#especially when I'm the culprit

[german-enthusiast]

Eine der schwierigsten Verhaltensweisen (=behaviors) für mich in meiner Beziehung, die aber so so wichtig ist und (glaube ich) wirklich hilft, auch wenn man es nicht direkt merkt ist:

wenn ich die Gefühle meines Freundes verletzt habe und er dann eine kurze Weile diese Gefühle offen trägt oder sich in ein anderes Zimmer zurückzieht (= to withdraw),

und in meinem Kopf dann alle schlimmen Gedanken und Selbsthass und Verzweiflung aktiviert werden und ich kurz davor bin in der Küche einfach nur zu weinen,

dass ich dann nicht zu meinem Freund gehe und ihm zeige, wie schlecht ich mich plötzlich fühle und (implizit) danach frage, von ihm getröstet zu werden. (trösten = to comfort)

Denn nachdem ich ihn verletzt habe ist es nicht fair den Spieß umzudrehen (idiom.: to turn the tables) und ihm die Aufgabe zu geben, sich um mich zu kümmern. (sich kümmern um = to take care of)

Und auch wenn es schwer ist, in solchen Momenten mit meinen Gedanken und Gefühlen alleine klarzukommen (= to handle, to manage) und es keine offensichtliche positive Konsequenz gibt, bin ich mir sicher, dass es richtig und wichtig ist, dass er die negativen Gefühle mir gegenüber fühlen darf, ohne sie meinetwegen zur Seite schieben zu müssen. (zur Seite schieben = to push aside/to the side).

[terukotime]

You say you don’t like the killer reveal, why? I actually think dev made some great choices and I’d love to talk to you about your perspective.

i don't want to get too deep into it because, like i mentioned in my previous post, i don't want my criticism to come off as negativity towards the series or discourage anyone involved in the production of the show because it's honestly not a huge deal. like, it in no way ruins the show or makes it less enjoyable for me. and i don't think the choice of who the culprit is is a bad one at all, i'm mostly unsatisfied with the way the chapter handles it.

[spoilers beneath the cut, obvi lol. and please remember this is just my opinion. me having and expressing my opinion is not hate towards the series. i'm nervous enough as it is posting just this and not a bigger essay on all my thoughts because i really don't want to have this be misconstrued, nor do i want any criticism i have to give, regardless of how innocent and respectful my intentions, to make drdtdev or anyone who works on the series feel bad.]

i think Ace being the killer DOES make sense. i have no qualms with him being the blackened, in theory. do i think he could've made for a great survivor, or have really interesting growth throughout the coming chapters? yeah! i would have loved for Ace to be kept around for much longer. but him being the killer this chapter isn’t inherently bad. it's now clear that there's a specific direction Ace's character was meant to go in this story and i think that's fine.

my problem is with what *didn't* happen with Ace's character up to this point.

the chapter hasn't concluded yet so there's still a chance for my thoughts to change, though i don't think it'll make much of a difference. but i'm still waiting to see if it can stick the landing. and even if it doesn't, that's okay. i've already accepted it, i'm just still disappointed by it all the same.

Ace, honestly, hasn't played much of an active role in the story. he's been a source of conflict and comedic relief, and that's okay, not every character has to be as important as Xander or David...but he hasn't really gotten to *do* anything. this series is very character-driven, and thus is very focused on the relationships between other characters. Ace has only had one notable relationship (outside of his feud with Nico, but i'm not really including that as a "relationship" for obvious reasons), and that was with Levi. and that didn't even stay positive for very long. and we also know now that Levi didn't even care about him to begin with because he doesn't care about people in general.

not only did Ace never really get to establish any other relationships, no one ever LIKED him. of course a good portion of the fandom likes him, but in the actual story, no one cares about him. no one will miss him. his death is honestly kind of meaningless character-wise. does it serve as a lesson to some of the other characters? sure. but he's going to be dying here with no one ever liking or caring about him.

Min's story wasn't just a cautionary tale. people did like her, people did care about her. she was friends with a lot of characters, she got to have an impact in the daily lives of others. we got to know her better, the things she liked, her deeper thoughts and opinions on things. she got to do stuff, and we got to learn about her. her death meant more to the characters beyond just being the first culprit. she died as a person, not just as a character.

most of the stuff we know about Ace is surface level or things confirmed in Q&As. he doesn't get to contribute much aside from the aforementioned conflict/comedic relief. i understand where the show is going with that idea, and why him not being liked by anyone is a specific part of what led him to murder, but that's not really what irks me. it's that Ace never got to really be a *person.* he's essentially a plot device, serving the greater "good person" theme going on this chapter, and filling in the smaller roles in the story when needed, like an antagonist in a scene or delivering a gag. yes, his admittance to killing Arei and eventual post-trial trauma dump will give him a bit more humanity and character...but that's not really enough.

we only get to see Ace how the other members of the cast see Ace: his loud, combative, aggressive side. the side that makes people think he's nothing more than an angry meathead who can't do anything right. we never got to see much of his other sides, of a much more somber, melancholic Ace. receiving even a hint of the Ace we see in his confession of guilt beforehand would have given him the depth we needed before this point.

to explain what i mean: imagine how unsatisfying it would have been if we never got to actually see Arei's breakdown in the playground. if Teruko had left before it happened, and we only get to learn what happened from a flashback from David's perspective. we already feel the weight and tragedy of Arei's death when her body is discovered because we knew beforehand why she behaved the way she did, how she never even liked being the way she is, and wishing she could be a good person like Eden. if we didn't get to see that happen beforehand, Arei's death would feel very flat and detached. her character growth would've happened entirely retroactively.

that's how i feel with Ace. it's not like he didn’t get enough spotlight this chapter, he certainly did. but every scene he was in really didn't really add anything new to him. the only thing that "progressed" with him was his hatred and paranoia. we just see him descend with no uplifting moments, no emotional hook to make us feel anything for him. the closest we get is the scene where he's arguing with Nico and Veronika at lunch, ranting about how poorly everyone thinks of him and that they all assume that he's for some reason happy to be the way he is. but it's really the barest of scrapes towards the deeper layers of his character.

a big problem is that there were a lot of chances for his character to actively be *explored*, but instead, the narrative perspective of him stays completely stagnant. the time we get with him this chapter doesn't give him any greater focus. and sure, you could say that that might be a big giveaway to him being the culprit, but i think if the time between character spotlight is distributed evenly, that would be easily circumvented. there was a lot more time that could've been spent building Ace's character beyond his animosity and self-loathing tendencies. we could have had someone actually attempting to bond with him, even if it doesn't turn out well. even if all the characters distrust each other to varying degrees, there's still a lot of characters that like each other or have unique bonds with each other that make them stand out and feel worth remembering, because those bonds contribute something to their characters. but with Ace? he truly gets the short end of the stick, because this isn't just the characters neglecting him, it's the story itself. if Ace got to have a moment like Arei, maybe someone to confide in, even if he wasn't really friends with them or liked them at all, him being vulnerable just once and having a moment with someone else would have rooted him in more as a person who fell victim to what the killing game wanted from him and not just a fictional character fulfilling the purpose required of them in the story.

honestly, it's a bit of a slap in the face, the way the show goes about it. because in hindsight, Ace's whole character is *meant* to be wasted potential. after all, his related phrase on Mai's bio page is "a girl who had a bright future".

he was set up to have the potential to change, the potential to add more to the story, the potential to show us more than what we were given. and i think the show kind of knows that and specifically perpetuates that. the scene where Teruko tells Levi to give up on trying to apologize to Ace almost reads as the show itself telling you to give up on Ace. that, why should we care about him? he's not going to amount to what we want from him. there's no use in investing our feelings in him.

whether or not any of that actually was intentionally doesn't matter, unfortunately, because rewatching so many scenes having this new context really makes it all seem like Despair Time doesn't want you to care about Ace. that Ace is meant to be a waste, that that's the core of his character. him being the epitome of wasted potential could have been great, actually, if they chose to use even a slight bit of that potential to build him up more before his inevitable demise. instead we watch him eat shit throughout the entire show thus far only for him to get royally fucked at the very end in the worst way possible. Ace's theme of wasted potential is only wasted potential because nothing is ever done with him. not actively, anyways. whatever his post-trial confessional is like won't really give us what we needed from the start. Ace didn't just deserve better in his life. he deserves better as a fictional character. he deserved to be a person and not *just* a character. he deserved to have deeper, emotional character moments outside of the trial, long before his murder confession and rapidly approaching demise. he deserved to be 3-dimensional.

again, this is all just my personal opinion, and there's still a chance the show can stick the landing and make Ace as the culprit feel a lot more natural and deserved. i'm not really confident in that happening, but drdt is full of surprises as well as a lot of great writing. that being said, even though i believe they kinda fumbled the bag with Ace here, i don't hate this turn of events. although he's a big favorite of mine, i still wanted Eden to be innocent over him, because she's also a great character and her killing Arei would not only be pretty huge character assassination, but would also make Arei's death meaningless. and i also think there were other characters who could have been better candidates as the chapter 2 killer (not just Hu, i think Levi, Arturo, and maybe even J also could've made for compelling culprits with the right reasons).

i'm content with this. i'm heartbroken he's going so early and i wish the execution of his guilt had been a lot better, but overall it's not terrible. he just deserved so much more in many different ways.

[uozlulu]

That mild bout with salmonella either obliterated my blood sugar balance or aggravated these mystery MS-like symptoms I've been having for about 20 or so years now and I can't tell which one is the culprit but I am ready for my face and limbs to stop feeling numb

[solardrop]

silver.

aaron hotchner x reader.

summary: hotch really doesn't think getting old is sexy. tags: fluff. a suggestive line here or there but nothing crazy. age gap (reader in their 30s, hotch is 57). jack mentioned. i think this could be read as gn!reader but i could be wrong. just short and cute. word count: 1.0k a/n: last fics rules still apply. be nice to me! when i look up photos of hair dying on pinterest i get rainbow haired e-boys so accept this haircut photo <3 divider creds to @/cafekitsune

Your name echoes across the house when Aaron yells for you from the bathroom. Once you enter the space you're greeted by his hair spiked in every which way, covered in a brownish-black goop. His thick hands are gloved and hold a small black toothbrush-like applicator.

"Sweetheart, can you check if I missed a spot?" Aaron hands you the brush and tray of inky black dye. You make a show of rolling your eyes and pouting back at him in the mirror and you take the items from him.

"I forgot it was that time of month that you decided to cover up all your sexy.." you sigh.

"Really," he scoffs, a teasing smile creeping on his lips, "I thought all the sexy was gone when I shaved.'

You almost teared up remembering the loss of his beard. A case off the grid forced him to grow one out for a few weeks. You understandably jumped his bones upon seeing the new look when he returned. The extra hair provided some out-of-this-world sensations for your softest parts that you would never forget. Only for the wicked man to shave all of it after two days, citing the "professional dress code" of the FBI as the culprit.

You snap a latex glove onto your hand, "Shush and bend over, big guy."

He smiles and kneels to face you, his rough hands gripping the fat of your thighs. You slowly worked around his head, dabbing bits of dye in bare spots. Your fingers rake through the inky black mass on his head, gently massaging his scalp. Aaron hums and thanks you under his breath.

"Do you know why I started dying my hair so consistently?"

"To torture me?"

"No," he huffs," when Jack was about... eight? I had taken him on this trip with a couple of his friends and their fathers, it was fun, but at the end of the whole thing Jack pointed at the grays starting to grow out on my hairline and turned to his friends and said-"

"Baby no...."

"'Guys look! My daddy is sooo old!'"

You clamp your lips shut to hold in your laughter. You didn't want to embarrass him further, especially with the deep red flush rising up the nape of his neck.

"Oh honey Jack was still a baby then... kids are insane you know that"

" I do, and I know. I laughed it off. I know he didn't really mean anything by it, but I didn't know if he felt like the odd one out for having an old dad.." Aaron runs his hands up and down your legs mindlessly. "And now I don't want you to feel out of place either."

You pause at that. In the few years you and Hotch have been together, never has he shown any insecurity about the difference in age between you. And he sure as hell wasn't about to start now if you had anything to do with it. You slicked his hair back with your hands and placed the clear complimentary shower cap in the box on his head, snickering at how silly he looked. Once you slide the slimy gloves off you set the timer on your phone and grasp the face of the man you loved so dearly, forcing him to rest his chin on your stomach and look into your eyes.

"You have less than thirty minutes to explain to me why you think I'd care about you looking old"

"you're young-"

"I'm in my thirties-"

"you're younger," he corrects "than me by quite a bit. All your friends have other young people to share their life and first experiences with. Meanwhile, you're stuck with a sixty-year-old-"

"You're fifty-seven-" Your eyes roll.

"a fifty-seven-year-old with a sassy kid turned angsty teenager for a child." he sighs, "Sweetheart I just don't want you to ever look at me and feel a loss."

You take a moment to scan his face. Despite the stupid shower cap mushrooming around his head, his face showed no amusement when he spoke. The sweet, shy smile he always sported around you was gone, replaced with a grimace and furrowed brow.

