eighteenth birthday. His soulmate is a menace and he has no interest in ever meeting her.

[zodiyack]

Closed Relationship

Pairing: Ginger Fitzgerald x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, angst, fluff

Words: 491

Request: Hiyaa, good night/good morning, I hope you are well! I was wondering if you wrote for Ginger Fitzgerald x fem! reader, if so, I need something with her please (something like making them jealous :( ), I haven't seen many fics about her and I need it, or at least something with Katharine Isabelle/cries in flea; if you write for Ginger or Katie, it would be great.

Authors Note: I struggled to come up with a plot so I decided on this. Hope you like it!

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @thewarriorprincessxo, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @livlaughquinn, @bubsonnobx​

Masterlist | Slasher Masterlist

The red headed girl stood tall, hands on her hips and mischievous grin upon her soft pink lips. Her eyes traced back and forth, following the ball that had been kicked around by the girls from her gym class. She brought the cigarette she'd been holding up to her lips to take another drag, before putting it out and walking over.

"Want a little help?" She offered to one of the more...struggling girls. The girl looked utterly shocked that Ginger had even looked in her direction. "I can assist you in whatever way you need." The sweet smile on her lips made Y/N's gut sour.

She had been sitting with her girlfriend instead of participating in the class. At one point, Ginger asked about locking their relationship down, becoming absolutely exclusive. It triggered an argument, Y/N defending with the fact that they made it open so that Ginger could seduce her prey without much question. Ginger rolled her eyes and stood up, walking away and lighting a cigarette while she contemplated.

Now she was standing beside an innocent, and very nervous, naïve girl. Ginger brushed her fingers through the blond locks on her head, "You have such nice hair."

The girl stuttered, blushing furiously. "Thank you. So do you. And-" a few more stutters, "yes, I'd like some help."

The mischievousness returned to her grin as she squatted down next to the girl and helped her on her foot positioning. To anyone else, nothing was wrong with it. It would've been so innocent. But Ginger was staring up into the poor girls eyes, with her hands on her leg, lingering in some spots for a second too long.

Having enough of the show, Y/N stood up and sped over to Ginger. "Hey, looks like her positioning is perfect, how about you and I go talk over here now?"

Ginger didn't even take her eyes off the girl when she nodded and rose up. "Have fun, cutie." She turned and followed her lover back to their spot on the grass. "What's wrong?" She teased, feigning concern.

"You know what's fucking wrong."

"Well," she pretending to think for a moment, "was it because I was helping her?"

"Helping? You were practically groping and eye-fucking that chick!" Y/N exclaimed. "What the fuck was that about?"

"There's nothing wrong with that, is there? After all, it's perfectly fine given our current relationship, right?" Her brows raised.

It hit Y/N like a brick. "Oh."

"Mhm. I mean, we could make it, exclusive to us if you'd like? Seeing as how...jealous you got." Her eyes lit up and she tilted her head.

"Yeah yeah. It's just...It doesn't really phase me when it's people I know you're going to eat, but when it's someone unrelated, it...it doesn't feel right." Y/N paused. "Whatever, let's have a closed relationship. No more flirting with non-victims, okay?"

Ginger grinned ear to ear and leaned in for a kiss. "Sounds good to me."

[dykesynthezoid]

@saint-tory I saw you posted about what Sam and Tory should have worn to prom and it looks like you deleted the post but unfortunately fashion history is a special interest of mine so I’m going to subject you to this anyway

Tory feels pretty easy honestly. The theme for their prom was old hollywood; Tory seems to go with an early 1940s inspired look with the silhouette, her hair, and makeup; however. I think she would also look very good in something 70s inspired, and that’s a look Peyton List seems to enjoy as well. I think putting her in a flared jumpsuit that’s just on the glamorous side of flashy really works for her.

Something like this, maybe:

Sam is a little tougher. In the show, they put her in what is literally Audrey Hepburn’s dress in Sabrina— Except it’s Marilyn Monroe Gentlemen Prefer Blondes hot pink.

