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david-talks-sw · 9 months ago

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Debunking myths in the GFFA: Luke Skywalker isn't the One True Jedi™ and doesn't "reject the Jedi teachings."

The myth:

Luke's Jedi mentors - trained to be dispassionate and mission-driven - callously tell him to let his friends die in service of a greater cause.

"In The Empire Strikes Back, Luke becomes Yoda's Padawan, and there are echoes of Anakin's training and the dilemmas he faced. Like Anakin, Luke is told he is too old to begin the training. Like Anakin, he has a vision of his loved ones suffering in captivity, and receives cold advice from Yoda, who tells him to sacrifice Han and Leia if he honors what they fight for." - Jason Fry, “Family Tradition; Rejecting the Jedi Teachings” Star Wars Insider #130, 2012

The intended narrative:

The Jedi are actually right on all points. Luke isn't ready or fully trained and he's arrogantly letting his emotions rule him and rushing into danger. By ignoring them, Luke gets himself into a spot of trouble that actually jeopardizes the lives of the very friends he tried to help, as they now need to rescue him.

“It’s pivotal that Luke doesn’t have patience. He doesn’t want to finish his training. He’s being succumbed by his emotional feelings for his friends rather than the practical feelings of “I’ve got to get this job done before I can actually save them. I can’t save them, really.” But he sort of takes the easy route, the arrogant route, the emotional but least practical route, which is to say, “I’m just going to go off and do this without thinking too much.” And the result is that he fails and doesn’t do well for Han Solo or himself.”

“Luke is making a critical mistake in his life of going after- to try to save his friends when he’s not ready. There’s a lot being taught here about patience and about waiting for the right moment to do whatever you’re going to do.”

“Luke is in the process of going into an extremely dangerous situation out of his compassion— Without the proper training, without the proper thought, without the proper foresight to figure out how he’s gonna get out of it. His impulses are right, but his methodology is wrong.”

The myth:

The Jedi want Luke to repress his feelings and kill his father, to destroy the Sith, their religious enemies. As emotionally-detached Jedi, it is inconceivable that a Sith would come back from the Dark Side, and thus wrongly believe that the only solution is to kill Vader.

"It's easy to miss that Luke disagrees sharply with his Jedi teachers about what to do. Obi-Wan and Yoda have trained Luke and push him toward a second confrontation with Vader. He is, they believe, the Jedi weapon that will destroy both Vader and the Emperor. When Luke insists there is still good in Vader, Obi-Wan retorts that "he's more machine than man-twisted and evil." When Luke says he can't kill his own father, Obi-Wan despairs, "Then the Emperor has already won." But Obi-Wan could not be more wrong. It is precisely because Luke can't kill his own father that he defeats the Sith." - Jason Fry, Star Wars Insider #130, 2012

The intended narrative:

The Jedi never tell Luke to "kill" his father. That's just a fact.

They tell him to "confront" and "face" him.

Their bottom line is that Vader and the Emperor need to be stopped.

If Luke can manage to do so without killing his father, that's great.

"In Jedi the film is really about the redemption of this fallen angel. Ben is the fitting good angel, and Vader is the bad angel who started off good. All these years Ben has been waiting for Luke to come of age so that he can become a Jedi and redeem his father. That's what Ben has been doing, but you don't know this in the first film." - Star Wars: The Annotated Screenplays, 1998

(credit to @writerbuddha for finding the above quote)

The problem is: Darth Vader has a track record of murdering loved ones who refuse to kill him. Be it his wife...

... his father/brother...

... and if you're going by Canon, his little sister.

As such, there's a very strong chance that Vader might do the same to his son as well.

“A Jedi can’t kill for the sake of killing. The mission isn’t for Luke to go out and kill his father and get rid of him. The issue is, if he confronts his father again, he may, in defending himself, have to kill him, because his father will try to kill him.” - 1981 story conference, from The Making of Return of the Jedi

Now, as the last Jedi left, the fate of the galaxy rests entirely on Luke's shoulders.

If he dies, then the galaxy and its billions of inhabitants are doomed to live in a tyrannical dictatorship forever.

“He knows a confrontation is brewing between Luke and his father. Ben hopes Luke will either save his father or kill him, because whatever extra powers Luke's got in his lineage, he is the one person that can probably fight his father and win.” - The Star Wars Archives: 1977-1983, 2018

There's a time for talking things through... and a time to do your duty. Above all else, a Jedi's duty is to end conflict.

Obi-Wan was once tasked with this same duty.

And while he managed to weaken Vader considerably (thus avoiding the catastrophe of a full-powered Vader being unleashed onto the galaxy)... because of his attachment, he failed to kill Vader.

Twice, if you include the Kenobi show.

(A show which, per Pablo Hidalgo, is one of George Lucas' favorite recent Star Wars projects, a tidbit that doesn't surprise me one bit considering how much the series perfectly aligns with what Lucas said about Star Wars (see here, here and here))

Point being: because Ben failed his duty, the galaxy suffered for it.

Luke is now in danger of doing the same.

If he's unable to end the conflict in a peaceful way, then Luke needs to be ready to do so in a more permanent manner. Because while Luke has qualms about killing his father, there's a very big chance that the feeling won't be mutual.

So Luke isn't rejecting his teachers' orders to kill Vader. He's saying he's unable to confront Vader altogether, because he'll be half-assing the task. In the (very likely) worst case scenario where reasoning with Vader fails, Luke is concerned he won't be able to follow-through and do what he must.

Further, there's also a worse outcome to Luke dying: Luke joining the Dark Side and becoming yet another asset of the Emperor, more dangerous than Vader himself.

It's thus essential that Luke steel himself and mask his emotions, because the Emperor is a master manipulator who'll likely attempt to corrupt Luke via the strong emotions he has for his friends.

Obi-Wan is not telling Luke to repress his emotions. On the contrary, he acknowledges that these feelings do Luke credit. But the fact remains that when your opponent can jiu-jitsu those feelings against you and your friends, you need to keep a poker face.

And judging by how close the Sith Lords come to seducing Luke to the Dark Side...

... that advice is completely on point.

The myth:

"It isn't Jedi teachings that save the galaxy, but bonds the Jedi tried to forbid - such as the love of a father for his son, and a son for his father. Emotional attachments, in other words." - Jason Fry, Star Wars Insider #130, 2012

The intended narrative:

In Return of the Jedi, Luke isn't doing anything different than what other Jedi have done.

He does his best to avoid lethal force unless he deems that it is necessary (see his fight against Jabba's hostile forces).

He sacrifices himself for the greater good and let himself be captured, in order to allow the mission to be carried out.

He tries to reason with his enemy, hoping to avoid conflict.

He spares his enemy, showing mercy.

That's all standard Jedi stuff. We've seen other Jedi do all those things, both in the films and The Clone Wars.

If that isn't enough, just look at how Lucas describes what Jedi normally do (left), versus what Luke does in Return of the Jedi (right):

See what I mean? There’s pretty much no difference.

In Lucas' narrative, Luke isn’t “better than” or “rejecting the teachings” of the Jedi who came before him. He’s following the Jedi path. And he's really good at doing so.

Because this idea that Luke "rejects the teachings" makes no sense! They're Lucas' teachings. He agrees with the Jedi, they're the mouthpieces he uses to deliver the audience his own values.

Lucas having his main character do something he'd ideologically disagree with is something that doesn't make sense.

And part of this confusion comes from a misunderstanding of the word "attachment", in Star Wars.

It doesn't mean "emotional attachments" or "feelings" or "affection." It comes from the Buddhist principle of non-attachment.

It's not about depriving yourself of relationships or affection, it's about accepting that everything comes and goes and letting go of those very things you hold on to, when the time comes.

Lucas makes a distinction in his discourse between attachment and compassion.

"The whole idea of the movie, ultimately is that you have the Light Side and the Dark Side. The Light Side is compassion, which means you care about other people. The Dark Side is you care only about yourself. And you are obsessed with yourself. Getting your pleasure and getting all your stuff. The other one, you give it to everybody. You give goodness and health to everybody else. So the issue of love... there’s a line between loving somebody compassionately and caring about them and helping them. But the other line is not to be greedy or... once you are greedy then you get fearful. You don’t want to lose what it is you have that you are getting. So you have to learn to give up everything. And ultimately for a Jedi Knight, it’s very easy to give up." - Celebration V, Main Event, 2010

In-universe, this is something Anakin knew the theory of, but never really applied all that much.

Luke on the other hand, was able to learn the lesson and apply it.

Speaking in Lucas lingo, it's not Luke's attachment that makes him spare Vader. It's his compassion. And in turn, that compassion inspires Vader to do the same.

"It really has to do with learning. Children teach you compassion. They teach you to love unconditionally. Anakin can’t be redeemed for all the pain and suffering he’s caused. He doesn’t right the wrongs, but he stops the horror. The end of the Saga is simply Anakin saying, ‘I care about this person, regardless of what it means to me. I will throw away everything that I have, everything that I have grown to love - primarily the Emperor - and throw away my life, to save this person. And I’m doing this because he has faith in me, loves me despite all the horrible things I’ve done. I broke his mother’s heart, but he still cares about me, and I can’t let that die.’" - The Making of Revenge of The Sith; page 221

Or, to put things more simply:

Attachment (selfish love), is what makes Anakin do this:

Compassion (selfless love), is what makes Luke do this:

Now, could Lucas have made his narrative more explicit, to avoid confusion? Maybe.

But I think it's also fair to point the finger at the biggest cause of these muddied waters:

Simply put, the Expanded Universe (the Star Wars books, novels and games that spun out of the films) established new lore elements that didn't necessarily align with Lucas' vision of things. Namely:

Jedi can get married, and Luke marries Mara Jade.

Jedi can begin their training as adults, and Luke takes on many apprentices that are already adults.

When considering George's minimal involvement in the development of EU stories, it's easy to see why these plot points were allowed to come through.

But when he made the Prequels, his headcanons came to light and the above plot points needed to be retconned.

George Lucas' narrative:

"Nope. You can't be a Jedi and be married."

This isn't actually coming out of left field.

When Timothy Zahn asked for Luke and Mara to be married or engaged, back in 1993, Lucasfilm initially vetoed the idea.

And over the years, Lucas and other Lucasfilm employees have made it it clear that "Luke getting married" did not align with his vision (so much so that it's a plot point in Attack of the Clones).

So the question becomes: why can't Jedi get married?

It's about commitment.

Simply put: you can't have two marriages. Eventually, your commitment to one of them will falter and you'll ruin them both. A Jedi is already married to the cause and to the Order.

If they want to get married, they have to leave the Jedi.

"One of the things [the Jedi] give up is marriage. They can still love people. But they can’t possess them. They can’t own them. They can’t demand that they do things. They have to be able to accept the fact, one, their mortality, that they are going to die. And not worry about it. That the loved ones they have, everything they love is going to die and they can’t do anything about it. I mean they can protect them as you would ordinarily protect, you know, ‘Get out of the way of that car.’ Somebody charges you with a gun, you knock the gun out, but there is an inevitability to life which is death and you have to accept that." - Celebration V, Main Event, 2010

And this is another example, really, of how Lucas' own values and past experiences shape the Jedi's teachings.

Marcia Lucas divorced George because he was constantly working on Star Wars, even when he wasn't directing it, which she said led to an emotional blockage in their marriage...

... and this leads us to the reason why George didn't double-down on the success of the Original Trilogy: he decided to take time off to raise his three kids as a single Dad.

He learned his lesson, reasoned that he wouldn't be able to be both a good, present father and a successful blockbuster film director.

When you're dealing with time-consuming commitments of this scale, you need to make a choice, or you'll end up (half-assing and thus ruining) both of them.

"Nope. Jedi get taken in as babies for a reason."

Once again, this has to do with Lucas' definition of "attachment."

"Jedi Knights get taken from their families very young. They do not grow attachments, because attachment is a path to the Dark Side. You can love people, but you can't want to possess them. They're not yours. Accept that they have a fate. Even those you love most are going to die. You can't do anything about that. Protect them with your lightsaber, but if they die they were going to die. There's nothing you can do. All you can do is accept that fact. In mythology, if you go to Hades to get them back, you're not doing it for them, you're doing it for yourself. You're doing it because you don't want to give them up. You're afraid to be without them. The key to the Dark Side is fear. You must be clean of fear, and fear of loss is the greatest fear. If you're set up for fear of loss, you will do anything to keep that loss from happening, and you're going to end up in the Dark Side. That's the basic premise of Star Wars and the Jedi, and how it works. That's why they're taken at a young age to be trained. They cannot get themselves killed trying to save their best buddy when it's a hopeless exercise." - The Star Wars Archives: 1977-1983, 2018

Jedi need to maintain objectivity and neutrality, in their day-to-day lives of mediating peace between planets.

And learning to "let go of your attachments when the time comes" is part of that training. But it is something that takes discipline and time, and thus the child needs to be young enough to develop this skill. Otherwise, they end up like Anakin, who always struggled to properly learn it and eventually was doomed by his greed.