"Aaron I have never felt more loved, accepted, and safe than I have with you. I know you know that," you say.

He nods, pressing a quick peck to your belly button before looking at you. His eyes search yours for a moment of hesitation or change in resolve. but you stand your ground.

"The only thing I worry about with you on my arm is fighting off all the homewreckers."

He wheezes a laugh at this. Eventually having to stand up before he smears the dark dye all over you. He always does this. Laughs and acts like he wouldn't have crowds of people stop to fawn over his beauty if he let them.

"Remember that neighbor at the old apartment who would only stop by with cookies when she knew you were home?"

"Or the time Jack's classmate profiled their teacher's crush on you?"

"Don't even get me started on that detective JJ keeps telling me about from years ago in New Mexico. The male detective."

He smiles at you sheepishly, "You've made your point."

"If you want to dye your hair or shave to make yourself happy I think you should," you whisper, "but Aar I love every version of you possible"

You press your lips to his cheek before you continue, "You are the most beautiful, devastatingly sexy old man out. And I will still throw myself at you in public if you decide to finally ditch the box dye."

He smiles at you fully now, eyes shining as he looks down at you. He slides his lips against yours, grinning into the kiss before he pulls away to thank you.

"Maybe after this starts to grow out I'll see how I feel about the silver again." He looks back at his reflection in the mirror. He turns his head every which way to peek at the processing strands under the shower cap.

"Think about the beard too damn it.." you mumble. You begin to wander out of the bathroom when he yells for you again.

"Oh and sweetheart one more thing," you turn to look at him, confused when he stifles a laugh, "will you still think I'm sexy if I start balding like my father?"

[thedensworld]

Work Stressed | Y.Jh

Pairing: Jeonghan x reader

Genre: comedy, fluff

Summary: Working with your best friend is stressful and Jeonghan will tell you why.

"Where is she?!" Jeonghan slammed his fist onto the desk, eyes burning with frustration as he stared at the article on his screen. One of his artists, you, was now being implicated in a vandalism case in Hongdae. Your photo—blurry but unmistakable—was plastered all over the page, showing you running with a group of culprits. How had this happened?

"She's on her way here, sir," his secretary said quietly, sensing his fury.

Jeonghan massaged his temples, trying to quell the growing headache. Just yesterday, a paparazzi had caught you napping on a park bench, forcing him to pay off a tabloid to kill the story—especially with your drama currently on air. Now this? Vandalism in Hongdae? The timing couldn't have been worse.

"She's going to be the death of me," he muttered under his breath.

Right on cue, you strolled into his office, a bright smile on your face as if nothing had happened. "Hello! I got you coffee," you chirped, holding up a cup like it was some kind of peace offering.

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened. He pointed sharply to the couch. "Sit."

You blinked but complied, casually dropping onto the plush seat as if you were here for a friendly chat. Jeonghan motioned for everyone to leave the room—your manager, his secretary, all of them filed out without a word, leaving the two of you alone.

"What's it this time?" you asked, unfazed, already knowing you were the problem child of the company. You leaned back, taking a slow sip of your coffee, like this was just another Tuesday.

Jeonghan didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he slammed the printed article down in front of you. “Read.”

You glanced at it briefly, then back up at him with a shrug. "I was just jogging," you said, completely nonchalant.

Jeonghan’s eyes flashed with disbelief. "Jogging?! How is my PR team supposed to spin that? Do you think the public is going to believe you were just out for a jog when you're literally pictured running from the scene with a gang of vandals?"

You sighed, rolling your eyes as if he were the one being unreasonable. “I didn’t do anything. I’m not part of any gang. It’s just a coincidence. Tell them that.”

Jeonghan gritted his teeth, trying to contain his frustration. "It’s not that simple, darling. You don’t just explain away an article like this. Your reputation is on the line."

Leaning forward, you met his gaze, unbothered. “Doesn’t matter what I say. I’m always going to be the villain anyway, even when I’m telling the truth.”

That made him pause. As much as it frustrated him, you had a point. You were always honest—maybe tood honest—but no matter what you said, the media would find a way to twist it. They always did.

Jeonghan slumped back into his chair, exhaling heavily, his anger slowly deflating. "I'm sorry," he muttered, surprising even himself. "How are you, by the way? I heard you got injured during filming."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change of tone. You nodded, pulling up your sleeve to reveal a deep scratch on your left arm. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just a cut."

Jeonghan winced. "That’s going to leave a scar."

You smiled, unfazed. "Well, lucky for me, you’ve got plenty of money to fix that."

For the first time that morning, Jeonghan chuckled softly. "Yeah. You’re not wrong."

It had been 15 years since that fateful day in high school when Jeonghan accidentally kicked a soccer ball straight into your forehead. You had been the new kid in school, standing on the sidelines of the field, and Jeonghan's errant kick had made sure you were noticed. While you were clutching your head in pain, Jeonghan had rushed over, apologizing profusely. That was the beginning of your unlikely friendship.

At the time, you had just moved to Seoul for your acting debut, and Jeonghan, with his easygoing charm, quickly became your first friend in the new school. He was the only one who didn’t treat you differently because of your budding fame, and soon, the dynamic shifted from classmates to something more like colleagues. You were juggling school and early acting roles, while Jeonghan was focusing on his studies—first as a regular student, but with a growing interest in business.

"Hey," Jeonghan had said one day after school, leaning against the lockers with that confident grin of his. "I’m going to start a label in the future. Do you want to be my actor?"

You had laughed at the time, but without hesitation, you responded, "Sure."

It was a simple promise made between two teenagers who didn’t quite know what the future held. You didn’t expect it to come true, but years later, after Jeonghan graduated with a degree in business and you had built up a name for yourself in the industry, the promise came back.

"Remember when you said you’d be my actor?" Jeonghan had asked one evening over drinks, his tone light but his expression serious.

And just like that, the promise from high school had become reality. Jeonghan had become your manager—a great one, too. He knew how to navigate the industry, protect your image, and push you to take on more challenging roles as your career advanced. He wasn’t just your manager—he was someone who knew you, who had been there from the start.

But in recent years, things had gotten complicated. As your fame grew, so did the pressure. The roles weren’t easy anymore, and neither were the scandals. Jeonghan spent more time putting out fires, like today’s vandalism case, and less time just being your friend.

He watched you now, still sipping your coffee like nothing had happened. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes, hidden behind that carefree exterior you always wore in public. And that made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, he had pushed you too far.

Breaking the silence, Jeonghan leaned forward. "Do you ever think about... slowing down? Taking a break?"

You gave him a long, hard look, as if weighing the question carefully. "Are you suggesting I quit?" you asked, a small smirk playing on your lips, but there was an edge to your voice.

Jeonghan shook his head. "No, not quit. Just... rest. You've been running non-stop for years. You’ve earned a break."

You leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. "And what would I do with a break? Stay home? Watch dramas I’m not in?"

"You could live," Jeonghan said softly, surprising even himself with how earnest he sounded. "You could live without the cameras, the articles, the public scrutiny—just for a little while."

You looked at him, searching his face for something. After a moment, you sighed. "Maybe. But I don't think the world would let me rest, even if I wanted to."

Jeonghan frowned but didn't argue. He knew you were probably right. You were too much of a public figure now. People always had their eyes on you, waiting for your next move, your next mistake.

"Still," Jeonghan said, "if you ever decide to take that break, I’ll be right here."

You smiled, genuinely this time. "Thanks. But we both know I'm not going anywhere just yet."

Jeonghan returned the smile, though there was a trace of sadness in it. "Yeah. I know."

*

Jeonghan was jolted awake by the shrill sound of the doorbell ringing incessantly. Groggily, he glanced at the clock—2 a.m. If this wasn’t something urgent, someone was getting fired. He dragged himself out of bed, confused and annoyed, and checked the intercom. His brows furrowed when he saw your face on the screen. Without hesitation, he buzzed you in.

Opening the door, he found you standing there, still dressed in full makeup, looking disheveled and slightly off-kilter. At first glance, you appeared drunk. Your new manager was standing awkwardly behind you, wearing a tight, apologetic smile.

"She insisted on coming here," your manager explained, his tone strained.

Jeonghan waved him off. "It’s okay, I’ll take it from here. You should go home and get some rest."

With a nod, the manager gratefully left, and Jeonghan turned his attention to you. He sighed, taking in your messy state. "Who did you get drunk with this time?" he asked, guiding you inside and sitting you down on the couch. He slipped off your jacket, his patience wearing thin.

But then you blinked, stretched out dramatically, and he noticed the telltale spark of mischief in your eyes. You weren't drunk at all—you were acting.

"I knew it!" Jeonghan groaned, throwing your jacket back at you as he slumped down on the opposite end of the couch. "What are you doing, disturbing my sleep at 2 a.m.? I have work tomorrow."

You giggled softly, bending down to untie your shoes. "Let me crash here for a few days," you said casually, propping your legs up on the couch as if it were already decided.

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. Get up, I’m driving you home." He reached out to pull your arm, trying to get you back on your feet.

"No!" You resisted, clinging to the couch. "I don’t want to go home."

He crossed his arms, leaning back and studying you. "Did something happen?" His voice softened with concern.

You avoided his gaze, biting your lip as if debating whether to tell him. Finally, you mumbled, "I haven’t been home in a week. I’m scared... Let me stay here. I’ll sleep in the guest room, and I swear it’ll be like I’m not even here."

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What do you mean, scared?" He grabbed your arm, gently pulling you back down when you tried to dash off to the guest room. "No, sit down and explain. What’s going on?"

You hesitated, your eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. "I think someone’s been in my house… for the past week."

Jeonghan’s frown deepened. "What? How do you know?"

You pulled out your phone and handed it to him. There was a picture—of you, taken from inside your house. It was grainy, but clearly snapped from within the confines of your own home.

Jeonghan’s expression darkened as he studied the photo. "And you’re just telling me this now? Did they hurt you?"

You shook your head. "No, but... the last time I went there, I heard someone chasing me, and I fell down the stairs."

He immediately reached for your arm, rolling up the sleeve to reveal the injury. "So this wasn’t from shooting, was it?" You shook your head again, and his worry only grew.

Jeonghan cursed under his breath. "That’s dangerous. Why didn’t you call the police?"

"I panicked," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I didn’t know what to do. My new manager doesn’t even know... He tried to take me home tonight, but when I saw the lights were on, I freaked out and asked him to bring me here instead."

Jeonghan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could see how shaken you were, though you were trying to keep it together. "You shouldn’t have kept this to yourself."

"I didn’t want to cause more trouble," you muttered, biting your lip. "I already feel like I’ve been a mess lately..."

"Hey," Jeonghan interrupted, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, his voice firm yet reassuring. "That’s alright. You did the right thing by coming here."

You looked up at him, visibly relieved by his words, and he could see just how exhausted you were—mentally and physically. He stood up, grabbing his phone from the table.

"You’re sleeping in my room tonight," he said. "The guest room’s full of my work stuff right now, and I’m not letting you sleep alone when someone’s been in your house."

Before you could protest, Jeonghan was already dialing the security company and setting up arrangements to keep you safe. You sat there, watching him take control of the situation, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you could breathe.

"Thank you," you whispered, as Jeonghan hung up the phone and turned back to you.

He smiled softly, reaching out to ruffle your hair. "Get some rest. You’ll be safe here."

And for the first time in days, you actually believed it.

*

"I didn't know you could cook," Jeonghan remarked, stepping into his home, greeted by the delicious aroma of a home-cooked meal. The sight of you casually moving around in his kitchen was something he never thought he’d witness. In his mind, you were always more of a 'princess treatment' kind of girl, not someone who could navigate a kitchen so confidently.

"I’ve lived alone since high school. Of course I know how to cook," you replied, brushing off the surprise in his voice. You ushered him to change out of his work clothes and join you for dinner.

A few minutes later, Jeonghan sat down at the table, taking the first bite of your meal. His eyes widened in genuine appreciation. "Thanks for the meal. This is really good."

You smiled at the compliment. As he ate, Jeonghan’s expression grew more serious. "The police are investigating the stalker case. They’ve already found a few leads, so we should have more answers soon. As for the vandalism incident, we’ve sued the media for spreading disinformation. Hopefully, that’ll keep them in check."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "I just don’t understand how anyone could believe I’d do something like that. Do I really seem like the kind of person who would join a vandalism gang?"

Jeonghan laughed, shaking his head. "Not at all. They’re just looking for a story."

The two of you finished dinner, and Jeonghan insisted on doing the dishes while you moved to the living room, scrolling through the script your manager had sent over. It wasn’t long before Jeonghan joined you, handing you a can of beer.

"What’s this one about?" he asked, gesturing to the script in your hands.

"A memorable one-night stand that ends up with the female lead discovering it was her boss," you replied, taking a sip from your can.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. "Koreans really love their one-night stand stories. Almost every drama seems to start like that these days."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Yeah, but this one’s different. The boss—the male lead—has actually been in love with her since high school. I know, it's a bit unrealistic, but the character development is solid."