Which is a weird choice bc a. The result doesn’t look like either Audrey or Marilyn’s style b. It’s not Sam’s vibe anyway

If they wanted to keep her in something Dior’s brand new look/Audrey/Givenchy inspired, they shouldn’t have tried to remix it on their own into something that didn’t make sense.

I also think it’s worth considering what Sam would think of when she hears “Old Hollywood.” Who does she identify with that? Would it be Marilyn or Audrey? Or would it be Heidi Lamar, Katharine Hepburn, maybe Lana Turner? Or maybe she thinks of classic Italian stars; I wouldn’t be surprised if Daniel had an old pin up of Sophia Loren or Claudia Cardinale in a box somewhere.

Considering that, I think there are a few directions to go in. Rather than drawing inspiration from the 40s/70s like with Tory, I think it makes more sense to draw on the 30s/60s/90s with Sam.

I’ve seen some people say she should have called back to Daniel’s blue prom outfit, which is itself 60s inspired. If that’s the direction she was going in she might go for something like this:

If we wanted to stick with something sixties but more individual, I think she would look great in something short and mod-inspired. 60s mod dresses have a real boyish charm that I think would work well for her.

(She would also look very cute with 60s makeup/hair)

Another option would be putting her in something 30s inspired, which would also allow her to lean into a less cutesy look. Something slinky and long and backless, with long brushed out Veronica Lake style curls.

As for what Sam would wear to 80s night at the roller rink, they originally put her in the Pretty In Pink dress, but it’s very identifiably not her vibe.

I would LOVE to have seen her in a plaid skirt suit since those were popular at the time. Maybe it’s even an outfit Lucille wore in the 80s, and Sam asks to borrow it.

It also would’ve steered the vibe closer to Heathers than Pretty In Pink.

[frozen-orbit]

My favorite lyrics from my Renegades playlists that i associate with Nodrian:

"Did you ever love me? Does it even matter?" - Say Goodbye, Katharine McPhee

"If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?" - Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

"I’ll always be on your side, promise you." - Promise, Everglow

"Late night, watching television. But how'd we get in this position?" - I really like you, Carly Rae Jepsen

"Maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me." - Wonderwall, Oasis

"Paint my kiss across your chest. If you're the art, I'll be the brush." - Bad Liar, Selena Gómez

"We had trust, belief and friendship. Maybe something more, maybe something less." - Vengeance, coldrain

"Whether we’re together or apart, we can both remove the masks and admit we regret it from the start." - Over again, One Direction

"Why don't we save each other? Even though we couldn't save anything, let alone the world." - Howl, Chuu

From Nova's pov:

"An evening star watched from afar. It guided me here. It knew you'd be here." - I knew I loved you, Céline Dion

"Dream that makes me want to fall asleep again, such a sweet dream, that’s you." - Dream, Suzy feat. Baekhyun

"For the way you're something that I'd never choose, but at the same time, something I don't wanna lose." - Never knew I needed, Ne-Yo feat. Cassandra Steen

"I can't decide if I'll let you save my life or if I'll drown." - arms, Christina Perri

"I don't know who's gonna kiss you when I'm gone, so I'm gonna love you now like it's all I have. I know it'll kill me when it's over, I don't wanna think about it." - Love me now, John Legend

"If I kept you away from me, if I failed you and I left, it was because my lies scared me. You believed in me and I became so good at pretending." - Perdón, Camila

"I'll follow into the painting you create." - Lucid, LOOΠ∆ Odd Eye Circle

"I made you a promise with no way to keep it, but what kills me the most, I'd still do anything for you." - The Breaker, Little Big Town

"I'm on my guard for the rest of the world, but with you, I know it's no good." - Sparks fly, Taylor Swift

"I'm scared that I'll love you. I'm scared that I'll need you. I'm scared that I'll always want you close." - Something 4 U, Sam Addeo feat. Biyo

"I shot the stars out of your sky, took the love right from your eyes, and I did it all knowing you thought I was the hero of your heart." - The Breaker, Little Big Town