This being part of Lucas narrative is also evidenced that in his earlier plans for the Sequel trilogy, he'd have Luke train children, not adults like he does in the EU.

"Luke is trying to restart the Jedi. He puts the word out, so out of 100,000 Jedi, maybe 50 or 100 are left. The Jedi have to grow again from scratch, so Luke has to find two- and three-year-olds, and train them. It’ll be 20 years before you have a new generation of Jedi." The Star Wars Archives: 1999-2005, 2020

The EU's retcons of Lucas' narrative:

Now, obviously, the addition of all these rules and other elements such as midi-chlorians... it does something to the older audience. They grew up on the Original Trilogy, dreaming they could be a Jedi too if they just believed enough. Now that bubble is burst.

"Wait, if I'm a Jedi I can't get married?! And I need to be taken in as a toddler, with a certain kind of blood score?! That's bullshit!"

More importantly... it goes against about a decade's worth of established EU lore (which Lucas never factored into his storytelling)!

So what does Lucasfilm Licensing do? They go with it.

They take these "weird" rules the older audience and authors don't like, and retcon a new narrative around them to ensure both the books and the new films all stay canon within the EU own continuity.

George Lucas revealed new information about his universe in Episode II that ran counter to earlier stories of the Expanded Universe. Among the surprises: the Jedi Order is monastic, with love and marriage forbidden to its members. This would necessitate reforms to the Jedi Code over time to separate the ancient era when Nomi Sunrider was married to a Jedi, seen in the Tales of the Jedi (1993–94) comics, as well as the post-Empire era when Luke Skywalker married Mara Jade in the comic series Union (1999–2000). LucasBooks also needed to create plausible exceptions for Ki-Adi-Mundi, a Jedi Master who had multiple wives in the Prelude to Rebellion comics (1999). - Pablo Hidalgo, The Essential Reader’s Companion, 2012

When it comes to Luke specifically, the narrative becomes:

"Uh... y-yes. The old Jedi Order forbid marriage, only took in toddlers and had a blood pre-requisite... which was weird, wrong, too detached, too systemic, and part of why their Order failed! But, uh, Luke's New Jedi Order allows marriage, unlike his dogmatic predecessors, because anyone can be a Jedi guys!" Hahaha! (fuck's sake George)

But as already explained above: those new rules aren't meant to be perceived negatively. It would make no sense if they were, they're based on Lucas' own values.

You know what it does do, though?

It cements the narrative that Luke is the One True Jedi™, who rejected the dogmatic teachings to forge a new path forward.

That's not the intended narrative of the Original Trilogy, nor the six-film saga as a whole.

If you've made it this far in the post (congratulations) and are interested to read another all-encompassing post about that, you can check out the link below :)

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aippals · 4 months ago

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Industrial Automation and Control

A manufacturing plant's integration of diverse devices, machinery, and equipment forms the basis of industrial automation control systems. However, as previously indicated, they might go one step further and integrate the manufacturing floor system with the rest of the business.

#Energy and Power Automation Solutions #Special Purpose Machine Automation | AI-based vision sensors #Warehouse Automation Solutions #Material Handling Processes #Partner in Factory Automation #Electrical & software solutions #Process Automation Partner

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star-wrote · 9 months ago

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Pretty Little Distraction

ao3 link

Characters: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader | Early Seasons

Summary: After boring yourself while researching lore, you decide Sam needs a well-deserved break.

Warnings: SMUT, reader wears a slip dress and thigh highs, cussing, oral (fem! receiving), dirty talk (but it’s nice bc Sammy), P in V, slight breeding k!nk, dean interrupts, allusions to aftercare, established relationship

A/N: okay so sam winchester LOVES thigh highs. if you have any sam winchester requests, ideas, or even thoughts feel free to send them in! i’m completely obsessed with him at the moment! <3

Word Count: 2079

18+

(lace divider from @strangergraphics )

Researching lore was fun at first; cracking open the books and the laptops, diving headfirst into the realm of mythology and folklore, and even the crappy vending machine snack breaks. However, after three hours of nonstop eyestrain, it became downright boring.

“Saaaam,” you whined as you shut your laptop harder than you should’ve, “I need to do something else, I’m going insane.”

Sam didn’t look up from his laptop, used to your usual begging for a break. He knows that you have a different stamina than he does when it comes to research. He’s been doing it his whole life, not to mention the hours of studying in college.

You let out an exaggerated sigh at his lack of attention, which earned you an annoyed glance from your boyfriend sitting across the rickety motel table. When his gaze returned to the apparently very important information on his laptop, you abruptly stood up, cracked your back, and flopped face down onto the bed you shared with Sam.

Remembering two hours ago, when Dean clocked out of research after only an hour, you thought about how unfair it was that he got to go out and have fun at the local bar while you and Sam were stuck doing more research in the motel room. You and Sam deserved to have fun too! Especially Sam, who has been more stressed on this case than usual due to the high amount of deaths. If you haven’t found a solution yet, you probably weren’t going to find one tonight.

You lifted your head from the cheap comforter as an idea popped into your head. Quickly, you grabbed your bag and headed for the bathroom without even a glance from Sam.

After five minutes of putting your outfit on, you looked in the mirror. Your body was hugged with a short, cream colored slip dress. A knitted pair of thigh highs with lace trim adorned your legs. It wasn’t over the top lingerie, but that’s exactly why Sam found it sexy.

A shiver ran through you as you recalled the last time you wore thigh highs in bed with Sam. You were about to take them off with the rest of your clothes, but he had caught your hand and begged you to keep them on. He spent an eternity between your thighs that night, the lace trim tickling his skin in the most perfect way.

You took a deep breath and exited the bathroom, leaving your insecurities behind you. Sam was right where you left him, sitting in the wooden chair that was way past its expiration date. Except this time, his eyes immediately find you standing in the doorway like it was some kind of picture frame.

His lips part as he trails his vision down your body, stopping on your thighs and the lace that appears at the top of your knee. You smile as you slowly walk over to him and stand between his legs that automatically widen for you.

“I must’ve fallen asleep,” he says as he leans into your palm that cups his cheek, “I’m dreaming.”

You giggle as you pinch his cheek and whisper, “Nope, wide awake.”

He smiles in response and runs his hands down your waist to your hips.

“Then maybe I died and went to heaven since I’m seeing an angel.”

Rolling your eyes, you pull him in for a kiss. He breathes out through his nose as he cups the back of your head. You pull back from his lips and kiss his nose.

“You needed a break, I had to pull you away.”

He looks back to his laptop for a second, hesitating only slightly before closing it.

“How could I resist such a pretty little distraction?”

You gasp in fake shock. “You really think I’m pretty?”

His lips quirk up. “The prettiest… now come here.”

He pulls you closer by your waist, and lifts you like a feather for you to straddle his lap. His lips are back on yours in an instant, but not for long as he trails his kisses down to your jaw and to your neck, brushing back your hair for easier access. He gently sucks on your pulse point. Not enough to leave a mark, (though he desperately wants to) but enough to make you let out a small moan at the feeling.

Sam chuckles into your neck at your reaction and starts to rock your hips into the bulge slowly growing in his jeans. You bite into his shoulder and pull on the waves of his hair near his neck. He comes up from your neck and lets out a low groan as he rocks you harder against him.

Suddenly, you hear the chair below you start to squeak in rhythm with your grinding. Before you stop, Sam whispers in your ear, “Ignore it.”

You keep moving your hips, but the squeaking grows louder and the chair starts to sway with each thrust.

“Sam,” you giggle out, “I think we’re going to break this goddamn chair.”

Sam stops moving your hips and lets out another groan, this time an annoyed one. He chuckles as he rests his forehead against your shoulder.

“Fine,” he says as he stands up from the chair with you clutching onto him. “To the bed then.”

He walks the two steps it takes for his long legs to reach the foot of the bed, kisses the top of your head, and then tosses you onto the mattress.

You land with a loud laugh but quickly direct your attention back to Sam, who was taking his shirt off at the end of the bed. He smirks as he sees you bite your lower lip at the sight of his bare upper body. His eyes run down your body, stopping on your thigh highs once again while he unbuckles his belt.

You bend your knees and allow your legs to fall apart, revealing a sight of no panties under your slip dress to Sam. His breathing grows heavier as he zeros in on the new surprise that you just exposed to him.

Once his pants and boxers have joined his shirt on the floor, he kisses your ankle. Then your shin. The little scar on your knee. Multiple kisses up your inner thigh.

He fully lays down on the bed and peels your slip dress up your hips, leaving the small amount of fabric bunched around your waist. He lifts your covered thighs over his broad shoulders; a position all too familiar.

He blows out a cold current of air onto your glistening pussy and you welcome a shudder of anticipation to flow through your body. Hazel eyes that looked more brown in this moment than gold, green, or blue met your own eyes. Those same puppy dog eyes watch you as he licks a stripe up your slit. His eyes close as he tastes you for the first time tonight. It had been too long.

Sam immediately gets to work on eating you out. His hands fiddle with the lace trim of your thigh highs while his tongue laps up the wetness that you produce for him. His eyes stay closed, brows furrowed, and his hips start gently thrusting into the mattress below him, causing you to moan out at the scene unfolding in front of you. All because of you.

Because of you, Sam is almost drowning in between your legs. And because of him, you’re gushing.

Your climax arrives too quickly. It always does with Sam. The feeling of pure sin washes over you as you gasp out Sam’s name with a collection of “thank you’s.” He only stops after your legs relax around his head. He leaves a kiss on your puffy clit and quickly moves up your body to kiss your lips.

“I need to feel you, angel,” Sam breathes out between rushed kisses.

You nod as you whisper out, “Please?”

He smiles against your lips. “So polite.”

You can feel him reach a hand down to his cock, stroking it once before pressing into you.

Sam was always gentle during this moment. He has to know that he’s big. He slowly gives you inch by inch, instructing you to breathe when he gets down to the last few. He lets out a groan as he buries himself fully to the hilt.

He pauses to let you get used to him as he kisses all around your face, ever the sweetheart.

“Don’t think I tell you enough how much I like these.” Sam snaps the lace of the thigh highs against your skin, leaving a pleasant burn.

“I kinda figured it out last time.” You clench around his length at the thought. “You were so hot, Sam. You always are.”

He laughs breathlessly. “You’re getting riled up, baby.”

He slowly pulls his length out, and even more slowly pushes it back in.

“Sam…fuck.” You let out the loudest moan of the night.

“There she is.” He grunts as his thrusts get more forceful.

You wrap your arms around his neck and moan into his ear, begging him to give you more. And of course he does, because it’s Sam. He gives you anything you ask for.

“Fuck, angel. I’m so deep.” Sam brings his hand down to press on your lower stomach, making you moan. “You feel that, baby?”

You could almost cry at the feeling of him so deep inside of you. You wish he would stay inside of you forever. You wish that you could become one.

The hand that was pressing on your belly goes lower and starts circling your sensitive clit. Your hands grab handfuls of the bedsheets under you as Sam gives you more and more pleasure with every passing second.

Sam’s other hand pulls down the loose strap of your slip dress and kisses the newly exposed skin of your collarbone area. He pulls the dress down even further to free your nipple, which he swiftly licked and then took into his mouth.

You brought a hand to his head and pulled back on his hair, directing his mouth to yours for a sloppy kiss. The pace of his thrusts quickened, causing the bed to squeak on its four wooden legs and hit the wall every so often. The sound didn’t even register to either of you who were so lost in each other.

“M’ close, baby,” Sam grunts out, his accent growing thicker. “M’ gonna cum deep inside of you, honey.”

You moaned at his words. “Please, Sammy. Need you to fill me up.”

Those words caused Sam to bury himself deep inside of you, let out the lowest groans, and release in your tight walls.

The feeling of his hot cum shooting into you triggered your second and final orgasm of the night. This time, you press your lips to Sam’s again; more panting into each other’s mouths than a kiss.

Sam falls into your arms, and you welcome the weight of the giant man on top of you. You comb your fingers through his hair as his thumb traces circles into your hips. You both soak in the feeling of complete love for each other.

Suddenly, the door opens as a drunk Dean walks in with his hand over his eyes. “Jeez you guys, I’ve been waiting for ten minutes. Could hear you from down the hall.”

You burst out laughing as Sam yells at Dean to get out.

Dean turns around and pulls the door shut as he yells over his shoulder, “Get dressed so I can sleep, you freaks!”

You giggle at the bitch face that Sam couldn’t hide. Your thumbs automatically gravitate to his face to smooth out the grumpy lines between his eyebrows.

“Every time!” You say, referring to Dean interrupting your post-sex cuddles.

Sam smiles. “Maybe we should put a sock on the door next time.”

You giggle and give an alternative solution, “Or, a sign that says if the bed’s rockin’ don’t come knockin’ jerk.”

Sam smiles and gets up from you, putting his hand out for you to grab. “Come on, let’s get dressed.”