Jeonghan smiled, understanding now why you’d taken the role. "Is that why you accepted the part?"

You nodded. "That, and let’s be honest, there are so many new rookies in the industry now. I can’t afford to be picky." You laughed, but there was a hint of truth behind your words.

Jeonghan picked up the script and skimmed through it. "Let me help you with practice," he offered, settling in beside you. He took on the role of the male lead, reading his lines with a surprising amount of intensity.

"Just because I’m your boss, doesn’t mean I can’t love you," Jeonghan read, his voice low and serious. "I’m also human. I have feelings. And I’ve told you before, I’ve liked you since high school. That feeling... it never stopped. It’s only grown, Y/N."

You blinked, startled by the sound of your own name coming from him. "That’s my name," you pointed out, half-joking but also feeling the odd shift in the air.

Jeonghan quickly cleared his throat, flustered. "I—I meant to say, Mina... the character’s name." His face flushed as he tried to recover.

You watched him for a moment, feeling the tension building between you. Suddenly, the room felt too small, too intimate. You hastily grabbed the script from his hands. "Practice is over," you said, tossing it onto the coffee table.

The atmosphere was heavy, the lines between your characters and your real relationship beginning to blur. You stood up quickly, needing to break the awkwardness. "Do you want ice cream? Or dessert? Maybe I should order pizza?"

Jeonghan bit his lip, looking down as he rubbed the back of his neck. He had messed up, and he knew it. That one slip, saying your name instead of the character’s, had crossed a line he wasn’t sure he could uncross.

"Yeah, sure. Pizza sounds good," he muttered, watching you retreat to the kitchen, trying to put some distance between the moment that just passed. But the tension hung in the air, thick and undeniable. He wasn’t sure if either of you could pretend it hadn’t just happened.

*

"Are they following us?" Jeonghan's voice was tense, his eyes glancing at the rearview mirror every few seconds. You followed his gaze and immediately recognized the car tailing you both since you left the company.

"It's them," you whispered, dread settling in your chest. It was the stalker that had been eluding the police for weeks now, making your life a constant state of unease.

Jeonghan's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "They must’ve been waiting for you," he muttered, a sharp edge to his tone as he pressed down on the accelerator, increasing the speed. His jaw clenched, and his knuckles whitened as he kept glancing at you, noticing the panic on your face as you watched the car in the rearview mirror.

He let out a frustrated sigh before turning the car down an unexpected street. "Why are we turning left?" you asked, confusion lacing your voice.

Jeonghan shot you a determined look, the corner of his mouth curling slightly into a grin. "I'm giving them a little lesson," he said calmly, though there was a storm brewing behind his eyes.

Your stomach dropped. "No..." you began, shaking your head in protest. "This could be dangerous, Jeonghan."

He only smirked as he turned the car down a narrow, dark alleyway, taking sharp turns that would easily confuse the car behind. Within moments, Jeonghan had maneuvered them into a tight corner, effectively trapping the stalker's car.

The car came to a screeching halt, and you let out a deep sigh, anxiety still buzzing through your veins. "This isn’t a good idea..." you whispered, but Jeonghan was already out of the car, his movements swift and purposeful.

You barely registered where the bat came from, but suddenly, Jeonghan had it gripped in his hand as he approached the stalker’s vehicle. Without hesitation, he swung the bat at the car’s door, the sound of metal denting beneath his force echoing in the quiet alley.

"I said, get out, you motherfucker!" Jeonghan’s voice was cold, sharp enough to cut through the fear lingering in the air. You flinched at the sound, shocked by this side of him. He'd always been calm, composed, but tonight he was someone else entirely—fierce and protective.

The driver, a man, finally opened the door, trembling as he faced Jeonghan, who towered over him with a dangerous look in his eyes.

"Is this the guy who’s been following you, Y/n?" Jeonghan barked, his eyes flicking back to you for confirmation. You took a few steps forward, your breath catching in your throat as you recognized the man’s face, albeit obscured by the shadows. But you knew. It was him.

You nodded, pulling out your phone with trembling hands and dialing the police, your fingers moving on autopilot. Jeonghan didn’t wait. He grabbed the man by the collar, lifting him slightly off the ground as he growled into his face, "If you ever come near her again, I swear to God—"

The man whimpered, too scared to even respond. Before anything more could happen, the flashing lights of the police illuminated the alleyway, casting long shadows as officers arrived on the scene. They quickly apprehended the stalker, securing him in handcuffs as you gave your statement to one of the officers.

As the police car drove away, Jeonghan stood there, still clutching the bat. His shoulders finally relaxed, and he turned back to you, the fierceness in his eyes softening into something more familiar, something more... him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice now low, filled with concern.

You nodded, still shaken but relieved. "Thank you, Jeonghan," you whispered, unsure of what else to say. He walked over to you and gently placed a hand on your shoulder, his earlier anger dissipating into tenderness.

"Don’t worry," he said softly, "let's go home."

*

Despite everything that had happened recently, you refused to take a break. You continued cooperating with the ongoing investigation, all while managing to shoot your latest drama. With the media spotlight firmly fixed on your every move, you became the topic of discussion, whether it was for the stalking case, the vandalism rumors, or your work. It wasn't a surprise when some of your co-stars started showing subtle attitudes—jealousy or perhaps frustration, masked behind fake smiles.

One of them, a junior by two years, approached you between takes with a smug expression. She had once been part of the company before leaving two years ago. “Maybe you should give your company a break from all the scandals and trouble,” she said, her words dripping with passive aggression.

You didn’t miss a beat, flashing her a sharp grin. “Still worried about your ex who takes care of me better than you ever did?" you shot back, referencing Jeonghan, whom she had dated before leaving the company. Your words hit their mark, her face briefly betraying the sting before she turned and walked away.

Jeonghan’s words echoed in your mind: "Be bold. Don’t be nice to people who do you dirty." He had told you that during one of your darkest moments, when the pressure of rumors and whispers had almost broken you early in your career. Now, you carried that same attitude with you—while you were known as a bit scandalous, and people tried to paint you as a troublemaker, you had firm boundaries. And unlike some, you didn’t allow people to step over them. You had no problem telling them to back off, which often led to even more shade and misinformation thrown your way.

But no matter how hard they tried to tear you down, the public loved you. Your acting was brilliant, your roles brought to life in a way that others could only admire. And while you were often the target of rumors, at the end of the day, people couldn’t deny the fact that you were just a person trying to stay sane in the cutthroat world of entertainment.

“Good job, everyone!” the director called, signaling the end of the shoot. You thanked everyone on set as you wrapped up your work for the day. It was past 10 p.m., and exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders. Fortunately, today's shoot had been made more enjoyable by a surprise food truck sent by your former co-star, Jeon Wonwoo. The gesture had lifted the spirits of the entire crew.

As you gathered your things and bid goodbye to the team, you noticed a familiar figure walking toward you with a tired smile—Yoon Jeonghan.

“CEO Yoon!” people greeted him with respect as he approached, exchanging pleasantries with the crew. You overheard the director speaking with him.

“Are you here for Y/n?” the director asked, shaking hands with Jeonghan.

Jeonghan nodded, his expression warm but focused. “Yes, is the shoot finished?”

You quickly grabbed your bag and approached the two of them. “Thank you for today, director,” you said, bowing politely.

The director smiled, nodding in return. “You did a great job today. Have a good evening, Y/n. You too, CEO Yoon.”

As the director walked away, Jeonghan turned to you with a soft smile. “Ready to go?”

You nodded, grateful for his presence after such a long and draining day. Even after all these years, Jeonghan’s presence had a way of grounding you—reminding you that no matter how chaotic things got, you always had someone in your corner.

“Hyejin talked to me today,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence as Jeonghan drove you home.

“Shin Hyejin?” Jeonghan asked, glancing at you briefly.

You nodded. “Yep, your ‘ex’ who loves pampering me.”

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s not an ex. We just met a few times back in the day.”

Raising an eyebrow, you shot him a playful look. “But she sure thought you two were dating.”

A heavy sigh escaped Jeonghan, followed by another chuckle. “I’m really sorry about that, then,” he said, amused at the absurdity of it all. “People see what they want to see, I guess.”

He changed the subject quickly, his voice light and teasing. “I noticed Jeon Wonwoo sent you a food truck today. He’s such a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing tone. “We’re just friends, Jeonghan.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he quipped, clearly enjoying getting under your skin.

You sighed, leaning back in your seat. “He’s a great person. Kind, thoughtful, and sweet... but you know my problem.”

Jeonghan’s teasing smile faded, replaced with quiet understanding as his hand moved to rest gently on yours. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay,” he said softly, referring to your struggle with avoidant attachment. “There’s no rush. No need to worry. You’ve been through a lot, and you get to take your time.”

You appreciated the warmth in his words and the fact that he always seemed to know how to calm your anxieties. While people like Wonwoo were kind, it was Jeonghan’s constant presence and unwavering support that had always grounded you. You didn’t need to explain yourself around him. He just got you.

As the car cruised through the quiet streets, you found yourself lost in thought, staring out the window while Jeonghan’s steady presence filled the space next to you. The city lights blurred by, and you suddenly wondered, When did this happen?

When had Jeonghan become such an integral part of your life? It wasn’t just that he was your manager; it was the way he was always there—at every high and low, quietly supporting you, guiding you through the mess of the industry. You didn’t know when it had shifted, but at some point, he had surrounded your life fully. Every big decision, every major step, Jeonghan had been there, solid as ever.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He was focused on the road, his face calm and composed, just like always. But you couldn’t help but feel a mix of awe and confusion. How had he managed to be so deeply woven into the fabric of your life without you even realizing it?

His dedication to his work was something that had always amazed you. He wasn’t just a manager who worked the hours and did the minimum; Jeonghan breathed the industry. His passion was palpable, the way he fought for his artists, the way he handled crises with a cool head and quick thinking. Even when things were overwhelming, he never seemed to waver.

You had always admired that about him. It was part of why you never allowed yourself to rest, why you kept pushing yourself to be better. You wanted to prove to him—and maybe to yourself—that you were as passionate as he was, that you could match his fire. Sometimes you felt like you were chasing that, trying to live up to the standard he set, even if it wore you out.

But tonight, sitting next to him in the quiet hum of the car, you found yourself questioning more than just your career.

Was that all it was? Admiration? Dedication to your work?

Or was there something else? A deeper reason why you felt this way whenever you were around him. Why his opinion of you mattered so much. Why, when he placed his hand on yours earlier, you felt a sense of calm you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You shifted in your seat, feeling a flutter of unease mixed with something you weren’t sure you wanted to name just yet. What am I feeling for him?

Jeonghan had always been your constant, but lately, that constant presence felt heavier. More significant. And the more you questioned it, the more confusing it became. You didn’t want to ruin things. Didn’t want to blur the lines between the professional and whatever this was growing between you. But could you keep pretending you didn’t feel it?

"Jeonghan?" you called softly, your voice almost uncertain.

He glanced at you, surprised by the tone in your voice. “Yeah?”

You hesitated. What am I supposed to say? The words were on the tip of your tongue, but instead, you forced a smile and shook your head.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, turning back to the window, your thoughts more tangled than ever.

Jeonghan didn’t press, but the question lingered in your mind long after the car ride was over.

*

Jeonghan shouldn’t have done that.

It was 9 a.m., and Jeonghan had his head buried in his hands at his desk, staring at the article that had just been published. Not just about you—but about both of you. His face might have been blurred in the pictures, but anyone with half a brain could tell it was him. The caption was vague, but the implications were clear: rumors of a secret relationship between you and him were already spreading like wildfire.

Why did I kiss her last night?

Jeonghan replayed the events over and over in his head, the regret gnawing at him like a bad headache. After driving you to your new place, the drive had been oddly quiet. Something had felt off, so he’d asked if everything was okay, checking on you a few times. You’d nodded, but your silence said otherwise.

When he’d parked and walked around to open the door for you, that’s when it happened.

“Jeonghan,” you’d called his name, standing in front of him with a look he couldn’t quite place. “I don’t like Wonwoo.”

Jeonghan had blinked, caught off guard. He wasn’t sure what had prompted that, especially after teasing you about Wonwoo earlier. But what you said next stopped him cold.

“I think I like you.”

His breath had hitched. You... liked him? No, that couldn’t be right. After all these years? He could hardly believe it, and neither, it seemed, could you.

You quickly corrected yourself, shaking your head as if trying to sort through your own confusion. “No, I think it’s just admiration. But… I don’t know. Admiration can lead to liking someone, right? But I honestly don’t know.”

Jeonghan had stood frozen, staring into your eyes. He watched the way your expression shifted from uncertainty to something deeper, something vulnerable. And before he could stop himself, before he could think about the consequences, his gaze fell to your lips.

And he kissed you.

You weren’t drunk. Neither was he. You were both fully aware of what you were doing, yet Jeonghan still couldn’t fathom where he’d found the courage to close the gap between you after fifteen years of friendship. Why did you suddenly confess to him? Was it because you’d been living under his roof for the past few weeks? Had the proximity stirred something inside you?