"I was used to being alone, my days were gray, but I remember the day you lightly came to me, knocking on my door. You shined on me like a light, woke me up from darkness, opened the closed door of my heart." - Starlight, Taeyeon feat. DEAN

"My mind forgets to remind me you're a bad idea." - Sparks fly, Taylor Swift

"Oh my God, I can't believe it. Out of all the people in the world, what is the likelihood of jumping out of my life and into your arms? Maybe, baby, I'm just losing my mind, 'cause this is trouble but it feels right. Teetering on the edge of Heaven and Hell is a battle that I cannot fight." - Oh My God, Adele

"She's the death you chose. You're in terrible danger." - The Albatross, Taylor Swift

"Some say she's such a fake, that her love is made up. No, no, no, no." - Girl Almighty, One Direction

"Sometimes I wonder, when you sleep, are you ever dreaming of me?" - Delicate, Taylor Swift

"The coat of paint that you had drawn on me will wash away." - Stop the rain, Day6

"The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me. Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?" - peace, Taylor Swift

"The devil that you know looks now more like an angel. I'm the life you chose and all this terrible danger." - The Albatross, Taylor Swift

"The more you become precious to me, the more afraid I am." - Eclipse, Got7

"There's nothing to pretend, I fell in love with you." - Me enamoré de ti, Chayanne

"The world I lived in has flipped over inside out because of you, right is left, left is right." - Sweet Chaos, Day6

"They tried to warn you about me." - The Albatross, Taylor Swift

"This ain't for the best. My reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me." - Delicate, Taylor Swift

"Through the lies, you were the truth. My world is a better place because of you." - Because of you, Céline Dion

"When I look at you, I see forgiveness, I see the truth. You love me for who I am." - When I look at you, Miley Cyrus

"Wish I could tell you I still feel the same. I want you to know that it was never in vain. And that's the last thing that you'll hear me say." - Hear me say, Jonas Blue

"Wish that I would let you break my walls, but I'm still spinning out of control from the fall." - Oh My God, Adele

"You are the sunlight that rose again in my life, a reincarnation of my childhood dreams. I don't know what these emotions are. Am I still dreaming?" - Euphoria, BTS

From Adrian's pov:

"And you can aim for my heart, go for blood, but you would still miss me in your bones." - my tears ricochet, Taylor Swift

"Even if time fades my paint, I will protect your dreamworld, I’ve never left." - Action figure, WayV

"I can save you and treat you preciously, and if you want I can ride a spaceship cross the night sky, pick the stars and place them in your hands." - Jasmine, DPR Live

"I closed my eyes to this evil. You hid your true colors until now." - Gunshot, K.A.R.D

"I could paint your beauty. That's if you just let me." - Jasmine, DPR Live

"I'd like to be a superhero and protect you against evil, gift you the Milky Way in a cereal bowl, take you to outer space and fly like Superman does." - Espacio sideral, Jesse & Joy

"I don't care how deep in the darkness you may be, I'll find my way to you, if you just wait for me." - Star maker, AmaLee

"I don't know what road you're gonna take this time, but let it be mine." - Let it be mine, Brett Young

"I draw your appearance every night without anyone knowing." - Why, Hwasa

"I guess it's still hard if the seed's sown, but do you really want to be alone?" - Over again, One Direction

"I insisted we begin at the start to turn us back into a work of art." - Oxford Blood, Autoheart

"I know you’re worried, you hide behind your walls. Oh trust me, little darlin’, you can let ‘em fall." - All the ways, The Secret Sisters feat. Ray LaMontagne

"I'll give you everything I can, I'll build your dreams with these two hands." - I swear, All-4-One

"I make art, but you're the masterpiece." - With You, SuperM

"I may be an ordinary guy with heart and soul, but if you're the one for me, then I'll be your hero." - Hero, Starstruck

"I start painting you and I don't pull it off. After slowly studying you, I end up thinking that over my palette I lack of intense colors that reflect your rare beauty." - Sólo pienso en ti, Miguel Bosé