“Sam, I don’t think I can walk.” You take his hand anyway, just to hold it.

He wastes no time in picking you up bridal style and carrying you to the bathroom where your bag still sat. “I’ll take care of you.”

You were sure he could see the cartoon heart eyes that you made for him.

“You always do.”

#sam winchester #sam winchester smut #smut #supernatural #spn #supernatural smut #spn smut #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester supernatural #sam winchester spn #sam winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction

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lassieposting · 1 year ago

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Concept:

You are Bhaal, god of murder, and someone is praying to you.

And that's not necessarily unusual. Lots of people pray to you, usually for the untimely death of a rival, an ex-spouse, an overseer. The prayer itself is a small and broken thing, bloody and raw, whispered by a man whose vision is dulled by agony and the dark spectre of approaching death. The pathetic not-quite-survivor of some rather brutal torture, wishing murder upon his captor. You take a moment to enjoy the fear, the pain, the suffering - and then you tune him out. There are millions like him, and your favour is for those willing to do their killing themselves. Besides, that wretch will be nothing but a corpse all too soon.

Except...he doesn't die. You never feel that timid little spark of existence stutter and go out. Far beyond the breaking point of a mortal body, this one lingers on, clinging to being with fingers all but stripped back to bare bone.

It's intriguing enough to warrant a second look and - interesting. The prayer comes from a vampire, a pretty little corpse becoming an even prettier corpse under the skilled hand of a cruel master.

It is not in your nature to intervene. You favour the strong, not the weak. The master, not the slave. Your first instinct is to leave the wretched little thing to his fate.

But the thing is. Your child - your favourite child, shaped from your own flesh, coldest and most brutal of your progeny - has gone and got a boyfriend.

And you don't like him.

You don't like the effect he's having on your chosen, the way they're becoming distracted, attached, less devoted to their true purpose. And right now, your nature takes a back seat to your desire to get rid of that smug, arrogant little Baanite whelp, Enver Gortash. Your granddaughter's spiteful machinations have given you an opening, but you know they're bound to run into one another eventually, and it will all start over.

The vampire is beautiful. Well-trained. Accustomed to brutality. Already purged of sympathy and compassion, eaten up inside by hatred and bitterness and harm. And immortal; able to survive the worst of your son's inclinations. At this point, he'll do.

So you redirect a nautiloid. It's not that you're showing the creature any favour - it's just pragmatism, really. He is simply a tiny piece of a very large puzzle.

And then you watch.

You watch the vampire take the spectacular murder of a young bard in stride.

You watch him identify your memory-addled, sanity-challenged offspring as the most dangerous one in their sad little group of unwashed tragedies - the strongest protector, the solution to his fear of being discarded or returned to his master.

You watch him expertly lure your progeny into a pit trap of sex and lies and manipulation, dressed up with honeyed words and an exaggerated performance of desire.

Your child comes face to face with Enver Gortash and remembers nothing - feels nothing. They only have eyes for Astarion, and you are filled with satisfaction. The vampire is pathetic and fearful now, but already he plans to take over his master's ritual, and then he will be perfectly placed to feed your child's very worst impulses, to bring out the sharpest edge of the darkness inside.

You watch the vampire say, "I want us to be real."

You watch your child happily become a glorified comfort blanket, your masterwork living weapon reduced to little more than a prey animal, a do-gooder, a sacrifice.

Watch them vow, "I will be the person you see in me."

Watch them talk the blasted creature out of going through with the ritual at all.

Watch them start fighting their own nature for the pantomime love of someone else's broken toy.

Watch them turn on you.

And you decide, with the benefit of hindsight, that Enver Gortash was not that bad, actually.

#bg3 #durge #astarion ancunin #durgestarion #bhaal #i just think it would be really funny if bhaal played himself trying to get rid of gortash by setting durge up with astarion #and completely underestimating the power of falling deeply in love and astarion's sad wet cat eyes

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intsofttech · 10 months ago

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Intsoft Tech machine vision inspection solution-deep learning for vision systems

#integrated machine vision solutions for the smart factory #automated visual inspection #robot pick & place #vision manufacturing #manufacturing consulting firms #surface inspection #factory acceptance test

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moody-alcoholic · 7 months ago

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These Violent Delights

Chapter 10 - Smoke and Mirrors

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 7.4k words. People are hiding some very big secrets... if that's not obvious already...

CW: MDNI +18 explicit content a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (scenting, heats), vomit, throwing up, Non-consensual drugging, mentions of past abuse, smut, masturbation, brief mentions of blood, angst, assault.

AN: Can you tell I'm bad at summaries?

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You’re in the lab. It’s early again. It’s getting exhausting. Today you were here even earlier than normal though. It’s about to be the weekend which means staff come in earlier to make sure they’ve got everything done before they go home. Dr. Miller seems tired too. He has late nights in the lab and early mornings with you. You’re pretty sure he’s looking forward to a break too.

“Here,” he says, sitting down in front of you with a plastic cup of what looks like water. The hairs stand up on the back of your neck.

“What is it?” you ask, swallowing the lump in your throat away.

“It’s going to stop your body from producing your omega scent. Or at least that's the idea,” he says, shrugging and writing something down on his clipboard. He watches out the corner of his eye as you drink the solution. It doesn’t taste of anything.

“So what now?” you ask.

“Nothing. We’ll come back in the evening. I'll take some blood, and we’ll see if it worked or not.” You nod standing up off the stool. You’re overwhelmed with dizziness. Your hand goes to the back of your neck. Why does this feel so familiar, it’s like déjà-vu.

“It’s okay.” Dr. Miller's hands rest on your shoulders. “It’s easier this way. You won’t remember anything.” You try to turn but you can’t. Black spots appear in your vision as your body slumps against him. You feel sick as he guides your body to the floor. Then everything goes black.

You wake in pain, stiff and cold as you look around the room. You’re in the medical room again. You hop off the bed and pain travels up your side. You pull your shirt up to see if there is anything there. Nothing. You walk to the door, your head spinning. You make it to the steps, still aching.

What happened?

Maybe you passed out again. You’ve been feeling weird lately, tired and strangely weak. It’s been days since your heat ended, you should be feeling fine. More than fine.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Dr. Miller makes you jump as you make it to the bottom of the stairs. You turn to him not knowing quite what to say.

“I’m worried about you not eating properly. This is the second time I've tried to take blood and you’ve passed out,” he says. He looks worried. “Maybe I should talk to Dr. Piper about getting some tests done.”

“No,” you say quickly, holding your hands up. “She already has so much to worry about, I'm fine. I just haven’t been sleeping well and I should eat more.”

“Okay,” he sighs, but you can tell he’s not happy about it, shaking his head as he sits back down on a stool. You rub the back of your head as you walk to the door. You’re being a bad omega. You need to take better care of yourself.

You don’t need Dr. Piper to worry. She needs to focus on the cure. You walk into the cold morning air. It’s so cold that you can see your own breath. You’ve never seen that before. It makes you smile as you pull your arms around you, crossing the green.

The sun has just come up in the sky bursting through the clouds in shades of pink and orange. You take a second to enjoy it before walking into the barracks.

“Been for a walk?” Simon asks. He’s in the kitchen by the kettle again. You smile and nod at him.

“You shouldn’t be going out so early, especially now that it’s getting colder. You’ll catch a cold,” Dr. Piper says, still in her PJ’s, almost bullying Simon out the way so she can reach the coffee machine. You nod, walking in and closing the door behind you.

“Cup of tea?” Simon asks. You look up at him shocked that he's asking you. You don’t think he’s ever asked you before. You open your mouth to say yes then you’re hit with a wave of nausea. Your hand flies to your stomach and you swallow the saliva filling your mouth.

“Are you okay?” Dr. Piper frowns at you. You go to nod but panic rises in you and before you know it you’re sprinting into the bathroom. The first toilet you see you throw yourself over heaving into the bowl. You hear Dr. Piper come in behind you, her scent strong in the air as she grabs your hair pulling it out your face. Your head is throbbing as you continue to vomit until there is nothing left but bile. Dr. Piper rubs your back as quiet sobs leave your throat.

“You’re okay, deep breaths,” she says. You wait until you’re sure you’re not going to be sick anymore and then sit down, sweat dripping down your face. You see Simon in the doorway, and you feel heat running to your cheeks. Dr. Piper turns to take a glass of water from his hands.

“Want me to get Price?” he asks.

“No,” she says before you even have time to shake your head or reply. She passes you the glass of water and you use it to swill your mouth out.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead.

“Fine,” you say, the adrenaline fading from your system making you feel tired. Dr. Piper hums.

“What did you have to eat yesterday?” she asks. You try to think. There was the pudding that you didn’t like, but Johnny ate like 3 of them and he’s fine. You hope.

“I can’t remember,” you say. She sighs standing up and offering you her hand. You take it standing up. Your head is still spinning. When you walk out to the common room you can see Johnny is up now sat at the table with Simon. You smile at him as Dr. Piper leads you to your room. She helps you change and get into bed. You want to tell her you’re fine, you’re capable of doing this yourself but you have a feeling she wouldn’t have it.

You let her do what she needs to do, leaving the room quickly while you’re getting comfortable in bed, she comes back with a glass of water.

“I promise if there is anything bothering you, or anything going on you can tell me. Or tell John, tell your alpha.” She’s looking at you like she’s pleading with you. You don’t know what to say. Should you tell her about passing out after you had blood taken? Maybe you’re sick and that’s what's happening.

You look at her worried face. You don’t need to give her more to worry about.

“I know, I’m okay though. I think I must have eaten something,” you say. She sighs. You can tell she doesn’t quite believe you, but she doesn’t push you any further, just turning to leave the room.

“Get some rest. I’ll come and check on you later,” she says, closing the door behind her. You take a deep breath in closing your eyes. You just hope you’re right and it is something you ate.

You’re in the lab. You’ve been dreaming about the lab a lot recently. You’re with Dr. Miller again, and he’s making you smell q-tips.

“What about this one?” he asks, shoving a q-tip under your nose. It doesn’t smell of anything, only when you look down it’s not a q-tip any more. It’s a cloth, the next thing you know the cloth is being pushed into your nose and mouth. He wraps his arm around your face and everything goes black.

You wake strapped to the exam bed in the medical room. You see Dr. Miller with a scalpel in his hand just like before. The room is dark, and he’s wearing a surgical mask. You look down and you’re shirtless, you feel embarrassed being so exposed. There’s pen markings on your body. You start to panic as Dr. Miller moves to the side of you. You fight the restraints but it just feels like they get tighter making your hands and feet go numb.

“It’s okay, it’s easier this way,” he says. His voice sounds harsh in your ears. You can see him smiling under the mask. He brings the scalpel down as you try to wriggle away. Pain shoots up your side, a burn worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. You scream and thrash. Dr. Miller brings the scalpel to your face. It’s dripping in blood, your blood. You feel sick.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” he spits through gritted teeth, his alpha strong in the air. You can only follow his instructions; you're in too much pain, too tired to fight. Before you know it black spots appear in your vision. Your last thought is about how much you let John down. Then everything goes black.

Dr. Piper's mind is preoccupied as she reads through the email she has written up. She’s supposed to be sending it to Professor Hale, breakdowns of everything she’s been working on and the results. It’s the first contact she’s had with him since she left the base.

She wants to lie. She so badly wants to fake everything, but she wasn’t in the mood for the consequences. Her mouse is hovering over the send button at the top of the email. She just can’t bring herself to do it.

She has too much to worry about, the cure, her lab being bugged, and now there is something going on with the omega.

“Working late?” Simon’s voice reverberates in the silence making Dr. Piper jump up in her seat, a yelp leaving her throat.

“Christ Simon. What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice coming across more hostile than she means it too. He walks into her office, closing the door behind him. He leans against the wall crossing his arms.

“How is she?” he asks. She knows he’s talking about you.

“She’s fine. It could just be stress, it could be a lot of things. Kyle and Johnny have been keeping her busy,” she says, running her hand through her hair.

“Are you worried?” he asks.

“About what?”

“The omega. The bugs,” he says, shrugging. She looks at him shocked. He knows about the bugs. Of course he knows about the bugs. He’s John’s lieutenant after all. Panic rises in her and she looks around the room almost wanting to shush him.

“Don’t worry this room is clear,” he says. She lets out a sigh, relaxing into the chair, a little smile on her lips. John already told her they weren't going to look for the bugs. Simon went out his way to clear this room.

“I’m not worried about her. She has a strong pack around her,” she says looking back at the email. She should just send it. She’s being stupid.

“What are you working on?” he asks, moving over to her desk.

“Nothing, it’s stupid. It’s everything I needed to send to Professor Hale.” He looks over at the email. He hums reaching over her and clicking the mouse, pressing send. There’s a swoop and the page changes.

“Simon!” Piper pushes him out the way, clicking her sent box. Why was she panicking? She's been procrastinating all day, reading it at least a hundred times.