Now, the aftermath was crashing down on him. He wasn’t just your friend—he was the CEO of a company with a reputation to uphold. He couldn’t afford to be entangled in a scandal like this, not with you at the center of it.

Jeonghan was snapped out of his thoughts by his secretary’s voice, pulling him back to reality.

“You can be honest with me, sir. Are you two dating?” she pressed, clearly curious. She was one of the few people who knew about the close bond between the two of you, and she had probably been speculating for a while.

Jeonghan sighed, avoiding the question. Instead, he asked, “Where is she?”

His voice softened instinctively when asking about you, something his secretary didn’t miss. She checked her phone, scrolling through messages. “Her manager said she just woke up and hasn’t seen any of this yet. Apparently, she left her phone somewhere…”

She paused, smirking slightly. “Somewhere in your car.”

Jeonghan waved her off, feeling a mixture of exasperation and amusement. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment as he let out a deep sigh. He needed to figure out what to do next—and fast.

An official statement would have to be released soon, but the bigger question remained: what was going to happen between the two of you now?

“Let’s just say we’re dating,” you blurted out, and Jeonghan immediately choked on nothing.

“We’re not dating,” he stated flatly, eyes wide in disbelief.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to date?”

The conversation had suddenly taken a sharp turn, the heat of the moment making it hard to think straight. Thankfully, no one was around to witness the embarrassment unfolding in Jeonghan’s office.

“Don’t say that!” he exclaimed, panic lacing his voice.

“Why not?” You tilted your head, smirking slightly. “Are you suddenly chickening out after kissing me last night? Or do you kiss all your artists, Yoon Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan scowled, thoroughly offended by your accusation. “Is that what you think of me? Wow.”

You shook your head, teasing him more than you probably should. “No, but now I understand why Hyejin misunderstood things.”

Frustrated, Jeonghan threw his hands in the air. “Me and Hyejin were nothing, I told you.”

“Okay, but what about you and me?” you asked, voice softer, but your question hit harder than you’d intended.

Jeonghan’s heart pounded in his chest, suddenly at a loss for words. It wasn’t that he didn’t have anything to say—it was that he was terrified. Scared that if he told you the truth, you’d run away from him.

I love you.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration growing as he watched you grin in satisfaction. This woman...

“Please, consider everything before you speak. What about your fans? The shippers for your drama?” Jeonghan was grasping for any reason to keep things under control, even though the situation was spiraling fast.

You shrugged, entirely too nonchalant for his liking. “I don’t know. Let’s see their reaction then.”

Jeonghan crossed his arms and sighed, already feeling defeated. “Alright, fine. Let’s release a statement saying we’re dating—for now. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

Your smile grew wider, head tilting as you gave him a look that made his heart race even faster.

“Jeonghan,” you said softly, catching his attention.

“What?”

“I don’t think I just like you.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, his breath catching in his throat.

“I think I love you.”

He bit his inner cheek, feeling like he was about to lose his mind. This woman is going to be the death of me.

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS Zayne: A Good Day | NSFW

Happy Birthday Zayne!!! Our boy deserves a good day because he's our little meow meow! I'm so happy with his event and today imma play his card because I've been holding myself back and AAAAAAAH I am so ready for this. Also this is going to have two parts, the other will be posted by mid-day!

❧ Pairings: Zayne x Reader ❧ Warnings: Fluff, Dry Humping, Cum Eating, Hand Jobs ❧ Synopsis: Zayne's birthday is finally here, and he asked to have a simple, uncrazy day. So a hike through a forest and a picnic dinner by the lake sounded perfect. Halfway through the hiking trail though, Zayne decides he wants his birthday present early. ❧ Word Count: 4.5k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Part 2

Zayne

A Good Day

Being on a private hiking trail was certainly something that you weren’t used to. The path was well kept, but there weren’t any signs to your destination. While you were always used to running into people, even if it were one or two, you hadn’t seen a single soul. It was nice, for once, to be as affectionate as you wanted to on your walk with Zayne without having to worry about random passersby.

Zayne was still a little uncomfortable with PDA so you normally tried keeping it to a minimum. This entire hike you had been clinging to his arm, randomly pulling him down for a kiss, and just being all over him the entire time. It was probably why the hike was taking longer than anticipated. He didn’t stop you once, instead leaning closer whenever you tugged on him and giving a knowing look, sometimes commenting that he wasn’t going to walk off without you if you let go.

You had full plans on making it there for an early dinner so you could sit and enjoy the sunset while you sat by the lake at the end of the trail. Zayne had thought ahead and made sure you two left earlier than expected because he knew you, and he knew you’d probably get distracted and want to take a few breaks here and there. Your loyal doctor was, of course, right in this assumption.

Which is what you were doing now, sitting on a perfectly flat rock that was clearly placed on the trail for people to sit on.  The uphill climb was more tiring than you expected, especially with how you were practically skipping because you were so damn happy to be spending a vacation with Zayne. You once swore you would never be one of those lovestruck smuck, but there was just something about this man that had you acting like an idiot.

You felt something ice cold touching the back of your neck and you let out a small yelp at the sensation, almost jumping right off the rock. You turned your head and was met with Zayne having that ‘innocent’ smirk on his face, the one he always swears he doesn’t give you whenever he’s being a little shit. Everyone always thought this man was so calm and composed, but you knew better. He always had a teasing streak when it came to you, even when it came off with his dry humor.

Your eyes went down and you saw the water bottle he was holding out to you, which was the culprit of that freezing sensation. He had used his evol most likely to make sure it chilled perfectly for you. He always told you warm water was better at quenching your thirst, but after you had complained once he always made sure it was cold for you.

“You should hydrate,” he commented as you took the water from his hand. You stuck out your tongue, and uncapped the bottle; pressing it against your lips and taking a few sips, then  wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Thank you, honey dearest,” You said with a teasing smile. Watching the man’s face get a small flush from your endearing nickname was adorable as you placed the bottle next to you, “We’ve only been hiking for like…what an hour and a half? Why is this hike so hard?” you were whining now, although as a hunter this was nothing, you still wanted boyfriend sympathy. Sadly though, your boyfriend was a logical man and only gave you sympathy when you actually deserved some, not fishing for it.

“The first half is up a steep incline and we’re carrying a lot of supplies. Once we reach the peak it’ll be downhill so it should be easier,” Zayne pointed out. Right next to your feet was a rather large modified picnic basket. You had brought a lot of stuff, wanting to make sure you and Zayne would have enough for dinner. He had claimed he didn’t want to do anything extravagant for his birthday dinner, so taking it out in nature by a lake was the best solution you could find.

Just the two of you with beautiful scenery and some home cooking. You had even prepared a small surprise for him in the basket, which is why you had insisted you’d carry it. Zayne had protested a lot about that, but your stubbornness won out in the end when you told him this would be good training for you.

“Are we almost there?” you asked, knowing that Zayne had been the one to get the map so you two wouldn’t get lost. After your last little hike ended in a two hour detour because you swore you knew where you were going, he became the navigator.

“We’re about ten minutes from the top, and going downhill will only take maybe twenty minutes.” He stated and you let out a small sigh of relief. You couldn’t wait to get there and just relax and have a nice dinner. You had managed to work up a good appetite from the hike, and your stomach rumbled slightly as if reminding you it was still there.

“Good, I’m starving,” you commented. You had been preparing your dinner all afternoon, and as a result skipped lunch by accident. You did have a few samples of what you were making though, mainly because Zayne would keep stealing bits and then pressing it against your lips so you’d try it. It was most likely his attempt at making sure you didn’t become hangry later in the day. He used the excuse of helping you as well, not letting you say no when he asked, so you had given him simple tasks.

It had been fun having him helping you out in the kitchen. Especially when he had been content to just wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on top of yours while you stirred a pot. Moments like those were irreplaceable and you wished you could do it every day. Sometimes your busy schedules were truly a hindrance. One day though, perhaps one day you two would get to have that domestic bliss every day.

“You know, you never did tell me what was in that mystery package when you put our lunch together,” Zayne said as he decided to sit down on the rock next to you. You glanced at him with a smile, knowing he was trying to pry information from you. The package was something you had made at your own apartment yesterday before you guys had even come to this cabin.

You had been very stubborn in telling him not to look in it when you placed it into the fridge, letting him know it would be for dinner. Of course it didn’t stop him from being curious, probably because he figured it was a dessert of some kind. He had been cuter than usual when he saw you place it in the fridge. He had pressed a kiss to your cheek and asked if he could have his present early. He even used your weakness of nuzzling his face into the back of your neck while cuddling, knowing it made you absolutely melt.

So far you had managed to keep it a top secret from him, but it looked like his curiosity was getting the better of him. Sometimes he really did like to push it since he knew you always caved in with a few looks and touches from him. This man knew the effect he had on you, and wasn’t opposed to using it to his advantage.

“I told you, it was a surprise,” you said, feeling his hand cupping your cheek. His thumb trailing over you then going to tuck a strand of hair behind your hair. He was being cute again, giving you a soft look. This stubborn man…

His hand went back to just resting on your cheek and you were now leaning into his touch, unable to help yourself. “Yes? Did you need something?” you mumbled, already knowing you would be caving in soon. Your resolve was already melting away and he just needed to push a little more and it was all over for you.

“Is it so wrong for me to want to look at my partner?” he asked, pressing his thumb against your lip now. You chuckled, looking at him and kissing the finger there. Zayne smiled, the tips of his ears only a little red for the time being. You leaned closer to him on the rock, your hand almost touching his thigh and he shifted himself in case you wanted to come just a little closer and close the distance between you two.

“Normally it isn’t, but I know you,” you pointed out, taking his hand in your own, and playing with it. “You’re trying to butter me up right now,” you turned his hand so you could place some kisses on his knuckles. A small shiver went down Zayne’s spine as he looked at you with slightly wider eyes. His expressions came a little easier since it was only you two right now. While to others he still seemed expressionless, you could tell from the most subtle twitch of his lips how he was feeling now.

“I’m doing no such thing, I’m simply admiring you,” it was a weak argument, but it was enough to make you blush. You let out a small whine of protest, knowing you were losing right now. He was flustering you too much, the butterflies in your stomach going batshit crazy because he was just so perfect you couldn’t handle yourself. Who told him he could act like this and make you feel things?

You suddenly felt his warm lips pressing against your cheek, causing another whine to leave you. You wanted more, you wanted to feel his lips on yours. When he leaned back he could clearly see it on your face, but instead of doing anything about it he just had that subtle, knowing smirk. You were pouting now, knowing you’d have to take charge if you wanted a kiss and play right into his hands.

Instead of giving in immediately you decided to just try to continue on your conversation, “Well, if that’s all…” you murmured, your eyes looking away from him. You squeezed his hand and he adjusted his grip to run his thumb across yours. It was his turn to bring your hand to his lips and kiss the back of it, making your breath get caught in your throat.

“However…” he began and you knew it. This was it. This was where you broke and gave the man whatever it is he wanted, “Perhaps a snack wouldn’t hurt to help us reenergize for the last leg of our trip,” there it was. It was almost relieving that you had gotten to know Zayne so well that you just knew what he was going to do sometimes.

You laughed, pushing him slightly on the chest and rolled your eyes, “I fucking knew it,” you huffed. You could see the ghost of a smile on him because he already knew he was getting what he wanted now.

“Language,” another eye roll from you was the result of his little comment. You leaned closer to his face until you were staring directly into those hazel eyes of his.

“Besides, it was merely a suggestion, I don’t know what you’re trying to imply with your comment,” he played coy, as though he wasn’t trying to manipulate you into giving him the treats you had packed. You groaned and leaned forward, pressing a kiss against his lips.

“You’re playing dirty,” you said against his mouth, feeling the tug of his smile as he leaned in for another peck. “Way too bold today…” Another peck was his response as he took your chin between his pointer and thumb to keep you in place.

“Was it not you who said the ‘Birthday Boy could have whatever he wanted today’?” he reminded you, pressing another sweet kiss to your lips. You were absolutely putty in his hands right now, wanting to just kiss him breathless.

“How dare you use my own words against me,” your complaints fell on deaf ears as he brought you in for a longer kiss. This time your mouths working together, pressed up and savoring the contact. You felt him nibble on your lower lip teasingly, making you gasp. He really was being bold today, and you were all for it. He parted before you could lean in to deepen the kiss, a small pout on your lips and you could hear him huff in amusement.

“You can’t be mad at me for being curious. You’ve been sneaky the past few weeks, claiming you were ‘busy’ and then coming back smelling like sweets,” He said after a moment, leaning away from you for a moment. You whined, knowing he was done kissing you for the time being. Normally he was the one who had no restraint when it came to these things, but the man was on a mission. 

He had probably been wondering what you had been up to since you continuously told him you had plans when he asked you to cuddle on the couch…which was easily one of the hardest things you had done in your life. Saying no to Zayne? Unspeakable. Still, you wanted this to be the perfect surprise, so even if you left his home almost in tears because you wanted to run back into his arms, you held strong.