"I want to draw you in the wide sky, name it after the stars." - ANL, NCT Dream

"I want to protect you who's sleeping next to me in this night." - Same dream, same night, same mind, Seventeen

"Like that star that stars in the night sky, tell me your mysterious story." - TokTok, GWSN

"Lips burrow so deep, give me good sleep." - You belong to me, Cat Pierce

"On the sketchbook of my brain, I draw you out every day." - Oh my!, Seventeen

"Put you in jail for something you didn't do. I pinned your hands behind your back. Thought I had reason to attack, but no." - Afterglow, Taylor Swift

"Stupid me still draws you in the air. A star called you shines in the pitch dark room." - HaPpY, Stray Kids

"We fight and you bait me. You feel so defiant. You used to save me but now I'm just frightened." - Keep dreaming, Neffex

"You don’t exist in front of me right now, I know that for sure, but I’m going to interrogate you. Your lips know the answer that I want." - Sherlock, Shinee

"You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same." - my tears ricochet, Taylor Swift

"You’re like a dream, so secretive, more than the entire universe." - Falling, Lim Kim

"You're the one I always dream of. Ev'ry line of your face is sketched so plain inside my heart." - You're the one, Carpenters

"You tried hiding another you but your evil was coming through." - Ghost, Ella Henderson

"You've got the most unbelievable blue eyes I've ever seen." - I love you always forever, Donna Lewis

[mizgnomer]

Behind the Scenes of Partners in Crime - Part  12

Excerpt from a TV Week interview with David Tennant and Catherine Tate:

The Doctor has always had an eye for the ladies. Martha worshipped him, and there was more than a slight frisson between the Time Lord and Rose. But strident Donna Noble is different...

“The thing about Donna is that she can’t really get past the fact that he’s an alien,” says Catherine Tate who plays the feisty Londoner.  “She does adore him, but she doesn’t see him through a romantic filter, so she can challenge him and not be bothered about impressing him.”

Her leading man agrees: “Our relationship has been compared to Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn. There’s a real equality between them, and the Doctor soon realizes that he can’t baffle Donna with science.”

Just as Donna has no time for technical jargon, the same is true of Tate who finds the dogged devotion of the show’s many fans rather puzzling.  “Science fiction is another language to me,” says Tate. “And growing up, I never really watched Doctor Who. I thought the Daleks were in it every week! Clearly it was never as interesting to me as Basil Brush.”

And Tennant takes great delight in his co-star’s apparent ignorance of the Whovian universe. “It’s astonishing what she doesn’t know,” laughs the 36-year-old. “Like the fact that the Doctor regenerates.”

“I just thought they recast,” admits Tate sheepishly. “I thought it was the same as Miss Ellie in Dallas.”

Link to [ part one ] of the Partners in Crime Behind-the-scenes posts, or click the #whoBtsPartners tag, or the full episode list [ here ]

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Heads Up Seven Up/Last Line Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @autumnalwalker and @buffythevampirelover! :D

I'm using this as an excuse to post the proposal scene from Houses Full of Deceit, complete with footnotes (and apologies to Shakespeare):