“I wish I had the option to never speak to Hale again,” she says, huffing and leaning back in the chair.

“Yeah, well he never tortured you all his life did he,” he says as he leans back on the wall. That one stung. She sighs, shaking her head and crossing her arms.

“Are you ever going to forgive me?” she asks, looking straight in his eyes.

“Why do you need my forgiveness?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m a narcissist.” There’s bitterness in her voice.

“Yeah well. We’re all a little bit selfish,” Simon says, looking at her. She sighs, opening her arms back up. She’s not supposed to be arguing with him.

“Price wants her to help with a training exercise tomorrow. Think she’ll be up for it?” he asks.

“More scenting stuff?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. He nods. “She should be fine.”

“Do you think she’s in danger?” Simon asks her. She can hear the concern in his voice, and she can hear something else too. If she didn’t know him, she would think it was fear.

“I think she has a strong pack around her,” she repeats, it’s not up to her to say.

“Would you give your life for her?” he asks.

“Of course,” she says without hesitating, hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Why is he asking this? Has something changed? He’s not saying anything, maybe he’s trying to see if she’s lying or not.

“Do you think she’s in danger?” she asks, making sure her voice doesn’t falter. He stands up from the wall turning to look at her.

“You said once that she will never be safe until Professor Hale is dead. Now he’s breathing down our necks. It’s the closest he’s been since we rescued her,” he says. She gets it now. John doesn’t think there’s any danger, but Simon disagrees.

“She has 4 SAS soldiers around her almost 24/7. Hale doesn’t stand a chance.” She smiles hoping it will reassure him. Of course you will never be safe until Hale is dead, but rifts in the pack are just as dangerous. If you think you can’t trust them, if things start drifting apart, if they start drifting apart it could be devastating.

“How do you feel? Now the omega’s been claimed,” she asks.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway. She’s Price’s omega now.” He turns like he’s going to leave.

“Simon,” she sighs. He stops turning his head slightly. “We can look into other things, maybe even double claiming. It’s never been done but it could be possible.”

“She trusts Price—”

“She trusts you all. You don’t have to be so hard on yourself. You’re important to her too,” Piper interrupts him, getting up out of her chair. She lets out a sigh. He’s closing up again. He doesn’t need to. He’s still standing there.

“You saved her life, you’re part of her pack. It won’t take much. Talk to her.”

“She’s John’s omega,” he repeats and reaches for the door handle.

“She’s your omega too,” she tries but she watches as he presses down on the door handle leaving the room. She waits listening for the door to the lab to close before letting out a breath and sitting down. Maybe two alphas in a pack couldn’t work. No . For your sake at least they have to make it work.

You were happy when the next morning John asked if you would help with a training exercise. You assume it was going to be more scent training but instead he leads you to an empty barracks building. John tells everyone to wait as he takes you through into the building.

You go upstairs into one of the furthest rooms and see a chair set up in the middle of the floor. It makes your breath catch in your throat, in the dark it looks intimidating. John turns on a light and you can see what looks like bombs round the bottom of the chair. At the back of the room there’s a table with a laptop.

“It’s not real is it?” you ask. John chuckles, shaking his head. He walks into the room.

“Now you can say no, but I would really like to try something. I want to push them to make sure they can act under pressure.” You nod following him as he gestures for you to sit down in the chair.

“I want you to be scared, or more make them think you’re scared. Can you project a scared scent?” You watch as he walks back in front of you with zip ties in his hands. That alone makes you nervous enough.

“I can try,” you say.

“Good girl. Let's have a safeword. I’ll be watching, if you need to stop for whatever reason you say that word and it’ll stop, understand?” he asks, you nod.

“Purple,” he says.

“Purple,” you repeat. He nods, smiling at you.

“I’ll tie you up now. Don’t worry, it won’t be tight. It’s just important that it's realistic.” You nod as he bends down, tying your ankles up to the chair legs. Panic seems to rise in you even though you know it's fake. That's good though, the more you actually panic the easier it will be to project a realistic scent of fear. John stands up going behind you. He takes your arms gently tying your wrists together, then against the chair. It’s uncomfortable but that's the point. He walks back round into the doorway.

“Ready?” he asks. You nod at him. He hits the lightswitch in the room leaving you in the dark and closing the door.

You’re alone in the dark with your arms and legs tied. It’s all too familiar to what you’ve been through before. You remember the times in the bunker when you would be tied to a chair like this. Normally it was because you were misbehaving. You would be left in the chair, force fed, tortured. This position always reminds you of water, and you’re not quite sure why.

The dark, the memories. It all feels a little too real. You hold on to that feeling, letting the fear wash over you projecting it out into the air. It feels like you’ve been sitting for ages. A shiver runs up your spine. You don’t like this. Maybe they’ve forgotten about you, maybe this was a test for you? More panic rises as you try to keep your breathing steady. Sweat is building up on your body. You can’t even hear them. If they were close you would be able to hear them.

Maybe they have forgotten about you.

You swallow hard, moving your legs and hands. The zip ties seem tighter all of a sudden. John said he was only doing them loose. You can’t get out of these. You can smell your own fear in the room now. Your eyes fully adjust to the dark but you can’t see much. The room is pretty empty other than the fake bombs at your feet that have been beeping louder and faster.

You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath.

“ It’s not real, it’s not real ,” you whisper to yourself. You hear noises, they sound distant. You squeeze your eyes closed tighter trying to focus on the noises. Is it them? Your mind goes to Dr. Miller for some reason, why did your mind go to him? It comes in flashes, and there’s a stabbing pain in the back of your neck. You want to move your hands to rub it but you can't. You start to squirm all of a sudden. It's real fear running through you now. You don’t know who’s coming through the door but you know it’s no one good.

There’s a bang, your eyes fly open and you stop struggling. There is definitely someone close. You’re holding your breath listening to the voices, but in your panic you don’t recognize them. It could be anyone.

The door crashes open. Light from the hallway floods in. You look away, blinking from the sudden change in brightness. You’re shaking, and it's real fear. The light in the room comes on and you see Johnny, Simon and Kyle spill in.

“Hey lass, what’ve you been getting up to?” Johnny asks, smiling as he lets his weapon fall from his hands. You want to relax but you can't. You look at John leaning in the doorway, his gaze low. His nostrils flare as he breathes in your fear. Johnny’s cutting the ties round your ankles. You hear Kyle typing on the laptop behind you.

“Hey Soap, check this out,” he says. Johnny gets up off the floor, his fingers quickly running over the fake bombs by your feet. The ones you swear have gotten louder with all the passing time. Johnny moves leaving your hands still tied. You look at Simon who looks more intimidating in his full black uniform and mask. You keep forgetting to ask him why he wears the mask. Right now you don’t care, you just want to get out of this situation.

You look in his eyes, dark and moody, burning into you. His body seems more tense than usual. You look at the massive weapon in his hands, his finger resting by the trigger. Surely that’s fake too.

“Hey lass, so we need you to stay nice and still okay?” Johnny says as he comes back round to stand in front of you taking what you assume are wire cutters out his vest. His tone and phrasing makes you freeze, you nod your mouth hanging open. He bends down to the floor looking round the fake bombs.

“What's going on?” you ask. You don’t like how quiet Johnny has gone and you’re too scared to move.

“Oh nothing, you’re just sitting on the trigger,” Johnny says, looking over at you still smiling. You look up at John in the doorway. You don’t remember seeing anything on the chair. For a second you forget the bombs aren't real, right now this feels real. Your fear is real.

“Hey,” Johnny says, pulling your attention back to him. “It’s gonna be fine.” You don’t know what to do, you just stay still. You see Simon move to walk behind you. You almost follow him until you remember you were told not to move.

“Do this a lot?” you ask, trying and failing to hide the shakiness in your voice. Your eyes fall back to John who’s stood up straight in the doorway now, his arms crossed, eyes flicking round the room. It makes goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. This will be tough for him too, his omega in fear.

“Abso-bloody-lutely!” Johnny chimes. That makes you relax a little. How can he still be so happy-go-lucky right now? You wonder if it’s because he knows it’s fake. Or maybe he is like this all the time. You try to watch him working. Every now and then he looks back up at you smiling.

“Soap!” Kyle says. Suddenly the beeping gets faster.

“What did you do?” Simon’s voice calls from behind you, and there’s an edge in his voice. You’re holding your breath. Something is wrong. Even a second of panic washes over Johnny as he looks over at Kyle who has come to help him now. They’re both talking to each other making their way round the chair.

“60 seconds,” Simon says. You hear Johnny curse under his breath. You swallow hard.

“Triggers on a delay,” you hear Kyle say next. Johnny looks at him quickly then back at you.

“ Christ , this whole thing is a mess, what amateur set this up?” Johnny asks quickly.

“30 Seconds,” Simon says. Your heart is thumping so hard in your chest you can hear it in your ears. You look up at John. You can’t tell if his expression has changed as he’s watching them work. His arms still crossed, shoulders tight.

“15,” Simon says, and the smell of fear hits you hard and fast. That’s not your fear. You look down at Johnny.

“10.” You’re counting in your head, it feels like the seconds are going quicker.

“Got it! Got it!” Johnny says pulling something up off the floor, a seconds later the beeping whines and stops.

“Could you have cut that any closer?” Kyle lets out a sigh standing up. You watch as Johnny smiles at him, winking and putting the wire cutters back on his vest. You’re still holding your breath as you feel Simon cut the ties behind your back. Your arms swing by your side. Your body is shaking. You bring one of your wrists up rubbing it.

“I’m telling you, whoever made this is an amateur,” Johnny says looking round.

“Save it for the report,” Simon says walking back around to your view.

“C’mon lass, let's get you out of here.” Johnny throws his weapon over his shoulder and offers you his hand and you take it. You step over the mess of fake bombs on the floor. Before you can make it to the door you feel Johnny scoop you up by your knees and back, picking you up in his arms.

“Johnny!” you yelp, giggling as he presses you uncomfortably against his chest. Last time you were held like this, Kyle was carrying you out of the bunker.

"Pretty hostages get the princess treatment,” he says. You giggle, heat running to your cheeks as he carries you down the hallway.

“What about everyone else?” you tease him.

“They get thrown over LT’s shoulder,” Johnny replies. You look over his shoulder at Simon talking with John as Kyle walks behind you. Kyle smiles at you as Johnny puts you down just before the end of the hallway. You look down the hall. John and Simon are still talking.

“Did I make a good hostage?” you ask. The smile seems to fade from Johnny’s face. Kyle too. Maybe that's not something you should be asking. Before Johnny could respond, John calls over to you all. Everyone turns, walking back down the hall.

“Good job, I want full reports,” John says. You hear Johnny sigh as Simon crosses his arms. You tune out their protesting. John catches your eye, and there’s something on his face, something you’ve never seen before. Maybe you didn’t do a good enough job. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. You go back to listening to Johnny and Kyle.

“Any questions?” John says finally wrapping up the conversation.

“Who set the bombs?” Johnny asks.

“Some demo guy from Shadow Company.” Price says.

“Ah that explains it,” Johnny says, nudging you.

“Put it in the report MacTavish,” Simon says, nodding behind him. Johnny chuckles and follows Simon to the end of the hallaway. You go to follow after them but John grabs your arm. You stop looking up at him. He pulls you into the room, maybe a little too hard, closing the door behind you. He bends down in front of you placing his hands on your shoulders.

“You okay?” he asks, his eyes wide. He looks scared. His breathing picks up as he looks around your face. You frown at him, and you nod your mouth feeling suddenly dry.

“Say it, I need to hear you say it.”

“I’m okay John, I’m okay.”

He nods letting go of your shoulders. It’s fear you see in his eyes. You can smell it in the air too, fear and worry. You throw yourself at him squeezing him as hard as you can. His arms wrap around you and you breathe in his scent, projecting yours for him. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest. He’s scared . You’ve never seen him scared before. He kisses the top of your head, and you break away from the embrace.

“Go catch up with the others. Keep them company while they write their reports,” he says. He seems to have calmed down now. His thumb brushes your cheek, and you smile back at him, nodding. You go to leave the room, quickly looking back to see him take his hat off running his hand through his hair. Maybe he’s the one who needs to do some training. He kept it together though, all the way to the end.

You make your way down to the hall the same way you remember watching everyone leave a few seconds earlier. The door to the stairwell is open and you walk down the first set of the stairs when you hear it. It sounds like someone breathing heavily, exacerbated almost like they’re struggling to breathe. You slow down, holding your breath. You peek around the next set of steps and you see Simon.

He’s stood in the stairwell, his back to you bracing himself on the banister. His breathing is heavy, his back bobbing up and down as he tries to get a lungful of air. You can smell him in the air, his alpha strong and something else.

Fear.

You step around the corner, swallowing your nerves. You take another step down, before you make another step he turns around. The bottom of his mask is pulled up over his nose and mouth. You freeze, swallowing the lump in your throat. It feels like the seconds are lasting for hours. Your knuckles go white as you grip the banister.