“I told you, I was going out with Tara,” You reminded him. It wasn’t a lie, when you told your friend you wanted to do something special for Zayne, she suggested making his favorite sweets. The only issue is that his favorite sweets happened to be macarons. So she had been going to classes with you. You only thought you’d be attending one, but after failing miserably you went to four more just to make sure you had it down to a science.

“Then care to enlighten me as to what you were going out for?” He asked, trying to pry it out of you. You let out a little groan the moment you saw the look in his eyes. He was giving you those big, pouty eyes. The ones he swore he never made at you. You knew he was a filthy liar though, the look on his face could only be described as a kicked puppy. He was almost begging right now, knowing how weak you were.

“Did you want your surprise right now?” You caved in, knowing that it was futile. You shouldn’t have stopped at all, should’ve powered through the walk and gotten to the lake to avoid this. He would be the end of you. You could give him the entire world if that’s what he asked. It’s the entire reason you had made him take time off work so you could spoil him for his birthday. Spending a couple days together in a secluded cabin is all you wanted so he could relax.

You felt him kissing your cheek again, “Only if you feel like sharing with the class,” he said, happy to have won this round. You almost pinched his cheeks for that, he seemed far too satisfied knowing he got you to crumble.

Instead you groaned and nodded, “Okay, fine, but only because you’re being really cute right now,” you saw him frown a little at that. He always said he wasn’t ‘cute’, but anyone with eyes could see it, “You can only have one though. You can have as many as you want after we eat an actual meal,” you at least could hold strong on this stance. You refused to let his appetite get spoiled because he ate too many sweets. Sometimes he could really act like a child…not that you were any better. You two brought out the best of each other, the childlike whimsy coming back in each other's presence.

“That’s agreeable,” it better be. You brought him down for a quick peck again before parting and going to the picnic basket you had. The bottom compartment had a cooler in it that you had stashed the treats in. You rummaged around, finding the perfectly packed box that you had wrapped in a pale blue cloth with snowflakes decorating it.

“Alright, close your eyes,” You instructed him. He complied, closing them with a smile on his lips. You took out one of the macarons you had slaved over; it wasn’t perfect by any means. Still the top and bottom were smooth and not burnt, and the cream inside tasted amazing judging by how you kept sampling it. They certainly weren’t worthy of being sold in a bakery, but they’d suffice for the time being.

You placed one at his lips and he opened and took a small bite out of it. He covered his mouth as he chewed, finally opening his eyes to see you holding out the other half of the macaron. He took your hand and brought the rest up to him, taking it into his mouth and savoring the sweet treat. You flushed at his boldness as he made eye contact with you.

His eyes then went to the box in your lap where he could see the rest. Some of them were a little disfigured, but you could vouch that they tasted good, “You made these yourself?” he finally said and you nodded.

“Ya, I went to classes with Tara so I could make them for you, they’re not the best, but they taste good at least,” you said, suddenly feeling a little nervous. You watched as Zayne’s tongue poked out, licking the remnants off your fingers and you gasped at the action, feeling the teasing sensation on your fingertips.

“They were perfect,” he said and you swallowed thickly, not knowing how to respond. You looked away from him, your heart was beating widely now because of him. He knew what he was doing because he kissed the pads of your fingers in response.

“I-I mean they’re not that great…” you murmured, “If I bought these in a bakery I would be pretty mad,” you tried rambling on, avoiding eye contact. He let go of your hand and you felt your shoulders relax as you could now think clearly again.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t talk down about my favorite baker,” Zayne said with a small sigh and you let out a whine from the back of your throat. His compliments were starting to get to you and you really didn’t know what you were supposed to say.

“I…fine,” you decided to just go with it. Arguing would only result in sweeter compliments being thrown your way. You sighed as you took the box and wrapped it back up, then placed it to the side so it was out of the way, “Well now that I’ve officially spoiled the birthday boy by letting you have a present early, I think we should get back to heading to the lake,”

Zayne had other ideas as you felt his hand around your waist, dragging you closer to him. You had to adjust yourself, throwing one leg over his lap so you could straddle him since you already knew this dance. Anytime Zayne could get you on his lap, he would. It was basically your favorite chair at this point, and it felt a lot better than the hard rock you were on.

“Yes?” you chuckled, waiting for him to tell you what he wanted. Instead you felt his hand on the nape of your neck, dragging you closer to him. Your lips met and you were still smiling against him. This time it wasn’t just a quick peck, it was a little more heated. His lips worked against you and made you moan once you felt his tongue prodding your lips, requesting access to your mouth.

He still tasted like macarons, sweet on your tongue as it glided against yours so perfectly. You couldn’t forget the irony of getting off of a hard rock, only to find yourself on a different hard object. Zayne’s hands went to your thighs, dragging you closer to his body, and you had to place a hand on his chest, moving your face away and watching the small string of saliva between you break as you panted.

“You’ve spoiled me, I think I want another present now,” his voice was a little more gravely as he pulled you in for another kiss. You moaned against his lips, feeling his hips rolling up into yours. You could feel his growing arousal pressing between your legs as you pushed your hips down on it. The way Zayne’s breath hitched at the movement sending a shiver right down your spine.

“Zayne, don’t forget we’re in public right now,” and on the edge of a hiking trail. Sure you guys hadn’t seen a single soul on the trail, but the thought of doing something so lewd in such an open area was…well you couldn’t say it wasn’t a turn on. You were just so used to Zayne being more modest about how he acted in public.

“This is a private cabin that the lake is connected to. Nobody else should be walking this trail,” Zayne said, squeezing your thighs a little harder. You moaned again as you began grinding down on him, “And you did say the birthday boy could have whatever he wanted today.”

With his permission you began grinding down on him again, letting out small moans as you felt his cock rubbing at you through your thin pants. His pants were already so tight that you could feel the outline of him perfectly through it.

Your hands were gingerly placed on his shoulders, giving you more support as you worked yourself on him, pressing down on him just right to hear small moans leaving him. The grip he had on your thighs was near bruising as he held himself back. He still rutted up into you, even through the layers of clothes he could still feel the warmth of your core against him.

“Zayne, you’re such a pretty boy. I love it when you become a mess just from something like this,” You moaned, looking down at his flushed cheeks. His hair was already a little disheveled, and he was panting, his kiss swollen lips parting slightly as he looked up at you with hazy eyes. Just the sight of him had your insides clenching around nothing.

He let out another groan and gasp, pulling you down tightly against his lap to stop your movements, “G-give me a minute to-,” he started and you could only chuckle. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, then another to his cheek. You could see he was taking one of his hands to bring to the front of his pants to take out his cock, so you grabbed his wrist and placed it back on your thigh.

“If you take your dick out here it could count as public indecency,” you chided, moving your hips as much as you could on his lap. There wasn’t much he could do, not when he found himself under your mercy as you rolled against his cock, the fabric only providing more stimulation to him.

He bucked his hips up into you, jolting your entire body as you began working on him again, this time pressing your hips harder onto his own, intent on making him cum just from a little dry humping.

The moment you could hear him whimpering you knew he was almost there. He always had the same, cute reactions when he was close to coming. The way his body subtly shook against yours, his thrusting became sloppy and erratic, and the way his noises got louder as he lost the ability to keep himself quiet.

“Zayne, are you fine with it in your pants, or no?” You finally said, panting now as you started pressing kisses along the column of his neck, being careful not to leave marks in places he couldn’t cover. He groaned at your words, holding your thighs still.

“No, out,” was all he managed to say between moans and you nodded. You unzipped his pants quickly and took out his dick. The moment it was in your hand you stroked it once and held your hand over the tip as he came. Your hand collected the warm fluid as he groaned, rolling his hips up into your waiting hand.

You watched as Zayne panted, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as he took a moment to calm down, his body still going through the after effects of his orgasm. You slowly took your hand away, satisfied you were able to not cause a complete mess in his pants. As much as you would’ve loved to, you knew you guys still had a full day of plans and it would probably be uncomfortable for him.

“Feel better?” You asked after a moment, noticing how his breathing started to go back to normal. He let out a small moan against you, lifting his head. He took a moment to stare at you which you decided was the perfect opportunity to bring your hand up to your lips.

You licked at his release, letting out an exaggerated moan at the taste. While cum wasn’t the best flavor, Zayne did take good care of himself so it lacked the normal bitterness. Zayne let out a groan from the back of his throat as you spoke, “Tastes even better than the macarons,”

You felt his large hand wrapping around your wrist and then dragging you forward onto him, locking your lips in a heated kiss. His tongue pressing against your own as he tasted himself on you. You smirked into the exchange, licking the roof of his mouth and making his gasp as you bit down on his lower lip.

“Is the birthday boy satisfied?” you finally asked, pressing a peck at the corner of his mouth. You watched as he cleared his throat, slowly coming back to himself. You began working his dick back into his pants and zipping it back up so he had at least some decency for the moment.

“Almost, we still need to take care of you,” Zayne said, looking down at his lap. Of course he would realize you didn’t cum just yet. You chuckled, cupping his cheek with your clean hand and making him look at you.

“You know, the picnic blanket I got is really comfortable. Maybe we can take care of one another and work up an appetite before dinner?” You watched as Zayne’s throat bobbed and he flushed slightly. It was clear he liked the sound of that, already thinking of all the ways he could have you by the lake.

“We can do that,” he said and watched as you stood up. You grabbed a napkin from your bag, wiping up the rest of the mess on your hand and running some of the water he handed you earlier. You then reached out, helping him to his feet albeit shakily.

“Oh and by the way…happy birthday,”

Tadaaaa! And if anyone was wondering, yes the Rafayel fic is coming and soon. I just need to do the final edits and I'll post it. I wanted to get it out before Zayne's birthday, but it's a literal behemoth of a fic.

[irmawrites]

Sleeping with the enemy | One-Shot

Summary: your father, Gwayne Hightower, had always told you to beware of Davos Blackwood, son of one of your grandfather's most ardent haters. But when you meet him at a party years after graduating college, you can't help but think he's not so bad after all.

Rating: Explicit [18+], MDNI.

Pairing: modern!Davos Blackwood x Hightower!Reader (appearance isn’t specified, everyone is 18+ in this)

TW: smut with a tiny bit of plot, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), p in v sex, praising kink, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, dom/sub undertones, afab reader, not proofread.

Words count: 4393

Author’s note: Hi, everyone! This is my first time posting here, and I have to admit I'm a bit intimidated ahaha like a lot of people, I fell in love with Davos Blackwood's in episode three and ABSOLUTELY had to write this idea that's been on my mind for a while now.

I should probably mention that English is not my mother tongue, so please excuse my grammar mistakes!

Davos Blackwood had a bad reputation in your neighborhood, that much was true.

The rumors about him had started when you were still in college, something about red liquid smeared on the mirror in the boys' bathroom. A silly prank involving fake blood and strange theatrics to scare off a younger classmate that had perhaps gone too far. It was your own cousin Aemond who had found the fake crime scene just after the culprit had left, still licking his red-stained fingers. It caused quite a stir at the time, and he hadn't been seen on campus for at least two weeks. It may have been fake blood or just a tasteless joke, it was still inevitable that action would have to be taken.

It was Aeron Bracken in particular who had helped make these bizarre stories popular. He told anyone who would listen that Davos Blackwood was a deranged, violent madman. It was no secret that the two young men didn't get along. But no one expected things to get as bad as they did. There had been rumors in the hallways and whispers in the cafeteria, but that wasn't all. His car had been vandalized and marked with insults on several occasions. Even Gwayne Hightower, your father, had warned you.

A real witch hunt.

As far as you knew, however, the main target had remained unaffected by the situation, even toying with those who provoked him. In a way, he almost seemed to enjoy the wild, mysterious aura that all this fuss gave him.

You, for one, had never really believed it. After all, he didn't look like a bad guy, with his big, green eyes and permanently disheveled black hair. He seemed a little strange to you, a little off, but not enough to be considered a clear danger. But your opinion didn't matter much.

Nothing had ever destined the two of you to spend time together. His parents' company only did business with Rhaenyra's, refusing any ties and especially any agreements with the Hightowers. His father seemed to harbor a fierce hatred and boundless distrust of your family, apparently fearing that Otto's overweening ambition would lead him to overturn the order of succession established by Viserys himself and install his own grandson as sole ruler of the company.

And in your world, your parents had a bit more say in who you dated than they did for other people. You couldn't just go out with a guy because he seemed interesting, especially if he was the son of one of your grandfather's most ardent haters.

So you'd never spoken to each other in college, let alone at the lavish charity galas your family hosted.

Never, until that day.

"You like Iron Maiden?" a hoarse, unfamiliar voice said from behind you as you wrung the water out of your hair, "or is that your boyfriend's shirt?". The sun was high in the sky and you could feel the heat of its rays burning your exposed neck. The clear waters of the Targaryen family pool sparkled, and the garden echoed with the bursts of voices of those Aegon had invited to what should have been a casual gathering of the younger generation with ties to the Targaryen business.