"Well," Leo stared up at a bird perched on the church's roof, "like I said, I like both. But I… there's a woman. Who I'm in love with. And who's out of my reach." If Phil listened very carefully she was sure she could have heard her heart break. Leo continued, "So I like Louis as a friend, but I don't love him." "Who is she?" Phil forced herself to sound almost casual. Leo had never mentioned another woman in any of his letters. But then, he'd never mentioned any men either. "An actress?" "No. No, she's… she's someone I wronged very badly years ago. I realised I loved her too late." Leo became very interested in the church's noticeboard. "I caused her a great deal of misery. I nearly got her arrested for a crime I committed, and I didn't speak up to save her." Phil listened in a mixture of bewilderment and growing hope. She tried her damnedest to keep the hope back. It would only hurt more when she was proved wrong. "Does she know about this?" Leo laughed, a nervous and almost strangled sound. "She does now." "Does she forgive you?" He looked up. Their eyes met. Phil saw her own fears and hopes reflected in his. "I don't know," he whispered. "And does she love you?" "How could she?" Leo turned almost angrily. He leant his back against the railings and glared at the undertaker's shop across the road. "She knows my worst sins now. What sane woman would love me?" Phil had scandalised some proper-minded ladies by reading the complete works of Shakespeare. She hadn't admitted why. Even to herself she had to admit it was a very good way of passing a few months, but a silly way to feel closer to the man she loved. It stood her in good stead now. "She has you, if she has you, at your worst. And she will have you, if she has you, better and better[2]." Silence stretched between them. Leo's eyebrows made a spirited attempt to disappear into his hairline. He made several attempts to speak. Phil had come this far. If she was going to make a fool of herself, she might as well do it thoroughly. "If I can love you for this, take me. If not, to say to thee I shall die is true, but not for your love. Yet I love you too[3]. And therefore tell me…" She hesitated, trying to work out whether she should adapt "most fair Katharine" as "most fair Leopold" or leave it out entirely. Leo took the decision out of her hands. "And therefore tell me, most fair," he reached out hesitantly and brushed a strand of hair back from her face, "will you have me?" His fingers skated down to her cheek, his touch so feather-light she could scarcely feel it. Phil's knowledge of Shakespeare failed her. "Yes," she said simply.

Footnotes (if you're wondering what happened to 1, it isn't included in this excerpt):

[2] Adapted from Henry V, Act V Scene 2: "...thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better…". (Henry means his physical appearance will improve with age; Phil misremembers it as referring to his morals improving.)

[3] Phil gets her speeches out of order here; "If I can love…" to "Yet I love you too" are adapted from the same scene in Henry V but are much earlier than the rest of the lines quoted. (The proper quotation is "If thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too.")

Tagging @eccaiia, @writingamongther0ses, @emelkae, @scarvenartist, and anyone else who wants to do this! :D

Adding HFOD's taglist: @lightgriffinsect, @oh-no-another-idea, @kittensartswriting, @akindofmagictoo, @cljordan-imperium (Let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

[gardengnosticator]

i remember reading the birthday party by katharine brush and having to like stand in the backyard in silence because i was so mad

[myladygrey]

starter for @katharined before banishment // katharine's quarters, hampton court

What Amelia learned of the duties for a wife and mother, was bound and caged within the beating heart of her lady mother. Though but mortal formed, the evidence of their Tudor blood still running rampant with life in every breath Katharine took, in every sharp quip her formidable mind produced, the duchess tread akin to ethereal legend within the confines of her second-born’s mind. Time had taught the newly appointed Seymour that all mighty mortals were, in fact, vulnerably human. But as a child, Amelia - her father’s inherited butter-haired curls brushing against her own tender face as she marvelled at her mother’s portrait, the beauty and prowess of pedigree and character alike - aspired to affect a room the way she did. The young lady Grey grew enamoured by her mother’s passing figure fluttering in and out of courts, desperate to please her. Apprehensive to falter, to drown from favour as the middle-daughter. To be swept up in the wake of attention from the baby, and the eldest.  Stuck on the lessons from studying her mother’s guidance throughout the yeast - wise, meticulous in aim, a seasoned huntress: stay tenacious, stay relentless, and endure. Resolved to marry strong, create her own shattering impact for the good of the family - now, though she would not take even a single step to the past to undo all the glories the Lord had gifted her with John- still felt bittersweet in nerves.

Here, in the low-ringing aftermath of family knowledge that her mother had wed Edmund Percy, another lesson arised. In the tapestry of their ancestral legacy, she could begin to count the stitches where the women defied order. Their hearts, their own determination guiding them to matrimony without the King’s blessing. Her grandmother - the king’s own sister - visited her in dreams following Amelia’s flight to the chapel, to whisper an oath of life and honour to John Seymour. Would Mary Brandon visit her mother, too? Haunt her dreams of an action now repeated within three generations, so deeply inherited within their bones, to fight for their own narrative? 