“I’m okay Simon,” you say. You can't falter now, you need to be confident. He looks at you as you take another step down. Maybe he’ll flee, but he hasn’t yet. He’s standing there. His eyes are soft, kind. You take another step and reach out for him, and you expect him to flinch, to back up. He doesn’t. He reaches out for your hand, his gloved fingers touching yours. You smile at him, lacing your fingers between his.

“I’m okay,” you say. He takes a step towards you, his eyes scanning round your face. Your heart is thumping in your chest. You let him squeeze your hand. You want to hug him and tell him it’s all okay. Maybe John pushed them too far. The betas would be fine but alphas smelling your fear—it’s hard on both of them. They’re your pack. You should have gone easier on them.

Simon lets out a long breath, letting go of your hand. He reaches up and pulls his mask down. He turns to walk away.

“Simon, wait,” you call, jumping down to the stairwell with him. You don’t know what to say, and you feel like anything you say he wouldn’t listen to. You just go up to him, throwing your arms around him from behind. He waits a few seconds before he turns around and you drop your arms. His hands land on your shoulders just like John had done before, holding you at arms length.

“You’re John’s omega,” he says as a matter of fact.

“You’re my alpha too,” you say back to him. You mean it. He’s your pack. Who says you can’t have 2 alphas?

“John claimed you,” he says.

“You’re part of the pack, that makes you as much of my alpha as John.” He lets his hands drop from you. There's a pause, silence, his brown eyes burning into you.

“I can’t,” he says, turning to leave, shaking his head. You feel sad. You don’t know what you could have done differently. You wait until you’ve watched him make it through the door at the bottom of the stairs. You feel tears rolling down your cheeks. You sit down on the bottom step throwing your head in your hands sobbing.

You’ve ruined it. You’ve messed it all up and now he’s going to want to have nothing to do with you. You hear John come down the steps. He sits down next to you pulling you into his arms. He’s not asking what's wrong or what happened. He must have been listening.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

“I tried,” you say between sobs.

“I know, you did good,” he says, holding you close. Pack bonds are fragile things. You’ve always been told that. It’s your job as an omega to keep the bonds secure. If you can’t do that, Simon could break away from the pack. You don’t want that. You have to do better. But now you’ve messed it all up.

Everytime you think you’re making progress with Simon he turns away. Maybe he really does hate you. Maybe the pack would be better without him. You break from John’s embrace looking up at him as he rubs the tears away with his thumb.

You have to make it work, for the sake of the pack.

When you get back to the barracks it’s dark. When you walk in, the building is empty, so you walk down to your room. Everyone’s doors are locked. John goes into his office. You don’t know what you want to do. You feel drained when you step into your room. You don’t want to be in your nest, you don’t want to sleep. You turn back out the room, closing the door.

You walk up to John’s office knocking on the door. You wait for him to call you in before entering. He smiles when he sees you.

“Can I sit in here?” you ask. He leans back in his chair nodding then gets up. He picks up a folder then moves to sit down on the tiny sofa in his office. You smile crawling up onto the sofa leaning into his shoulder. He leans back resting the folder on his thighs.

“What’s that?” you ask.

“Final report from the mission. I need to check it over before I give it to Shepherd.” You look down at it. You don’t know what any of it means and you’re probably not even supposed to be seeing it.

“You know, Professor Hale used to make me lay on his lap when he was working.” You look up at John.

“Is that something you want to do?” he asks, looking down at you. You sit up on your knees. He’s giving you a choice. You haven’t even done it for the Professor in a long while. At the thought of it though there’s something warm building up inside you. You nod. He smiles, moving the folder out of the way. You lay down facing away from him, your head resting on his thighs.

He has strong thighs, you can feel them under your head. That warmth bubbles up inside you and you relax as his hand comes to stroke your head. He tucks your hair behind your ear and you close your eyes, breathing in his scent letting it relax you.

After a few minutes you hear a relaxed hum leave his throat as he flicks through the file. You smile. You’re making him happy, being a good omega for him. Your body feels warm and relaxed. With his hand running through your hair, you’re almost purring at the feeling. His hand moves down the back of your head over the base of your skull before he stops. You open your eyes.

“You can touch it, if you want. It’s your mark,” you say, keeping as still as possible so you don’t spook him. His hand stops for a few seconds as he thinks about it. He moves his hand to your ear so he can pull your hair out the way revealing the back of your neck. You stay nice and relaxed for him so he knows it’s okay as his fingers brush over the indents in the skin. He takes his time, gentle as he follows the mark all the way around.

“Beautiful,” he says.

It’s like something snaps in your brain. Beautiful. Memories come flooding back. Dr. Miller, the cups of, something. Pain pulses through your body, you remember your body on the lab floor, Dr. Miller's voice in your ear. His words are ringing in your head.

‘It didn’t have to be like this’

‘It’s easier this way. You won’t remember anything’

You thought it was a dream. You thought it was your mind playing tricks. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, it makes you feel sick.

You sit back up knocking the file out John’s hand. Your hand goes to the back of your neck. You’re trying so hard to focus on the memories flashing into your mind.

“I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?” he asks. You look over at him swallowing.

“No, it’s not you,” you say getting up off the sofa. He sits up straight watching you as you continue to rub the back of your neck.

“I forgot I have to go do something quickly,” you say heading for the door. Your hand is shaking as you press the door handle. You look back at John. He's frowning at you as he reaches down to pick up the file.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. I promise,” you say. You go out quickly dropping your hand from the back of your neck closing the door behind you. You head for the lab. You want to see Dr. Miller. He drugged you. You thought it was just dreams. It feels so real. You feel sick, you trusted him.

You need him to tell you it’s not true and that you’re making it all up. There’s no way he would hurt you. You trust him. He’s working on the cure. You can’t ignore the feeling though, the dreams you’ve been having over the past few days. They’re not dreams, they're memories.

You’re shaking as you walk into the lab. You don’t know what you’re going to do, or what you’re going to say. Maybe you should have spoken to Dr.Piper first. What if she didn’t believe you? You need to do this. You want proof. Dr. Miller is sitting at a table watching you walk over to him. He smiles but you keep your distance. You swallow your nerves.

You trusted him, and now his smile sends shivers up your spine

“What’s up?” he asks, looking up from his work giving you his full attention.

“I keep having these dreams,” you say, trying not to sound shaky. You’re focusing almost all your attention on controlling your scent.

“Sleeping pills not working?” he asks confused, leaning back on his stool.

“Sometimes I come here and I feel like I lose hours of time. I wake up upstairs and I don’t know what happened,” you explain. He straightens up in his stool.

“I’ve always told you what’s happened,” he says, looking confused.

“I just want the truth, I have dreams about you, and it feels so real. Almost like they’re memories.” You rub the back of your neck as he stands up. You don’t like how he’s coming towards you, his alpha strong in the air. It makes goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. You want John. Coming alone was definitely a bad idea.

“I wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself and to tell you I can’t help you anymore,” you say. He smiles at you but instead of calming you it makes you feel sick.

“And I’m telling Dr. Piper,” you say quickly backing up. You hit a table. This is as far back as you can go. The door is just slightly to your left. You would have to turn to open it though.

“Dreams don’t mean anything,” he says. He’s about a foot away from you when he stops. His scent is overwhelming, and fear rises in you. This was a stupid idea and now you’re trapped.

“Dr. Miller, you’re scaring me,” you say, trying to hold back the fear burning inside of you. Your fight or flight has kicked in and you’re choosing to flee.

“Sorry,” he says with the last step towards you. You don’t even realise he’s reaching for your arm until it’s too late. Panic bubbles up and you take a sharp breath in when his hand makes contact with your skin. Your body turns without you thinking and now you’re attempting to head for the door. He’s stronger than you though, pulling you to him.

You stumble on your feet crying out as he pulls you against him. His arm drops round your stomach as he pulls you up off the floor dragging you backwards. You scream and kick, fighting him as much as you can. It’s pointless though: he’s way bigger and stronger than you. He picks something up off the table and a second later you feel a sharp pain as a needle plunges into your neck.

A few seconds later a burn rises inside you. You scream, your vision going blurry, there’s a pulsing in your body. All you can smell is alpha then honey. Your head is spinning as he lets you go. Your hand comes up to the back of your neck.

You feel like you’re floating, bumping into a table, tripping over a stool. There’s throbbing between your legs, a pain in your core. You only want one thing John. You need John. You blink away the fuzziness. Looking around, you see that you’re in the lab. You can’t remember what you needed.

You don’t care. You need John, you need your alpha. You force your body to open the door, stumbling down the steps. The cold air hits your skin, making you dizzy. You don’t know which way you’re going, you just follow the smell of alpha. You’re sure he’s nearby.

“John!” you call out for him. Your vision is going blurry again. There’s pain burning in your core, your pussy throbbing as slick soaks your underwear. Your clothes are irritating your skin, brushing past your rock hard nipples. You want to pull your clothes off but it’s too cold. Your body meets a door. You’re not sure where you are but you push down on the handle stumbling in. You stumble, you don’t have time to put your arms out to break the fall and your head slams into the floor painfully.

“Christ love!” You hear voices. You can smell beta. There are hands pulling you up off the floor. You try to look up at who’s holding you but you just whine instead. The skin to skin contact feels like burning. It sends vibrations through your body.

“Alpha,” you call as you’re picked up. You hear someone calling for Dr. Piper. You can smell alpha now, it’s strong in the air. You reach out trying to find him in your haze, your eyes darting at the blurry figures around you. You feel cold hands on your face and you wince at the temperature difference. Your name is called, then again, someone pulls your face to look at them.

“Who did this?” It’s Dr. Piper, she's the one with her hands on your face. It sounds like her words are echoing in your ears. You have a moment of clarity. You were in the lab, what were you doing in the lab?

“What is it? What’s wrong?” That’s John’s voice, you whine reaching out for him again. Whoever is holding you keeps you in his arms as the cold hands leave your face.

“She’s in heat. Someone forced her heat.” You breathe in John’s scent as you see him come over to you. His hand brushes your cheek.

“Alpha,” you whine trying to grab him, touch him.

“Take her to my room. And someone tell me where the bloody hell Riley is!” His shout makes you stop whining. You protest as you’re taken away into another room. The next thing you know you’re placed down on a bed. The figure leaves as the burning comes back to your skin. You want to claw it off.

Fire in your veins, pain in your chest. Your body is covered in slick and sweat. You’re clawing your clothes off as you dribble over the pillow caked in John’s scent.

“John…” You breathe, thrusting your fingers into your sore cunt trying to quell the growing pain. It feels like someone has rubbed chilly all over your pulsating body.

Raw and sticky you roll over in the bed, arching your back as you grind down on your hand, trying anything to feel friction between your legs.

“Alpha...” you whine as your vision fades, clenching down on your fingers, only giving you a few seconds of relief. You need to cum, you need relief. You’re thrusting your fingers in and out curling them up to hit the rough spot inside you. Your palm grinds on your swollen clit. It’s not enough. You need more. You whine in frustration as your other hand cups around your breast pinching your nipple.

You moan out, John’s name on your lips as you chase the high, grinding harder, your hand becoming soaked in your slick. You press your fingers in harder, your palm rubbing as hard as you can. Your body is sensitive but you need an alpha, your own hands are not enough. Your body starts to shake as you get closer to the edge. You know it’s not going to be enough but you will take anything right now.

You cum chewing on the bottom of your lip as you moan out, your body going rigid, your back arching. You taste blood in your mouth as you come down from the orgasm, your lip throbbing from the pain of breaking the skin.

You let out a sob as your body relaxes. It’s not enough, none of it is enough. Your breathing picks up again as black spots fade into your vision. You’re going to be too out of it soon. You roll over in the bed sinking your nose into John’s pillow. You breathe in his scent, and it makes your head spin. You call out for him one more time but no one comes.

A few seconds later the burn comes back.

Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui Beta reader and editor - rememberwren

165 notes · View notes

pinguwrites · 1 year ago

Note

Ooooh, what about this? Future!reader accidentally time traveled to 1940s when she met William Killick, and he had to take care of her due to injuries she had. She ended up staying with him while rejecting his advances because she was trying to find a way to go back to future, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to accept his advances, but she didn’t know William was sabotaging the solutions to ensure she would stay with him forever.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL LIKE HOLY SHIT. I was about to write something like this with Tommy in Black Heart, but I opted out, and I hadn't even considered this with William, so I'm so glad you requested it!!

this was supposed to be a short-length fic lol, it's like the longest thing I've ever written on here

Home Is Where the Heart Is ⸻ William Killick

pairing | william killick x future!reader

summary | You don't think much of the box when it arrives at your front door. That is, until you open it and are transported decades into the past. There, you fall into the arms of a handsome soldier, who is intent on making you stay.

word count | 9k

Warnings: DUB-CON, possessive!william, future!reader, period typical sexism it's okay when it's william, reader has a software job, weird time travel plot (who knows how the box got there? it's totally not going to be revealed in part two ;) ), mentions of war, reader simps so hard, p in v sex, breeding kink

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

A/N: I'm honestly not too proud with how rushed it was, but I'm glad it's out there. I'm definitely doing a part two. Be warned for errors.