You didn't think he'd invite Davos Blackwood, though.

"It's mine," you replied, giving the young man a mischievous smile, your fingers playing absentmindedly with the string that held the bottom of your swimsuit to your hip, "and yeah, it's one of my favorite bands actually." He seemed to take a moment to assess the situation, his eyes roaming up and down your body, an unreadable smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Never pegged you as a little rebel," he crossed his arms over his chest before continuing, "more of a model daughter." You knew he was toying with you, trying to tease you, but you were more than happy to play along.

Besides, you understood where the thought came from, you who were usually more used to short skirts and high heels than band shirts.

Mentally, you thanked Aegon for thinking of him. "Be careful, Blackwood," your voice sounded like a playful threat, "you might be surprised."

You were about to leave to return to the deck chairs, but it seemed that Davos wasn't quite finished with the conversation. "Wait," he ordered, taking your wrist between his broad fingers. Mechanically, you glanced around to make sure no one was watching. After all, the last thing you wanted was for someone to spy on your conversation with someone who still belonged to your grandfather's enemy side. "What is it?" it was your turn to cross your arms over your chest, your eyebrows furrowing as you waited for some kind of justification from him. It was clear he had something on his mind, but you just couldn't figure out what. "Do you want to come over to my place sometime?" he finally said, and you felt your breath catch somewhere between your throat and your lungs. "Why?" the question crossed your lips before you could even think about it.

You didn't know each other, had never spoken before, not to mention the fact that your families didn't approve of each other. You were tempted to agree, of course, because whether you liked it or not, you felt this kind of almost magnetic attraction pulling you together.

You'd have liked to think it was fate, but you knew it was just your love of danger and the forbidden.

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts again. "You seem like a pretty nice girl, and we obviously have the same taste in music," he replied, finally loosening his grip on your wrist, "we could watch a movie, get to know each other, something like that." The offer was tempting, the prospect of spending a little more time with him appealing, but even though you desperately wanted to say yes, you knew you couldn't. You had to be reasonable and listen to that little voice in your head that told you it all sounded like a terrible idea. But he seemed to sense your reluctance because he quickly added, "Don't worry, no one will know."

***

Davos’ room wasn't exactly what you'd call tidy. You noticed a half-full ashtray on the windowsill and a few empty cans on his desk. It was the opposite of your own bedroom, neatly decorated and perfectly organized. Your wardrobe drawers were a bit of an exception, but that didn't really matter.

Even so, you couldn't help but find it a little charming. The smell of his cologne in the air, the half-unraveled sheets, this was unmistakably him. It tasted risky and illicit, and it stirred something unfamiliar in the pit of your stomach. A reaction that no boy had ever managed to provoke in you.

"There's no denying it, vampires really are the best supernatural creatures," you muttered, sinking your teeth into the last slice of the half-cold pizza you'd ordered earlier. You were especially comfortable sitting cross-legged on his bed as the rain pounded against the windows and the end of the movie drew near on his computer screen. His parents were out of town for the week, on a business trip or something, providing you with an opportunity to finally meet away from prying eyes. He seemed quite comfortable too, with his leg pressed against yours and his hand wrapped around his soda cup, which he sipped absentmindedly. "I have to say, I never thought you'd be into movies like this," he told you after a few long seconds, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "given your looks, I thought you'd be more into romantic comedies or something." You held back an annoyed sigh.

"Like I said..." you finally replied, "you should beware of appearances."

They can be misleading sometimes, you kept to yourself.

It was true that you were usually a sweet, sensible girl, the ideal daughter who always smiled and never caused trouble. The pride and joy of your parents. But lately you had grown tired. Tired of following orders, of doing everything you were told without ever being able to listen to your heart. You were eager to get rid of this constant fear of disappointing your loved ones if you didn't live up to their expectations, and it seemed that life had given you the perfect opportunity to free yourself from all that. 

"Is there something I should know?" the young man’s hand came to rest on the top of your thigh, his thumb delicately stroking the soft skin there, "some dark secret of yours, princess?". His almost mocking tone and the annoying nickname were enough to bring back that scorching heat in the pit of your stomach. The way he looked at you, at your breasts, made you think that he was affected by this sudden closeness, too. His gaze burned, almost as much as his fingers, which were now creeping dangerously up the hem of your shorts. And when you felt them graze the lace of your underwear in the hollow where your leg and hip met, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you'd bitten off more than you could chew.

But even though you were entering unfamiliar territory, something foreign to you, you refused to lose control and let him take what he wanted without saying a word. This wasn't your style. You always had a witty comeback ready to go. And you were going to show him.

Slowly, you moved forward a few inches on the bed to sit astride his very inviting lap, never taking your eyes off his lips. Your hands found his shoulders, and you could feel the hardness of his desire beneath your thighs. Gods, the sensation was divine. This was your doing. You and no one else’s. The sudden surge of power and dominance made your head spin. "Be very careful what you do now," his fingers settled on your hips to bring your chests a little closer together, his grip tight and bruising. "Or what?" you replied in an almost insolent, even provocative tone.

"Or we could end up doing something you might regret."

This was all a very bad idea, that much was true. Davos Blackwood was a very bad idea. But you didn't want to dwell on what the future might hold, let alone the potential consequences of your actions. All you knew was that you wanted more. More of his hands on your skin, more of his lips on yours, and more of him.  

And it seemed that he, too, was eager to take it further.

His fingers made their way up from your waist to your chest, slipping under your tank top to brush his thumbs over the two little hardened buds. The ghost of a touch, really, but it was enough to make you moan. Your mouths were now just a few inches apart, your breaths mingling, but you didn't want to kiss him yet, choosing to prolong this delicious, exhilarating tension for a few minutes longer.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse with desire. "Do you feel it?". He backed up his words with action, rolling his hips and planting a kiss right at the corner of your jaw. "You know what this is?" he added, rolling one of your nipples between his index finger and thumb, "what happens to a man when a woman behaves the way you do?". Of course I know, you wanted to say but the words stuck in your throat and only a moan managed to break through the barrier of your lips. You weren't stupid, you were perfectly aware of what happened in this kind of situation. But you'd never seen it, let alone touched it, and the theory was very different from the actual reality.

"Shut up," you replied at last, before planting a kiss on his lips. You didn't mean it, though. To be honest, you wished he would talk to you like that all night long, sending a wave of heat straight to your core with words alone. His tongue found yours, silencing your thoughts, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep from losing your footing. "Such a foul mouth," he said, smiling against your lips as he gave you time to breathe, "we'll see if you're still so talkative once I'm done with you."

The young man's hands found the bottom of your tank top and pulled it over your head, and soon it was your shorts that suffered the same fate, leaving you in nothing but your black lace panties. You suddenly felt exposed, lying there under that hungry gaze that regarded you like a precious gift, a prized possession. You waited eagerly for his next move.

Where was the bold young woman who had taken the lead just a few minutes earlier, the one so determined not to lose control? It seemed like she'd already vanished, replaced by some shy creature beneath his crude words and inappropriate touch.

"What are you going to do to me?" you tilted your head to the side to give him better access to the skin of your neck, which he was kissing with increasing fervor. "Nothing you won't like," he replied as he stood up to get rid of his t-shirt, which joined the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. Your eyes couldn't help but wander over his toned torso dotted with dark hairs, your hands itching to touch him.

Soon enough, his lips found your jaw, then your neck, then the top of your chest, and you immediately shivered. The weight of his body lying on yours was delightful, comforting. "Please..." you whimpered as your hands settled on his shoulders, urging him to give you what you were so desperate for. You felt his fingers slide slowly against the skin of your belly, then lower, much lower, to play with the lace of your underwear, and your back arched almost reflexively. You wanted more, you needed more, and you were getting tired of waiting.

"Be patient, princess," he said, nibbling on the soft skin of your breast, his mouth soon wrapping around your hardened nipple. A grunt escaped you, and you weren't quite sure if it was from your frustration or the dominant tone he had just used. His hand slipped under the fabric of your panties to tease the top of your slit before brushing over your already soaked folds. It was annoying, really, the effect he was having on you with such a light touch. But it was heavenly, and you had decided to ignore the voice of reason for the night.

His index finger found the little pearl nestled at the apex of your center, and the contact felt like a delicious electric shock. You threw your head back, eyes closing, lips parting in a silent cry as he drew little circles around your most sensitive area. "Have you ever had anyone here?" he asked after a few seconds. When you didn't answer, he added: "I asked you a question, and I want you to answer me." There it was again, his commanding, almost controlling tone.

"N... no," you stammered as you opened your eyes again to meet his, "nobody." You suddenly felt like prey under his hungry gaze that devoured your trembling body. "Perfect," you heard, just before his fingers found your entrance, which was already clenching around nothing, "and here?".

The idea of being the first to enter you seemed to obsess him.

You nodded, this time from left to right, signifying that no, you had saved your virginity for the right man, the one who would know how to make you tremble under his ministrations, the one who would know how to make you beg for more, always more.

"Perfect," he repeated again, as the first knuckle of his index finger sank agonizingly slowly into you, teasing your inner walls. It was barely there, nothing really, and yet you already felt incredibly full. "You're so tight," he growled against the skin of your throat, "so warm too, you're going to feel amazing around me." He added a second knuckle and soon his finger was completely buried inside you. It felt good, and it felt right, but it didn't feel like enough. You wiggled your hips and it seemed as if Davos had understood your silent request immediately. "I need you to take another," he straightened on his left elbow to look at you with lust-blown pupils, "do you think you can do that for me?". Once again, you nodded your head in agreement, but this time it didn't seem to be enough for him. "Use your words, princess." You fought the urge to roll your eyes. "I... I can take more," you murmured right against his lips as you looked down between your thighs.

"Good girl," he said, his voice low and rough as you felt his middle finger pressing into you. He curled them both, brushing that spongy spot against your inner wall, and you threw your head back.

You dug your nails into his pale skin to stay anchored in the present as his thumb found your clit. But you knew you wouldn't last long. You could already feel tingles of pleasure buzzing through your body, and in the pit of your belly, the fires of delight burned a little more fiercely. You wanted to warn him, to tell him you were close, but he was quicker than you: "Come for me."

He didn't need to tell you a second time.

Soon, the wave of your orgasm washed over you.

It made your whole body shake with spasms, your climax exploding like fireworks behind your eyelids. Your lips crashed against his neck to stifle your final moan as your back arched under the intense sensation. The young man was merciful enough to give you a few seconds to recover before withdrawing his fingers, leaving you empty and frustrated. "Look at the mess you made," you heard him groan, "clean it up." His index and middle fingers brushed across your lips, which parted eagerly to welcome them into your warm mouth.

You timidly wrapped your tongue around them under his predatory gaze. The mere thought that you could taste yourself on your taste buds set your body on fire once again. It was indecent, inappropriate, and you probably should have been ashamed to be used like this, but you couldn't care less.

Maybe it was his fault, or maybe you'd just found each other despite everything that kept you apart.

His fingers left your mouth to wrap around your neck. But as he lay back on the mattress and guided you towards his lips, you resisted. Once again, you straddled his hips, only this time completely naked. He looked at you for a few seconds, a little confused, until you reached under the elastic of his underwear to slide it down his legs. This seemed to make him realize the extent of your intentions. His hard member jumped free and caught your eye. Standing proud with a mass of dark curls adorning its base, the sight alone made you salivate. "Let me thank you," you said, as your fingers gently traced its length. "I want to make you feel good too." You slowly moved between his legs to kiss his inner thighs.

You reached out tentatively and wrapped your fingers around his manhood. It felt heavy in your hand, massive and your index finger couldn't quite touch your thumb because it was so wide. You brought your lips to his crotch and, watching Davos from beneath your long lashes, planted a quick kiss on the head where it was already weeping for you. Your tongue traced a vein on the underside without ever breaking eye contact. He threw his head back, his lips parted to let out a muffled curse.

The rush of power you felt when you saw him so vulnerable under your touch was sinfully delicious.

You tilted your head to the side to plant a series of kisses all along his hardened manhood, your big innocent eyes still locked with his. There was a pause, a few tense seconds, before finally, finally, you moved your head forward to take him fully into your mouth. His big hand found refuge at the back of your skull, and you let him guide you completely.

The grip on your hair tightened, almost to the point of pain. "Breathe, through your nose," the young man ordered, but his voice was more urgent than before, his breathing becoming ragged from the growing pleasure. "You can do better than that." The fingers buried in your locks soon forced you to swallow him whole, your nose pressed against his pelvis, the unruly hair tickling your face. You could feel yourself drooling around him, the action messy. "Such a filthy girl," he said as his thumb came to caress the corner of your mouth, right where his member disappeared between your lips, "sucking my cock like a real whore." You let out an audible moan around his length in response to the foulness of his words.

But instead of disgusting you, it only served to encourage you.