The weight of this clandestine union, and how it added to the frenzied state of House Grey, felt dizzying, from so many angles. Fear, the overbearing. There was no time for ruminating. Heels clicking in a determined march to greet her mother in the hazy twilight hour, where the sky coaxed lavender against the heavy-lined treetops of Hampton, she greeted her mother’s quarters with winter-cold hued gaze fixated on the woman she’d grown to admire. Not paying mind to the decorum of a woman, but very much the child, as she was assured they were alone, resorting to flinging her arms around Katharine’s shoulders and pulling her tight. “Why?” She whispered, tilting her temple against Katharine’s own. “Why was I not informed sooner… considering all we’ve been through, together, in the wake of my own choice? Tell me, mother, does your soul feel that this is your destiny? I cannot rest, I cannot think -  until you tell me you are happy, you are safe, you are secure.” 

Pulling back to view Katharine’s face, she cups her cheeks with her palms. “You deserve one who offers you the world within his embrace, do you not? A love true, steadfast love? How has Edmund Percy become your suitor, how has he won your heart and the honour of being your husband?” She demanded, searching Katharine’s eyes.

[beans-across-the-multiverse]

(Closed rp with @ask-the-kitty-crew)

*Katharine aka Miss K was out, running some errands, to get things that were needed at the orphanage. As she left the store with bags of groceries, she began to think about the new kid that had arrived, Ames was her name, the moment you gazed at her you could immediately tell she came from a bad home, she was covered in bruises, cuts and marks, her hair looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in it’s lifetime and she smelled like a bathroom was nonexistent at her home.*

*Miss K felt so sorry for a girl such as young as Ames, she was only 7 at this point and she’d already been through hell, it was horrible, and to make things worse, Pastel aka Miss P told her that some kids were making fun of Ames, calling her stupid and brain dead since she didn’t know the basic stuff that kids her age knew. It was horrific*

*Miss K kept walking until she spotted something in a nearby dumpster, but what was this something she found, well. Let’s find out!*

[byneddiedingo]

Spencer Tracy and Joan Crawford in Mannequin (Frank Borzage, 1937) Cast: Joan Crawford, Spencer Tracy, Alan Curtis, Ralph Morgan, Mary Philips, Oscar O'Shea, Elisabeth Risdon, Leo Gorcey. Screenplay: Lawrence Hazard, Joseph L. Mankiewicz, based on a story by Katharine Brush. Cinematography: George J. Folsey. Art direction: Cedric Gibbons. Film editing: Fredrick Y. Smith. Costume design: Adrian. Music: Edward Ward Joan Crawford in her MGM prime, tough but slinky, convincing as the factory girl trudging up the stairs to the Hester Street flat she shares with her family, but also as the chorus girl, the high-fashion model, the fur-bedecked millionaire's wife. Mannequin is a very talky melodrama, but one with a kind of reassuring confidence about what it's doing, helped along by Crawford's skill and commitment as an actress. She never does anything by rote. The screenplay is by Lawrence Hazard, but anyone who knows the work of the film's producer, Joseph L. Mankiewicz, as a screenwriter can sense the uncredited contribution of the writer-director of A Letter to Three Wives (1949) and All About Eve (1950). Not that Mannequin is up to the standard of those films, but that someone connected to all three movies knows that smart talk can bring a film to life. Frank Borzage, who had won Oscars for directing the "women's pictures" 7th Heaven (1927) and Bad Girl (1931), had just the right touch for this movie. It somehow manages to overcome a lack of chemistry between its leads, Crawford and Spencer Tracy, who didn't hit it off -- she later accused him of stepping on her feet when they were dancing together and of chewing garlic before their love scenes, in addition to his typical "bad drunk" behavior -- and never worked together again. There is, however, a good performance by Alan Curtis as her sleazy first husband, a would-be fight promoter who comes up with the scheme that she should divorce him to marry Tracy's millionaire shipping magnate, then soak him of his millions. And Oscar O'Shea as her ne'er-do-well father, Elisabeth Risdon as her doormat mother, and a terrific Leo Gorcey as her wise-ass brother all make it clear that Crawford's character has no way to go but up.