You were lying in a field of grass, tall, bushy trees lining the area around you. You seemed to be in some type of countryside because in the distance you could faintly see quaint little houses and farmland (at least, you assumed it was; your vision was awfully blurry), but other than that, you had no clue as to where you were.

“Ah,” you hissed, noticing the cut on your body. When you arrived — however that happened — you had scrapped your arm on a sharp rock embedded in the dirt, and now it was bleeding, red blood trickling down your arm.

You sighed miserably, trying to make sense of the situation.

Yesterday, a packaged box arrived on your front doorstep. No address, no company, just a note in pen, To [Y/n] [L/n]. You were a little wary of its contents but brought it inside anyway. You opened it and uncovered a machine, steel and simple in its construction, yet difficult to understand. There was no instruction manual or labels for the buttons, and it took you a while to know if you were even looking at it right, the only hint being the Roman numerals inside the dials.

After tinkering around with it, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were in a completely other place. All you had on were your clothes, some money, and your phone, which, surprise surprise, had no signal, so all you could do was look at your downloads — completely useless — and take a photo.

I must’ve been drugged, you thought, still feeling hazy. I should have called the cops the moment I realized something was off.

You got up and took off your socks, trying to stop the bleeding with it. It wasn’t the most hygienic, but it was all you had at the moment, and you weren’t about to tear off pieces of the shirt you had on, especially not when you were already shivering.

The contraption had traveled with you, and though you were aware it was the reason you were here in the first place, you thought it better to bring it along, as evidence. You could show it to the government, and they could use their little science ways to find the culprit. All would be fine.

All will be fine.

You started walking. You didn’t have any shoes on for protection, so it was difficult to step across the dirt, with all its rocks and insects swarming about, but you managed to get to grass quick enough, and it felt much better, almost healing to walk barefoot on the softness of mother nature.

But you didn’t get very far. Eventually, your stomach started grumbling, and you felt like your intestines were twisting inside with desperation. Your sock was now red, and your hand was trembling, so with a defeated sigh, you let go, of both the sock and the heavy machine, allowing the blood to flow freely. You bent over to pick the sock back up first, but the sudden movement made your head reel, and before you knew it, you were out again.

+++

“You’re awake,” a voice said, a male’s voice, a British accent that sounded like butter. Oh, butter, if you could get your hands on that alone you would be satisfied.

You opened your eyes, blinking. A figure, with pale skin and dark hair made it’s way over to you, and in a panic, you crawled away, eyes darting across the room. You were on a bed, bandages on your arm, but before you could calm down or even begin to think properly, panic took over, your heart rate elevated, and you sighed, before passing out again.

+++

For about the third time today, or however long you were out, you woke up. This time your vision was much clearer, but you still had this nasty migraine in your head. You were sick inside, the kind of sick that happens when you haven’t eaten in a while but can’t eat because you feel like you’ll throw up.

You wondered if you were in the same place again. You remembered a man, with a soothing voice, but he wasn’t here right now. Though the possibility that you had been kidnapped entered your mind, you noticed the lack of bonds and chains on your body. He was probably just helping you, you reasoned.

You slowly got out of bed, wincing at the shooting pain in your arm. You observed your surroundings. The bedroom was very minimalist, and . . . quirky. You loved the design and the materials used, as it reminded you of a cottage, but there was nothing helpful in sight. All the technology you could see, like the kitchen, needed to be updated and was worn out. There was some type of record player, or CD tape, or whatever that was called, on one of the counters and a radio beside it.

You didn’t bother with any of that. You were thirsty, throat dry and gnawing at you, so you went to look for water, hoping that whoever lived here didn’t go out and get it from a fucking well. He probably does. Look at this place!

“Shit!” you swore, your knees buckling from underneath you. You felt so weak and miserable and vulnerable. It hit you at this moment that you were probably a hundred miles away from home, in a strange place in a strange home you’d never seen before. How were you going to get back? What were you going to do?

Tears started welling in your eyes. You hated that you were being so emotional. Why couldn’t you toughen up and deal with the situation like a proper adult?

You leaned onto the counter, trying to balance yourself, when the front door opened up, and the man you saw before walked in, carrying a bag full of vegetables and other foods. He quickly placed the bag down and held you in his arms, his warmth comforting and relaxing.

He had short, dark hair, and a sharp jawline, and from this distance, you could see light freckles scattered across his cheeks. He had the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen, like glaciers, like the ocean. Fuck, he was so handsome.

“Here,” he said, guiding you back to the bedroom. He set you down on the bed, gazing at you with such intensity, like adoration or devotion.

“W-who are you?” you asked, voice cracking. “Where am I? Hngh.” You rubbed your temples. Didn’t he have any pain medications?

“My name is William. William Killick,” the man introduced softly. “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.” He went off into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. You drank it slowly, the cool liquid flowing through your body, wetting your mouth. “I didn’t know if you had family nearby, so I took you to my place.”

William paused, as if thinking of what to say next. “Get more rest, it’s night.”

You hadn’t even noticed the time, but one look out the window told you he was right. It was pitch black outside.

“You’ll wake up tomorrow, and have some breakfast.”

You shook your head, and handed the glass back to him, only for him to set it down on the nightstand table. “Where’s my phone? Where’s my . . . box?”

He stared at you blankly, before clearing his throat. “Your stuff is in the back. I didn't know what it was — hey, don’t move.” William’s strong hands kept you in place, pushing you back down to the bed as gently as he could whilst still keeping a firm grip. “Rest,” he ordered. “Don’t need you fainting on me again.”

You wanted to argue, but you couldn’t. You laid your head on the pillow, without a choice but to trust William, and fell asleep, wrapping yourself in the blanket with a content sigh. All the questions you had, all the thoughts, faded away and were replaced by darkness.

+++

You dreamt of yourself and yourself. You, the spectator, were standing outside a window, but it wasn’t just any window. It was your window, the one that led to the inside of your bedroom, where you could see you and William — the strange man — entangled in the sheets. Lovers. You two were lovers. You two were making love.

Anyone would have felt creepy watching someone else, and anyone would have noticed someone watching them, but none of that happened. The sun should have cast a shadow on you, but it didn't. The passerby should have called you out, but they didn’t.

You had just enough awareness to realize that this was a dream. How were you back at home already? Why were you and William kissing?

While originally you felt nothing, like a simple observer without thoughts, you were suddenly flooded with heavy emotions. Confusion, shame, lust, confusion.

But in just a few moments, the world around you crumbled, like an earthquake, and the sun and moon passed by, stars moving across the heavens, and you were warped by time, back in the same place you were before.

+++

You woke up with a gasp, cold sweat running down your body, and immediately William was by your side. You rested your head on his chest, grasping onto his shirt desperately, not wanting him to leave.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making no effort to leave his side. “I don’t know . . .”

“Shh.”

You both were like this for a while. Faint images of your dream passed through your mind, and from what little you remembered, you assumed it had been a wet dream.

I can’t believe it, you thought. Having a wet dream — about a guy I barely met. Control yourself!

You pulled away, already missing his warmth. William frowned a little but didn’t say anything. “What’s your name, darling?” he asked.

You hesitated.

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“[Y/n],” you finally told him. “Where are we?”

William narrowed his eyes. You had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, but you didn’t want to press.

“Wales,” William answered.

You froze. How the fuck did you get to Wales? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

“Um, that’s nice,” you said awkwardly. “How long has it been since you found me?”

“A few days.”

You tried not to panic, but all you could think about was your job and your friends and your family. Have you been reported missing yet?

“You must be hungry,” William said. “I’ll cook something for you. I’m not the best, but I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

“It’s alright.” You waved his concern off, though it did tug at your heartstrings that he was worried. “I'll get some fast food.”

You dug through your pockets, hoping your wallet was still in there. Thankfully it was. You pulled it out and grabbed two crisp twenty-dollar bills, but William hissed and pushed it back in, his hand not leaving yours.

“What are you doing carrying around that much money?” he asked, giving you an incredulous look. “How are you meant to protect yourself? Where’d you get that? Do you have a husband?”

You pushed his hand away. “I work. And what’s the problem?”

You knew that the American dollar wasn’t equivalent to a British pound, but was the difference that bad? Sure, forty dollars was a lot of money if you were just going to a gas station or something, but nothing to get excited over.

William huffed. “You can’t just show me that much money like that. What if I was a thief, hmm? What would you do then?”

“Are you?” you asked, not understanding why he was making such a big deal out of it.

“No. I’m a gentleman.”

You scoffed, amused, but there was a little smile on your face. “A gentleman?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “A proper man.”

There was a moment of silence between you both. You wanted him to hold you again, but you thought it would be best if you just went on your way.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said, getting up from the bed. “And bandaging me and all.” You gave him one of the bills. “I know it’s in dollars, but I’m sure you can convert it.”

William didn’t take the money. “You’re not leaving — you’re still hurt. I’d be remiss if I let a lass half as pretty as you alone on the streets.”

You chalked up his way of talking to the region. You honestly found it quite attractive. That, coupled with his British accent, made you feel like you were in one of those romance movies. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t in love with you and that you were just acting irrational and horny.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll exchange numbers, do you have a charger?”

“What?”

“A phone charger. My phone’s probably dead.”

“The box?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, the rectangle. The phone.”

“Ah, the one that glows?”

You briefly wondered if he simply didn’t know what a phone was. You knew some people preferred not to have modern technology in their life.

“Yes. I need to call someone — ”

“ — It stopped glowing.”

Great. William obviously didn’t have a charger. And if he didn’t know what it was, no one nearby would. All that was next to do would be to walk to a big city and hope someone there could help you get back home.

“Look, darling.” You ignored the way your heart fluttered when he called you that. “I don’t know what a phone is, or why you’re here, but I know that you still need to recover.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. “But I really have to go. I have work and — ”

“ — Surely you can take a day off. What is it you do?” William asked.

“I’m a software developer. I code.”

William had a blank face. A pink blush dusted his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “I, er, I’ve never heard of that. You mean computers? The big ones that take up a room?”

“No, it’s not the fifties.”

“Well, 1946 is close.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. “What does 1946 have to do with this?”

William observed you intently. “The year. The year is 1946.”

You blinked. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be the 20th century — that was impossible. So many things were wrong with that. How come it was you who traveled in time? Why didn’t the government know about this? Even if you were ignoring the question of how, there were still so many whys.

“No,” you said slowly, inching away from William. What kind of sick prank was this? He was supposed to be helping you, not confusing you. “You’re messing with me.”

William sensed that you were uncomfortable, because he backed away, his hands in the air. You could tell he was waiting for the perfect moment to get closer.

“I’m not a liar . . . Are you from the future?”

Fuck. You weren’t sure. How could that even be possible?

“No,” you said hesitantly. “I dunno, I must be . . .”

Your eyes subtly peered past William and at the door. If only you could get past him . . .

You looked straight at the window, making sure to grab his attention. “Oh,” you whispered, putting on your best shocked expression. The moment he was distracted you sprinted past him and bolted out of the room and out the house, running across the field to the next house you could see. Your arm still hurt, but you were willing to shove down the pain.

“No, no, please!” William shouted, running after you.

In just a minute, he had caught up to you and tackled you to the ground. He pinned your hands above your head and sat on your lower stomach, rendering you useless. His lips were so close to yours, and the look on his face was pissed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice forceful, gripping onto your wrists tighter.

“P-please,” you pathetically sputtered out. “Don’t hurt me.”

He didn’t budge. “I’m trying to help you — I’m not lying to you, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now,” you cried, squirming.

William’s eyes softened as he realized what he was doing. “You promise not to run again?”

You nodded, your lower lip wobbling.

“Alright.”

He still didn’t let go of you, but he did pull you up from the ground, wiping the dirt off of your back. Tears flowed down your cheek like rainwater, and you couldn’t help but curl in on yourself.

William held onto your arm as he walked you back to the house, not allowing you another chance of escape, but he did wipe your tears gently and soothe you. You felt embarrassed. Why did you run? You had acted purely on instinct there. This man was clearly only trying to help.

“Look,” he said softly, sitting you back down on the bed like a child. “I’ll take you into town, hmm? Show you around and all — maybe that’ll convince you. You must be quite far into the future to be dressing like that and to have a . . . phone with you, so things will be different, right? What year are you from?”

“. . . 2023.”

“I knew it. On your phone, there was a date. I wasn’t sure then, but . . .” William suddenly reached his hands up and rubbed his thumb across your chapped lips, catching you off guard. “They’re dry,” he said. “I’ll draw up a bath for you so you can bathe while I cook. I’ll get you some lotion afterward.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

+++

William had cooked some simple fish and chips while you cleaned yourself. You had to use a tin tub, which was insane to you, but you didn’t complain about it. He supplied you with clothing, an old-fashioned dress his mother had accidentally left here. You were grateful it was not from some ex-girlfriend or wife, even though you had no right to feel that way. You put aside your other clothes to wash later.