You hollowed out your cheeks, still following the rhythm of his hand, which had resumed its place at the back of your head. He was big, and he filled your mouth in a way you hadn't experienced before, but you wanted to prove to him that you could satisfy him, that you could make him proud. Tears formed at the corners of your eyes, which he hastily wiped away with the tip of his free thumb. "Shh... you're doing so well," he praised you in a reassuring tone. You knew he was close to reaching his climax. His breathing had become labored, his movements erratic, and it was evident that you were causing him to lose his balance. But it seemed he didn't want to end it that quickly.

"Wait, not yet," he straightened into a sitting position, placing his hand on your cheek to force you back a few inches, "I'd hate to waste it." The implication made your cheeks flush, but you couldn't help but look forward to what would come next.

His hands came to rest on your waist, encouraging you to sit on his hips again, this time making his still impossibly hard manhood brush against your soaked cunt. The contact alone was enough to elicit a moan from you. His own fingers wrapped around his member as he guided it towards your narrow entrance.

And after what felt like an eternity, he finally thrust into you.

He stretched you to perfection, the foreign sensation a mixture of delicious pain and aching pleasure. "Fuck princess, you're tight," your head found refuge in the hollow of his neck, but you could hear that annoying smirk in his voice, "I'm going to ruin you." And oh how you couldn't wait for him to make good on his threats. "Move," you pleaded against the skin of his throat as you hesitantly moved your hips up and down to get that delicious friction you craved. He seemed hell-bent on teaching you self-restraint, even though you desperately wanted to see him lose control. He grabbed your waist in a firm grip, keeping you pressed against his hips and making you whine. "Did I say you could move?" he asked, kissing the side of your jaw. Once again that night, you'd annoyed him by not answering, and he repeated, "did I say you could move?".  

It seems he was also trying to make you learn obedience, in addition to patience.

You didn't even have a chance to react before the young man used his grip on your waist to pull back almost completely, revealing his member glistening with your sticky juices before thrusting himself into you once more. His head was rubbing against that most delicious spot inside you, making your legs tremble with pure bliss. "Please, I..." You didn't even know what you were asking for as he moved back and forth continuously. You thought he'd ask you to speak again, but he was too caught up in pleasure and close to his release to be bothered by your pleas.

But even if he'd lost his rhythm, it was clear he was still determined to satisfy you. His thumb was back on your little pearl, tracing small circles around it, while inside you his length relentlessly pounded against your inner wall. You could feel yourself clenching around him, and the heat between your thighs was back with a fiercer intensity than ever. “I’m going to fill you up,” his teeth nibbled at the soft skin of your neck, marking it possessively, “I’m going to fill you up and you’re going to take everything I’m going to give you, feel me for days.” The moans that came out of your mouth were now completely incoherent, a confused jumble of yes and please.

Your climax hit hard and fast—stronger than the one Davos had offered you earlier that night. You dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving red half-moons as evidence of your forbidden actions. Your back arched off the mattress, pressing his body against yours as reality slipped through your fingers and a myriad of stars danced behind your eyelids. He followed you just a few seconds later, pouring into you with white ropes.

He stayed inside you for a few more moments, his length softening. But neither of you felt like moving, not when you were so comfortable, lying against each other, your limbs tangled. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead that made your heart clench. You still refused to think about the future and the problems that might arise from such a strong connection between the two of you. All that mattered for the moment was his skin against yours and your fingers in his hair.

"We should do that again," you murmured as you kissed his cheeks, his chin, his nose, "someday."

He smiled.

"We will," he said with confidence, "I'll make sure of that, princess."

The nickname made your stomach flutter with excitement.

[sickwhispers]

glisten x reader but reader is a menace towards society plslslsl I BEG (also love ur fanfics!! i love ur writing)

TYSM I LOVE YOU

FOR THE BIT

Pairing: Glisten x (Chaotic) reader

Relationship: romantic

Warning:

Type: headcanons + drabble

The first introduction you two had with each other was a ball being thrown in his face after you accidentally missed your shot

What were you trying to hit?

An array of cans you had stolen from one of the shelves in the kitchen

You wanted to practice aiming and glisten just so happen to walk through the living room at the wrong time

Luckily, though, you were horrible at throwing and the impact was weak

Even after you both started dating, not once has he ever let that singular memory between the two of you fade

Especially during arguments

Although, by now he's gotten used to the chaos you brought

Part of him likes to think it adds extra spice to your lives

The other part wishes you'd stop tackling him in a hug everytime you saw him

Or, at least, that's what he wants to think

It's always nice having your attention, even when you can be a bit... dangerous with it

No matter how hard he tried, the second your arms are wrapped around him in a hug, your body weighing him down on the floor and he struggled to process just how fast you had jumped onto him, he could never hold back a smile

He's seen the destruction you've caused for the other toons

Hell, you should be lucky he loves you so much

He's lied for you

To keep you out of trouble, of course

One prank gone too far and he's found himself trying to distract the poor victim with positive outlooks and please don't go interrogating y/n they didn't do it don't go talk to them they're innocent and-

Safe to say he isn't the best liar when he gets nervous

It's also hard to convince others you're not the culprit when it's well known just how much trouble you cause

"Glisten."

"Hm? Yes? What do you want?"

"Where are they."

Glisten's eyes trail down to the case folder held loosely in Rodgers hand, ichor dripping down from the bottom edge and creating a black puddle beneath it. Rodger really wasn't in the mood to guess, and his first instict was to ask the person who hung around you the most.

"Uhm-" immediately, glistens flashed over to the couch on the other side of the living room. "Ah... haha... well, that's not so important, is it? I'm sure this is all a huge misunderstanding. Y/n wouldn't do such a thing."

"I didn't say y/n's name, did i?" If glisten wasn't as perfect as he was, he would've caused a distraction and ran away. But, his top priority was making sure you didn't get your free roam privileges taken away again as punishment. How would you visit him if you were too busy locked away in your room?

You had a nasty habit of causing trouble, fleeing the scene, and hiding

Which, often times, left glisten alone to defend your honor

He knew known of your actions were malicious

That was obvious from the look of guilt that spread across your face the second you realized you mightve taken a joke too far

But most of the time, no one was safe from your acts of chaos

Glisten only hopes you'll be extra forgiving when it comes to him

[auroracalisto]

the way i want you.

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader, 1.4k words summary: the reader is one of eloise's closest friends... and madly in love with benedict bridgerton. at a ball, he reveals his true feelings to them. a/n: the only mention of the reader being female is the dress and corset they are wearing. so. if you pretend to not read that, it could be gender neutral. this was an old draft with like two paragraphs that i started looking at. idk why it’s written in lowercase but the vibe is there and i'm not changing it. GIRL I JUST CHECKED AND I STARTED THIS IN APRIL OF 2022. bye. absolutely insane. (thank you past me, i actually really appreciate the inspo)

if there was anything you knew for certain, it was that you were madly in love with your dearest friend’s elder brother.

being near him made your heart thunder against the confines of your chest, threatening to be loud enough for all to hear.

your hands began to tremble, your voice began to waver.

the love you felt for him was so very obvious to everyone, it seemed, save for benedict.

eloise poked fun while penelope scolded her (for she, too, understood what it was like to love a bridgerton who didn't love her back). but deep down, eloise knew you would love her brother like no other. marriage might have been a fine prospect for benedict, but if he were to marry you, he would never wish for someone to love—you would be everything that he would need.

eloise had even quipped a time or two, teasing her brother and goading him into thinking about you. not that she would tell you, of course.

but love was a fickle thing. it worked in the oddest of ways, and quite frankly, it was hard to tell who benedict truly loved, if he loved at all.

he loved himself, and he loved his family. but eloise’s friend? the girl whom was just a few years younger than he, the one he saw blossom into a woman after several years of puberty? how could he possibly love her?

you wished he did. oh, it was a wish you made on the stars above more often than not. at any point in time, when you saw the first stars dot the sky, the wish would leave your lips.

let him love me.

please let him see me.

please let him know.

was it odd? perhaps. but in this world of expensive balls and beautiful debutantes, it didn’t seem too farfetched—especially when you loved someone. it would hurt to see them go off and love another, would it not?

your heart wasn't kind.

time wasn’t kind.

neither was your father or the corset you wore or the ballgown that seemed to itch in every crevice possible.

of course you had to choose the worst dress of all the ones you owned for this accursed ball! a repeat dress, to say the least. someone would snitch—you were sure it would be raved all about in lady whistledown's next pamphlet.

your mother was nowhere to be found while your father mingled with some of his military friends. eloise was hiding somewhere, most likely with penelope or by the buffet, and most of the bridgertons’ that had come to the ball were out in the ballroom floor, including anthony and colin.

but where was benedict?

you wouldn’t ask him to dance, despite your dance card being blank. you just wanted to see him—see his handsome face, his pretty smile.

lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize a man was creeping up behind you until a hand found its way to your back. you nearly dropped your flute of champagne, wide eyed as you looked back at the culprit. champagne splashed by your gown, and you said a silent thank you to whatever the universe had done to prevent your repeat dress being ruined by none other than the very man of your thoughts—benedict bridgerton.

“what on earth are you doing?” you asked, quickly turning to face him.

“just coming to see my sister’s friend,” he said, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. “am i not allowed to come and talk to you anymore, miss y/n?”

your eyes widened a bit. “you—of course you’re allowed. i will not tell you what to do. but to scare me like that? what if i had spilled this on you?"

“oh, i beg your pardon,” he said. “i didn’t know you were so jumpy. had i’d known, perhaps i would’ve tried to actually scare you.”

“you are a fiend, benedict bridgerton.”

he grinned. “and you love me for it, do you not?”

your cheeks burned in embarrassment as you looked away. you cleared your throat, avoiding what you truly wanted to say: yes. “why aren’t you dancing?”

“hm. well, i was, but when mother wasn’t looking, i slipped away.”

“she’ll get onto you.”

“perhaps,” he said, scrunching his nose. “but if i’m talking to you, she will excuse it.”

you rolled your eyes. “and why is that?”

“you’re eloise’s friend. she’ll excuse it.”

you purse your lips. right. just eloise’s friend. you let out a soft sigh and nod, looking out at the ballroom floor. the song was soft and light and the party-goers danced slowly with their partners. it was a sweet song, if you had to admit to anything that night.

you wouldn’t admit your love for benedict. you couldn’t. you wouldn’t. not now, not ever.

something catches benedict’s eye and he would have up and left had he not been thinking. he cleared his throat as he looked down at you.

“come with me,” he said.

eyebrows furrowed, you glanced at him. “what?”

“you heard me,” he said. “come with me.”

you do as you’re told. you follow him, and he leads you in to a hallway. there are a few other patrons, so you are not alone with a man (oh, god, imagine the scandal), but he specifically leads you to a painting in the middle of the hall.

“a painting?” you asked.

“not just any painting,” he said. “look at it. what does it remind you of?”

you shift where you stand, looking up at it. the oil pastels are beautiful, yes, but it’s a simple painting of a beautiful woman. what’s it to remind you of?

“it looks like your sister,” you said.

he snorted softly. “no,” he said. “it’s beautiful, yes, but that’s not what i wanted you to look at.”

he pointed towards the background. just beyond the portrait of the woman lay a field of beautiful flowers, each one meticulously painted by whomever the painter had been. it looked like it must have taken a painstakingly long time to paint each individual one.

“it reminds me of all the time i do not have,” you simply said.

“oh, you are no fun, y/n!” he said. he looked down at you and smiled. “they remind me of you.”

you blinked slowly. “what?”

“beautiful and yet so unattainable, hm?”

you blinked again. “i beg your pardon?”

“look at them,” he said. “each one unique in their own way, each one hand painted by someone with enough gumption to keep on with it. whoever did it wanted their painting to be utterly beautiful and difficult to recreate. all the fine detail makes the painting that much more extraordinary.”

“wait, wait, benedict, unattainable?”

“right. well if i wanted to recreate this, it would take me some time, wouldn’t it?”

“benedict. how would something like that remind you of me?”

he smiled at you for a moment before he softly said: “you’re eloise’s friend. i couldn’t do that to her.”

“do what?”

“have you the way i want you.”

it’s simple—those seven words seemed to change everything, and it was one of the most simple things you had ever heard.

your lips part in mild shock and you took a slight step back, looking at benedict in confusion. “are… are you—“

“yes. i am in earnest, y/n.”

“why did you—“

“not say anything sooner? have you seen how aggravating eloise has been recently? i did not need to fuel her ammunition.”

“since when did—“

“for some time now.”

“will you let me—“

“no, i will not,” he interrupted again.

“i swear to the lord above that i will—“

“no swearing,” he said. “just self expression, hm? like the painting?”

“what? benedict, you’re not making any sense.”

“maybe not.” benedict smiled down at you. “come. we should head back. perhaps fill in your dance card for once.”

you frowned. “what will eloise say?”

“i do not care,” he said. “it seems to me that you care far more than i do. besides, do you not hear how she speaks to me? i think she'd be honored."

he’s right—perhaps he’s yet to say anything because the way his life had been. perhaps he hadn’t said a word because of everything he and eloise had talked about. there was always timing, and sometimes, it was just a bit off.

whatever it may be, he was here, and he was true to himself. he wanted you, and he would have you, heedless of your thoughts and what eloise wanted from either of you.

oh, the scandal, dear reader. but as long as the two of you plan to marry, whatever scandal could there truly be?