After finishing with that, you sat down at the dining table, and like the hungry girl you were, you gobbled the food down eagerly. It was so fresh and delicious, not at all like the food you had in the future, pumped with chemicals and artificially bred. You tried to be as neat as you could, but it was difficult when you were starving. William had watched on with amusement, telling you to slow down and straighten your back every once in a while.

He took the plates away when you both were done, and then did as he promised and gave you some lotion, but instead of letting you apply it, he took a bit of cream on his fingers and rubbed it on your lips. “Stay still,” he murmured.

“I-I can do it—”

“No, you can’t. You’re still injured.”

You understood his reasoning. And you didn’t mind him touching you like that.

“The rest of my body is dry, too,” you blurted out.

What were you thinking? You didn’t even know this man. Trying to get him to touch the rest of your body — stupid girl.

William’s breathing hitched. “As in . . . your knees as well?”

“. . .”

He cleared his throat. “Well, then. Put them out, over my lap.”

You bit your lower lip, watching on as he rubbed his hands over your legs. His touch was so warm and it felt more like a massage. You felt bad about doing this, leading him on. If he was right about the time travel, then you couldn’t entertain any sort of relationship with him. It wouldn’t be fair.

But it was just an act of service. It didn’t mean much, right?

“Oh, that’s nice,” you said, resting your head on the bed. You felt a bit off allowing a random man to do this to you, but he wasn’t random now, was he? He had saved you. And besides, he was he who insisted he rub the lotion in the first place.

“What is the future like?” William asked. “Is there another war?”

“Sort of. Not really,” you answered, which panicked William. “Don’t worry. If you’re talking about America and Russia, no one dies.”

William chuckled. “I should hope not. I don’t fancy serving in another world war.”

“You served?” you asked curiously.

“Yes. As a captain in the British Army.”

You supposed it was normal. Most men in this time either signed up for the military or were drafted. You couldn’t imagine the horrors William must have gone through. You would never be able to understand the trauma he carried with him. You were curious, but you knew better than to ask. He didn’t need your pity, and you certainly didn’t want to offend him.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“For what?”

“That it had to happen. War and all that.”

“Does war not happen in the future?”

Now you felt a little stupid.

“Well — yes. It does. I’m just sorry. We learned about the world wars in history — and I just — I’m not claiming to know anything. Yeah, sorry.” You looked down.

William didn’t say anything to that. He just kept rubbing your dry skin. Afterward, he put the lotion away and sat next to you, running his fingers through your hair.

“I expect stories from you. I want to hear everything about the future.”

You still didn’t believe you were in the past, at least, not completely.

“You can tell me as we pass through town,” he added.

“I need to wash my clothes first.”

Willian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to wear that anymore.”

“Why not?”

He pursed his lips. “It’s too revealing. A woman should never go out wearing those types of clothing.” He sighed. “Perhaps it’s different in the future, but here, you’ll get hurt if you dress like that.” He continued playing with your hair. “I want you to be safe. So, you have to promise me that you’ll stay by my side at all times, yes?”

You nodded. You always thought that if you caught men talking to you like this, you would slap them, but here you were, turned on by William’s sexism. It was different, you reasoned. He was more focused on protecting you than restricting you. Was it bad that you found that hot?

“Good girl,” he said proudly. “Good girl.”

+++

Walking through town had been more of a frightening experience than you expected. You realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were indeed in the past. Producing a prank with this level of investment and money was pointless, and you never had any mental issues in the past, so why would one suddenly show up now? And even if it did, you couldn’t possibly be imagining this all in your head.

All the cars were shiny and new, yet old models, ones that wouldn’t be produced in the future. All the women and men wore traditional clothing, like the dress William picked out for you. The hairstyles were medium-length and curled, or slicked back, with lots of gel and products used to keep them in place. You were grateful William didn’t ask you to do any of that. Not that you would have let him. At a certain point, you would have drawn a line.

“I have to get back,” you told William as you walked on a trail. “The machine has something to do with it. I just have to figure out how it works.”

“That’s an engineering job,” he pointed out.

“I’m good at math and science. I work in advanced technology, so I should be able to figure something out. All it needs is a bit of testing . . . I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while until I figure out a place to stay. I’ll give you all the money I have and I promise I’ll find a job — ”

“ — No need. Stay as long as you like. I don’t want your money. I won’t stop you from finding a job, but it’s not necessary. I can handle any expenses.”

You didn’t argue with him. He didn’t seem averse to the idea of letting a stranger stay at his place. It made sense. People in this time were more hospitable and open (at least, when they felt like it), and William, being a man from the forties, would never allow you to carry any of the financial burden.

You still felt a little bad.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me. Now, what is it you want to hear about the future?”

William’s eyes lit up excitedly. “Do flying cars exist?”

You chuckled. “No. But we have self-driving ones.”

“Self-driving? How do they work?”

You paused. You had no idea. “I’m not sure. They probably have sensors to detect other cars. And, well, there’s a map. So it’s connected to a satellite . . .”

“Satellite?”

“It’s this thing in space. It does . . . stuff. It’s manmade.”

“Space? Have we discovered alien life?”

“No. But we have sent rovers to Mars and we’ve landed a person on the moon.”

William stopped walking. “The moon?” he repeated, bewildered. “Have you gone?”

I wish. “It’s only for astronauts. You have to be trained for that sort of stuff.”

“And when did this all happen?”

“Around the 1960s. There was a space race between America and Russia, and America won.”

Once you got the ball rolling, William would not stop asking questions. You answered them as best as you could and avoided topics like the current political climate and weaponry and all that. After he was done with all the serious stuff, like advancements in science and whether robots had taken over the world yet, he moved on to more social and cultural topics. You were relieved to find out that he wasn’t racist or homophobic or incredibly misogynistic. If anything he was rather tame about it all, and was glad that women had earned more rights, though he seemed upset that the dynamic of a gentlemanly husband and lady-like housewife wasn’t pushed upon society.

“There’s nothing wrong with things going the opposite way around,” he had said. “Two people of the same gender marrying. It’s only that women need to be looked after, and if she doesn’t want to work, then it is her man’s obligation to do it for her. And in return, she must be obedient and serve him whenever he pleases — whether it’s by cleaning the house or . . . other things.”

“And what if she doesn’t want it?” you questioned, referring to the other things.

“A man should always make sure she likes it.”

You could practically feel all the feminism leaving your body at that.

The conversation ended when you reached back home (home? It’s not your home, you reminded yourself). William replaced your bandages with care. You were already starting to feel better, since the cut wasn’t too big, and you offered to help with cooking dinner this time.

After that, you decided to tinker with the box.

It was made out of some type of metal, with two different dials on the top and a button on the side. But it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before. The first dial went from zero to nine (zero being nulla) in Roman numerals, and had four hands, each of them colored in order: red, green, blue, and yellow. Respectively, there were four tiny colored knobs on the side, like the ones by a watch, where you could move each hand. The other dial was the same case.

“It must be the date,” you said aloud to yourself. “But which is which?”

Taking a gamble, you pressed the button, but it didn’t do anything. All it did was signal a small lens to start blinking red.

“Are you sure you should do that now?” William asked, coming up from behind you. “Look at this.” He crouched to your level on the floor. “Your eyes have bags underneath them. You’re still tired.”

You rubbed the area beneath your eyes. Did they really have bags? You hadn’t realized.

“I should probably go to sleep then,” you said, putting the box down and getting up.

William walked you over to the bedroom, and was about to leave when you asked, “Where are you sleeping?”

“The couch.”

You frowned. “It’s your house and I’m your guest. You’ve already done so much for me – ”

“— If you’re going to suggest you sleep on the couch, then it’s a no. That’s final.”

“But — ”

“ — Final.”

You sighed. “Then come sleep with me. I’ll stay on the floor—”

“ — No—”

“ — Then we can share the bed. We’ll put a wall of pillows between us, like this.” You grabbed a pillow and placed it in the middle of the bed, separating the two sides. “Not so bad, see?”

William relented. “Alright.”

He crawled into bed with you. His hair fell over his face as he adjusted, and the last rays of sunlight coated his body in colors of orange and yellow. If your phone wasn’t dead, you would have asked him to sit still for a picture, because at this moment, he truly looked breathtaking. He was a beautiful man. You wondered if he knew it.

“What?” William asked when he noticed you staring.

Flustered, you turned your head to look up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I was just making sure you were comfy.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see William lick his lower lip.

“You’re a sweet lass,” he commented. “You always think about others first.”

He reached over, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you (which, admittedly, despite having had a wet dream about him, scared you), but he only brushed a small speck of dust off your shoulders and murmured “Goodnight”, before burying his chin into the blanket and drifting off into sleep.

You followed in suit soon after. A part of you was hoping that you could start a life here. You’d buy a nice house and live out a simple and peaceful life. You and William didn’t even have to be romantically involved. You could just be friends, and you would be happy with that.

But a part of you also hoped that when you woke up the next morning you would be back in your own bed, in your small one-story house that you remember being so excited about buying. You knew you would never like living here in the long term. There were too many things wrong with this time and you didn’t want to be the brunt of its issues. Not only that but being aware of all the tragedies that would soon occur . . . Did you want to be faced with the moral dilemma of whether or not you should stop them? How would your presence affect things in the future? After living your whole life in 2023, you could never adjust to life in 1946.

You had to find a way back. There was simply no other choice.

+++

William showed you many things. Just as he was interested in the future, you were interested in the past. The things that excited you most of all were old-school versions of what you had in the future. Washing machines, refrigerators — they were all so different, yet the same, and it was fascinating.

You even met a few people in town. They were nice enough to hold a conversation with, though they found it weird that you lacked decorum and the social understanding of the time. The women were chatty and mildly passive-aggressive, and the men — well, the men flirted with you quite openly.

William had told people that you were family, someone related but not close enough to be bothered with technical terms like cousin or niece. No one asked questions when you two explained it like that. All the men must have thought that if you were his family and that if you had no ring on your finger you must be looking for a partner.

You were charmed by their advances, but never serious about them. Besides, William hardly let them get a word in before he shooed them away.

By the time weeks and weeks had passed you became acquainted with everyone, seen every sight to see — including the swan lake William took you to — and become close enough to William that he opened up to you. You learned that while he wasn’t an orphan, his parents never held much interest in him other than the occasional birthday letter, and the reason he came out here so far away from the city was to find peace of mind.

You grew to admire him, and you were sure he grew to admire you, too. And soon, you started to feel a certain type of way. A way that made you daydream about all the things that could be, only for reality to stomp across it and remind you of the harsh truth.

+++

William was driving a car, a modern car, your car. He was humming a little tune on the radio, singing some lyrics, hands loosely holding the wheel as he passed by a gas station. It was some Taylor Swift song, and you remember faintly thinking: Of course, he likes Taylor Swift.

He looked over to you. You were sitting by his side, a passenger princess, looking out the window. All of a sudden it was night and you two were driving down a lonely road, parking by the side of some lake. In the distance, you could hear crickets and ribbits, but you paid them no mind.

You were curled up in William’s arms, looking out the sunroof of the car, the light of the moon gently descending through the glass. You offered him a piece of chocolate, and you two just sat there, in the dark, nibbling on snacks and observing the sky, until you woke up.

+++

William had to leave for work, like usual. He again told you not to leave his property line or stray out too far, which, again, was fine by you because most days were cold and bitter.

You spent your time messing around with the box, careful not to touch the wires in the back. Once you put your mind to it, you figured out how it worked. You paid attention to where the hands were currently located and found something promising. The first dial’s hands had the numbers I, IX, IV, and VI, and the second dial was nulla, IX, nulla, and V. Alone, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what the numbers meant, but with context, you understood. The first dial was the year, and the second one was the month and date.

You didn’t quite understand how the box brought you from the future, but that didn’t matter, as it was broken. There was a little loose piece on the backside that had been damaged — a little dent, probably when you were first transported here. All you had to do was plug it back in, but the only problem was, you didn’t have a screwdriver, and you certainly weren’t going to wrench your fingers near a bunch of wires.

When William came back you told him your solution. He agreed and said that tomorrow he would take you to a local store to buy a screwdriver, and he even apologized for not having one in his house. But for now, he said he wanted to take you out to lunch.

“Lunch?” you questioned nervously. Was he asking you out on a date?

You thought about it for a moment. You did want to go, but your mind was too preoccupied with getting back to your time. Besides, it wasn’t fair to him. You did like him, but you two could never actually be together. It was all in your head.

It’s all in your head.

“You know I’ll have to go back someday,” you said, watching William’s expression become more neutral as if he was hiding his emotions. “I dunno . . . I’m getting a little attached to you,” you said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

William seemed to understand where you were going with this. “It won’t be like that. I wouldn’t blame you,” he said earnestly, taking a step forward. “We ought to enjoy our time together, while it’s still here.”

He made a valid point, enough to convince you. He had been doing that an awful lot. Convincing you.

William took you out to a nice restaurant. The food was a bit plain, but it was good and wholesome. It reminded you a lot of William’s cooking, only fancier and more well-presented. Not only that, but the atmosphere felt calming and almost romantic. You noticed that most of the people here were couples, holding hands and giggling with each other, however young or old.

Was this William’s intention? Did he like like you? Or was this just him being courteous? You couldn’t imagine that many people here were used to dating or one-night stands. But you wouldn’t know unless you asked him, and you were too nervous to do that. Besides, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. William was a very traditional man, would he even want a woman like you? A 21st-century girl?

After you two were finished eating you engaged in another walk.

“Come closer,” William said, holding out his arm for you to take. If you didn’t have any self-control, you would have jumped his bones right then and there. He was right. He was a gentleman. No man in the future would have done this for you unless they were trying to make a joke out of it.

You placed your hand on William’s arm hesitantly, trying to figure out the exact placement, walking side by side with him. It was a little cold, however, and you shivered, catching William’s attention almost instantly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” William cooed, talking of his coat and wrapping it around you. It smelled of him, a little musky, smoky like a cigarette, but in a very subtle way. “You’re so nervous. Have you never had a man do this for you?” he asked. “Hold out his arm for you to take, give you his coat?”

“No,” you admitted. “Men don’t do that in the future.”

“I do,” he said, stopping both of you in your tracks. The area was secluded, mostly covered in trees and bushes, far away from any passerby. “I would do that for my woman.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Well,” you said, wistfully, “whoever she is she’ll be a lucky woman.”

+++

William took you to a local shop to buy a screwdriver next. It all felt very domestic, something that you could get used to. You imagined running errands like this with William in the future. He would be absolutely fascinated by a grocery store, by the internet, by everything. If you thought hard, you could see it — a wondrous smile on his face, a giggle escaping his lips.

You tried not to think of it that much. After your fantasy passed your thoughts turned sad and cold, because you knew that would never happen. It will never happen. As much as you liked William, you missed your family, you missed your house, you missed everything.

When you both got back home, you plugged the broken piece in and screwed the nail. William watched on beside you, a frown on his face, drinking some tea.

“Here,” he said, inching closer, “I don’t want you exerting pressure on your arm. Let me do it.”

He grabbed a hold of the screwdriver, but he bumped into you in the process. With a gasp, he dropped his cup of tea. It shattered across the floor, glass pieces flying every, hot liquid (thankfully not boiling) splashing all over. You shrieked and backed away, watching as one of the glass shards cut right through one of the wires.

“William!” you snapped, but then your eyes turned watery, because of the cut on your hand.

He immediately went over to you, careful not to step on any glass, and picked you up bridal style, moving you away from the mess and towards the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, looking panicked. “It was an honest mistake — I’m so so sorry, I can’t believe I just did that — are you hurt?”

You laughed at the absurdity of it all, even though you were clutching your finger in pain. It was a very small cut, something that would be healed within a day. “Calm down, William. I’m fine. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, looking worried, or perhaps, scared was the right word. Yet, you couldn’t figure out why.

“William,” you said slowly. “It’s fine. You do realize we can just fix the wire? I just need a heat-shrinking tube and a soldering iron, nothing I haven’t done before.”

“. . . Oh.”

His tone made you wonder about his intentions. You’d been so caught up on how good of a person he was, helping you and giving you room and food, but really, what was his motive? Because it almost felt like he was trying to get you to stay . . . It sent a sinister feeling down your spine, albeit a tug on your heartstrings as well.

What do you want from me, William? What do you want?

+++

More time had passed. It was difficult to acquire things in this small town, and it occurred to you that such resources were not readily available at this time. You didn’t want to bother William by pestering him to go into the city for materials, so while you would bring up the topic every once in a while, you mostly kept quiet.

You took the chance to relish your break. After all, you weren’t working. It was like a fully paid vacation, so you might as well take advantage of it.

William still had a job, but when he came back, you two would just talk and talk and talk, conversations so smoothly flowing that it felt like you’d known him for years. When you weren’t talking, you were still in each other’s presence, doing your own thing. Occasionally, William would make sneaky moves like wrap his arm around your shoulder, or do the la bise. He claimed he was part French, and it was part of his custom, but even if that were true, you knew the la bise didn’t involve full-on smooches on the cheek.

You never stopped him from doing things like that, but you also never reciprocated, despite how badly you wanted to. All this stalling wouldn’t change the fact that you still had to leave. Not only that, but you were starting to feel homesick.

You missed calling your friends late at night, you missed watching colored TV, and you missed hot showers. You missed easy-access painkillers for your periods, and searching all your queries on the internet. You missed the future. Badly. And you could just feel that the day of return was near.

+++

“You dance, yes?”

Snapped out of your thoughts, you turned to William. You were both lounging on his couch, relaxing, talking, as the time passed by. He had given you a magazine to read, but you weren’t reading it, just dozing off.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve gone to clubs. But — no, I can’t dance like that — William,” you whined, half-heartedly struggling as he pulled you up to you feet. “I’m going to ruin it, I don’t know where to place my feet or — ”

“ — You could never ruin anything, darling. Your presence alone is enough to satisfy me.”

You looked away. “You can’t say things like that, William.”

“Why not?”

You took his hands off you before he could even start the music.

“I don’t like it,” you lied.

William frowned. “That’s alright. Let me hold you. I know you enjoy that.” He chuckled. “When we first met you wouldn’t let go of me.”

The memory, still fresh in your mind, made you flustered.

“. . . William, what do you want from me?” you decided to ask.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — what do you want from me?”

William licked his lower lip. “Nothing. I just want to take care of you.”

“But why?”

You could practically feel William’s nervousness. It was like when he dropped that glass. He radiated an almost jumbled energy, a desperate energy.

“Haven’t I made it more obvious?” he finally said, his hands on your waist. He brought his fingers up to brush the hair out of your face. “Am I not clear?”

You knew what he was going to say. But you wanted to hear it from him. “Clear about what?”

“I want you.” Your heart started beating. “I don’t care if you’re not from this time. I don’t care if you have a life in the future — I can be better. I can be your life.”

“. . . William.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he said, tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “I know you want me too. I can see it.”

“But we can’t,” you weakly protested.

“So is this what you do?” His tone grew more sharp. “Imagine things in your head and never act on them?”

You stayed silent. He was putting you in such a difficult position, couldn’t he see that?

“What’s wrong?” he continued. “Am I not good enough?”

“William,” you tried to pull away. “I have to go — ”

He locked you in his arms. Your body was so close your noses were brushing up against each other, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe you’re worried I can’t please you right.”

You could have shouted. Why was he being so forceful? You ignored the way your body grew warm — you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t and so you wouldn’t.

“I don’t want it,” you lied again.

“Well, I told you, a wife should always submit to her husband’s desires.”

“We’re not married!”

“We will be.”

You froze.

William took your silence as an opportunity. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, turning his head slightly as his hand rested on the back of your head. You were caught off guard but didn’t try to push away. It felt so nice, and warm and inviting. Why you were denying yourself this? Why were you denying yourself love?

When your lips parted, a string of saliva connecting you both, you placed your hands on his chest. You had an idea. A brilliant idea. Why hadn’t you thought of this before? “William. I still have to go, but — ”

He growled and lifted you up, carrying you over to his bedroom, tossing you onto the bed, and pinning you down on the mattress. “No. I won’t let you. I won’t let you! Don’t you understand? I’m perfect for you — I can — I can.” He looked miserable. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry. “Let me show you,” he said, determined. He started unbuckling his belt with one hand. “Let me show you what I can do.”

You hadn’t realized how hard William was, but when he finally took out his cock — fat and pale, with pre-cum leaking at the tip, his balls a little hairy, you gulped, the area between your legs getting wetter.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered. “And lift up that damn dress.”

You didn’t. To be honest, you were a little frightened by his behavior.

William sighed and did it for you, spreading your legs apart, only for you to shut them close. “You don’t even have a condom!”

“I’ll put out,” he said impatiently, forcing your legs apart again. You gasped, not expecting contact to be made so soon.

He rubbed his cock against your wet cunt, soaking himself. He had this satisfied smile on his face, eyes closed for just a moment, before he looked down at you.

“I thought I’d have to warm you up a little,” he said. “You’re beau — stop it! Don’t struggle.”

He held your arms down as you writhed. “Please, William — I believe you,” you said. “You can fuck me good. Just listen — ”

William shook his head. “You’re the one who's supposed to listen. Listen and take it.”

With that, he pushed his cock in and started thrusting, hard and fast, your hands still pinned, his face contorted in pleasure. His moans were loud and shameless. He had his head right above yours, peppering small kisses on your lips. You tried to ignore how good it felt — him inside of you, but it was becoming increasingly difficult by the moment.

“Ah, I knew you weren’t a virgin,” he said, noticing the lack of blood or discomfort. “That’s okay — I still love you.”

“Love?” you repeated, trying to focus, but your abilities were lost when he used his thumb to rub your clit. “Wa-a-it!”

“Don’t say that,” William said, his tone surprisingly soft given how rough his movements were. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought you didn’t want it. Just enjoy. Enjoy me.”

The bed was starting to creak, moving back and forth, rubbing up against the wood floor. Your breasts were bouncing, catching William’s eyes every once in a while. His cock slid in and out of you with precision, hitting that swollen part inside of you every time. His thumb on your clit only added to the intense sensation.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stopped struggling. You let your head hit the pillow, mouth parted, breathing heavy and hot. At the same time, you were overcome with a feeling of hurt. You couldn’t deny that you wanted it, but for him to take you so forcibly . . . and for you to actually like it . . .

“Are you alright?” he asked, slowing down his pace a little. He looked you in the eyes. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about lying, about crying out No, please stop!, but that wasn’t the truth, and in the end, your desires overcame you. “Y-yes. I want more.”

William relaxed, and his grip on you loosened. He placed one hand on your hip, the other by the side of your head.

“You’re beautiful,” he praised. “Every day I look at you and think of how grateful I am that I found you. Laying there in that field, little flowers around you. An angel. My angel.”

You wanted to tell him how grateful you were, too. That it was him who took you in and not someone else, but the words never came out, only sighs and moans, but he seemed to understand what you were trying to say.

Another kiss.

“You’re soaking me. You’re soaking the sheets.”

A little embarrassed, you turned your head. “M’sorry.”

William forced you to look back at him. “Don’t be sorry. I like knowing how eager you are for me.”

Another kiss, but this time he slipped his tongue in, sweeping against yours before he pulled away, a string of saliva breaking as he did.

“We’ll live here,” he continued, his thrusts becoming more erratic, “in this house. Together. I’ll take you to the movies, we’ll have picnics in the garden, and I’ll write you love songs on the piano. We’ll have children — a girl, I hope — and she’ll look just like you. It’ll be wonderful,” he promised. “I’ll make you so happy, and you’ll make me happy, too.”

You couldn’t help but ruin the moment. “If I did that I would never see my parents again.”

He frowned and didn’t say anything. Then, “I think you’re getting agitated. You need to come, that’s it. You need to come and then you’ll finally understand what it is you’ll be missing out on if you leave.”

“T-that’s not the point — ”

“ — I’m so close,” he murmured. “Fill you up, so damn tight. Ah, you’re perfect.”

When you realized what he meant your eyes widened and you shook your head adamantly. “You said you’d pull out!”

“That was before. I’ve changed my mind.”

You felt familiar pressure build up inside of you. You could imagine yourself, breasts big with milk, belly round and smooth, William reading children’s books to your unborn baby as if he could be heard. The thought alone made you sickly sweet, the idea that life between you and him could be so domestic.

But couldn’t he just wait for a moment?

“I’ll — ah — be with you — every step of the way,” he grunted. “I won’t leave you. So, don’t be scared.”

“William,” you said shakily. “Just listen — ”

But it was too late. Collapsing on top of you, William poured his hot seed inside your cunt, his whimper addicting, like it was something you could hear a thousand times over. A few seconds later, you fell victim to the same fate, and there you two lay, with each other, chests heaving, bodies sweaty and sticky, coming down from the heights of ecstasy.

You could feel his heart pound against yours. Thump, thump, thump. And you could feel yours as well. To think that this man had just gotten you pregnant. It all happened so quickly. It happened so quickly and you were completely fine with it.

“William,” you said after finally catching your breath, turning to face him. “You know I still have to go.”

It was his turn to cry. His tears watered up, glassy, his lower lip trembling, but you could tell he was doing his best to keep it in. “But I love you,” he whispered. “Am I not enough?”

It broke your heart to see him like this. So vulnerable in front of you. It was then you knew you were making the right choice, a hundred percent. You had finally found your match. And to think that you almost let him go . . .

“But I want you to come with me,” you said, hopeful. “Come with me, William. Come with me to the future.”

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