[ambiguouspuzuma]

The single most important piece of writing advice I would give to a lot of amateur writers is to write less beautifully - or at least to write beautifully less.

I rarely find a piece of writing I can't read because it's too simple, or too concise and to-the-point - not memorable, perhaps, but also not a headache on a page. On the other hand, I see loads of pieces which are effectively unreadable because they're far too rich to swallow, and badly in need of watering down a bit.

The absolute worst culprit is the dialogue tags and stage directions. I'm a big fan of letting people write in their own style, but I would love it if a lot of writers could please cool it with letting me know every time a character blinks or licks their lips. I don't need to know that, especially if it happens every time they speak.

So many dialogue excerpts look like this:

"So this is how we talk?" he queried quietly, his eyebrows furrowed into knots. "Apparently," she replied with a puzzled grin, bouncing on the balls of her feet with restless energy. "Isn't that... exhausting?" he questioned, a lop-sided smile snaking its way across his lips. "The bouncing?" she asked shyly, her eyelids fluttering in shame. "No, of course not," he told her, his lean arms reached out to pull her closer. He buried his face into the mess of her hair, taking a deep breath of her perfume. "I just feel a little nauseated by all of these actions." "I don't know what you mean," she giggled, brushing the hair back out of her eyes as her cheeks flushed red. "Don't worry," he sighed, rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling.

I'm assuming this is a convention that comes from somewhere, given its ubiquity - perhaps somewhere in the world of fanfiction, where there will be short, intimate pieces entirely focused on the ways in which characters interact with each other. But to me, in an original work, it's so exhausting that I can't make it down the rest of the page.

Dialogue may be the worst, or most obvious offender, but the same principle extends pretty much everywhere else. Each line doesn't have to be some great quote you can hang on your wall, and it's hard to read a whole story written like that.

There's been some recent backlash on here against modern films where every line of dialogue is a quip, at the expense of building an authentic conversation, but that's how a lot of people start out writing - thinking that each sentence should be made as flowery as possible, when too many flowers in the same pot will crowd each other out.

You need to leave some gaps to let the sunlight in, and illuminate the beauty of the occasional flourish you do include. Think of it like vanilla extract, to make a reference that was topical when I started writing this post: you need to add a little for flavour, without which the writing will be too dull, but tip the bottle and I will actually be sick. Write beautifully less. Learn to embrace the prosaic.

[kachowden]

I'm also not having a great day so I'm thinking about Mr. Perfect trying to cheer their darling up? if he's not close to them yet it'll probably be subtle, and he seems the type to quietly memorize his Darling, so maybe it almost feels like he "just knows" when they're upset (he also cyberstalks them lbr)

I’m sorry to hear that anon! I hope this helps you feel better if you’re not already <3 fyi, Mr.Perfects name has been settled as prince for the time being <3

Prince is very subtle with his comfort, especially since your relationship isn’t much more than maybe hallway buddies. At least in your eyes. Sure, in most of your shared classes he’s either sat beside you or behind, and sure, you happen to have your lockers right next to each other. And okay yeah, there’s never a day where he fails to great you with a charming smile, regardless of what he’s doing in that moment.

But you’re nothing more than acquaintances. And so you don’t expect him to know you’re feeling down one day, much less to ask you. And he doesn’t. But he greets you a little more tenderly that day, away from his usual crowd of admirers. He mentions offhandedly that he had passed by a vending machine at the mall the other day, and when you don’t respond besides a confused hum, you can’t help being shocked when he procures a tiny little keychain, of your favorite character, from his backpack.

You don’t remember ever telling him about this particular interest, even amidst the idle chatter you two would have during group assignments. Prince remedies your curiosity though, saying he had seen the stickers on your phone case, or notebooks. And while most people might regard this behavior as a little creepy, it’s hard to when the offender was someone like Prince. Who offers you pretty smiles and hidden answers to homework questions or tests.

There’s other instances of this. Maybe you were late to lunch, and your favorite food for the day is all sold out. Prince passes by your table quietly, and with a happy wave, he starts back to his own table; and you’re left to wonder when your sad little lunch had been swapped with your favorite. 

Stuff like this continues throughout the day, or the week. However long you’re feeling down, these behaviors and little things appear one after another, some of them you doubt could’ve been prince to begin with. Your lost pen re-appearing in your locker. Your least favorite subject suddenly canceled because the teacher simply couldn’t be bothered. A parking spot right under a shady tree, bare and waiting for you. So many lucky coincidences eventually lift the weight off your shoulders.

And before you know it you’re greeting Prince back with a slight pep in your step, and you’re left none the wiser of the true culprit behind these “coincidences”.

Additional Info:

Prince ate your lunch like it was his last meal, leading many of his friends to ask if he had skipped breakfast that morning. He just said it tasted better than usual that day, inciting a small riot of students clambering to try the supposedly “better” tasting lunch.

That pen you had lost had been sitting in his shirt pocket for the last week and a half. It was hard to part with admittedly but the shine in your eyes when you found it made the struggle worth it.

Canceling your class was a matter of influence.

He had planned to give you that keychain closer to your birthday, but decided that it was a better moment. It definitely secured a lasting memory that he took pride in.

That parking spot is the one he paid for. It wasn’t hard to find a new one anyway, so he really didn’t mind.

[girlgenius1111]

young, drunk, and alone

putellas!reader, infuriates her sister when she sneaks out and gets drunk with her friends. alexia comes to realize that maybe, this is a result of her pushing you too hard.

angst + fluff. brief mentions of blood and vomiting. and alcohol consumption. this is literally 6k word essay on how silly sisters can be.

-----

Sneaking out hadn't been your best plan. Was it really sneaking out if you slipped right out the front door? You weren't sure. Alexia and Olga were heavy sleepers, and because you had the following day off, you figured it was as good a time as any. You were planning on meeting up with some friends from school and going to a club. You didn't drink much; a combination of being a professional athlete, and someone named Alexia, who happened to be your very strict older sister.

You probably should have paced yourself. You also probably should have not run away from your friends, especially when you were blitzed out of your mind. You weren't quite sure where you were, or how long it had been since you'd bolted from the club. Or how many drinks you'd had.

You'd broken one of your... well, one of Alexia's heels, and you carried both shoes in one hand. You were really sleepy all of a sudden, and you spotted a bench a few meters ahead. You headed there, plopping down on the bench before pulling your phone out of your pocket. The screen swam in front of your eyes, and you couldn't figure out if your hand was moving, or if your head was moving. Something was, that was for sure.

You were somewhere. Somewhere in the city of Barcelona. You needed some help, though.

And you knew just the gal to come get you. Alexia could find anyone, but especially you; she had your location.

The phone began to ring, and you heard your sister's grumpy voice come over the line shortly after.

"Why are you calling me from inside the same house?" She said groggily.

"Aleeeeexiaaaaaa!" You sang, proud of yourself for solving your problem all on your own, especially while the earth was spinning so much faster than normal.

"Nena. You better be in your room right now." Alexia said through clenched teeth. You could hear her shuffling, and Olga speaking to her quietly.

"'M not in my room, Ale, sorry." You heard your door bang open, then, and Alexia confirm what you'd just admitted.

"I am going to kill you to death." Alexia warned. "Where are you? Are you safe?"

"I'm not totally sure where I am. There's a road... ooo and a bench. And I think a building. D'you know where I am?"

"My god. You don't know where you are?" Alexia cried, shaking off her girlfriend's advice to calm down.

"Nope. D'you?" You slurred.

"How would I know where you are!?!?" Alexia shouted. There was more shuffling, and Olga's soothing voice replaced Alexia's.

"Nena, Ale has your location. We're going to come get you now. Stay where you are, okay?"

"Yes ma'am." You said, saluting to the thin air in front of you. You hung up then, though you forgot to say goodbye, and awaited your sister eagerly.

-----

"I am going to kill her." Alexia seethed, driving well over the speed limit on the way to your little dot on her screen.

"You can kill her later, let's just make sure she's safe first." Olga sighed.

"This is Alba's fault. Or Mapi's. Or Pina and Cata's. I will find the culprit, and I will make them run so many laps..."

"She's right there," Olga interrupted, pointing to the park bench where you were sitting, looking blankly at your sister's car.

Alexia threw the car and park, and moved to throw her door open, but stopped when her girlfriend grabbed her arm.

"Alexia, she's drunk. She's not going to remember any of this tomorrow, so be nice now. You can yell later, yes?"

"Fine." Alexia sighed. She got out of the car, as did Olga, and they approached you carefully.

"ALE!!" You cheered, standing and tripping forward dangerously as you tried to tackle your sister in a hug.

"Hi." Alexia said evenly, easily catching you and helping you back upright.

"Thanks for comin' to get me," you slurred, slumping into your sister.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get you home nena."

"OLGA!!!" You yelled suddenly, turning and seeing your sister's girlfriend biting back a smile at the sight of you. You were gone. Completely gone.

"Hey nena." Olga said kindly, opening the door to the backseat for you. Alexia barely got you buckled in before you toppled completely over, now laying horizontally across the back seat.

"Ow." You said quietly. Again, Olga had to try really hard not to laugh, turning to her girlfriend, who just look exasperated.

"Maybe I should sit back there with her." The brunette suggested.

"I think that might be best." Alexia agreed, walking around to the drivers side and getting in. She looked in the rearview mirror, seeing you completely slumped on her girlfriend's shoulder, eyes already shut. It melted her heart, just a little, how much you loved Olga, and how much Olga loved you. Still, her overarching feelings right now were anger and frustration.

-----

Once Alexia had carried you from the car, deposited you on your bed, and placed a trash can and a bottle of water within your reach, she grabbed your phone, texting your friends that had clearly not been keeping an eye on you that you were home safe. She then stomped back into her room, throwing herself dramatically onto her bed.

"What was she thinking? Is she stupid? Is she the stupidest person on earth? She has to be."

"Ale, calm down." Olga said, following her in and shutting the door behind her. "Go to sleep. Deal with it tomorrow."

Alexia sighed, laying back down under the covers, before looking over to her girlfriend. "Thank you for coming. And for taking such good care of her." She said quietly.

"Always." Olga promised, pressing a light kiss to Alexia's lips.

-----

The next morning found you not laid in bed until the afternoon like you would have hoped. Instead, Alexia had dragged you out of bed at 9am, which she felt was pretty generous, threw some training clothes at you, and drove over to the Barça grounds. She had to pull over once for you to get out and throw up, but even though you were sweating, exhausted, your head was pounding, and your stomach churning, Alexia was unrelenting.

Olga was still asleep when Alexia had left with you, and you had wondered if you could text her discreetly to put an end to this before it started. Alexia had taken your phone hostage though, so that was a no go.

Now, Alexia had you running sprints. You thanked god above that it was a chillier, cloudier day, but running while you were violently hungover was still... a form of torture. She'd found a whistle, somewhere, and anytime you stopped running, she blew it at you, making the pounding in your head worse.

You managed to last 15 minutes before you stopped a few feet away from her, looking at your sister pleadingly.

"Ale, I'm gonna throw up," you warned.

Alexia's was unflinching, sunglasses down over her eyes as she stood, hands on her hips, watching you.

"I'm not stopping you." She said coldly, gesturing for you to do so.

"Ale, please," you whined.

"If you didn't want to run sprints hungover, you shouldn't have snuck out and gotten drunk." Alexia told you.

You turned away from her, throwing up what little water you'd managed to drink so far. When you were done, you turned back, finding Alexia directly behind you, holding out a sports drink.

"Drink." She instructed. You took it, chugging the whole thing as you held back a gag, knowing if you could keep any of it down, it would be somewhat helpful.

Things continued like this for another 10 minutes, until you were sure Alexia was going to keep you going until you passed out.

In fact, Alexia was just about to call it, not wanting to completely kill you, when she heard her name being shouted from just behind her.

"Alexia, what are you doing to that poor girl?!" Mapi yelled, marching towards her friend, while Ingrid broke into a run, heading towards you. You'd fallen to your knees, retching pathetically onto the grass, even as nothing came up.

"She snuck out and got drunk." Alexia dismissed, looking concerned at the sight of you on the ground, trembling violently in Ingrid's arms. Mapi grabbed her wrist, spinning her back around.

"Alexia. This is really harsh, even for you."

"Good. Maybe she'll learn her lesson." Still, Alexia couldn't help her gaze flicking over to where you were. You were okay, she was sure. She knew what you could take, and what you couldn't. You'd drink some water, take a cold shower, and sleep the rest of the day.

Mapi looked disapprovingly at her captain. "Maybe that would have taught you a lesson. I'm sure there are more effective ways of talking to your sister about this, than attempted murder."

"She's fine. I know her limits, and so does she. If she was really not well, she would have just stopped."

You wouldn't have. You knew your sister was furious, and you would have done anything to fix that. Anything. If it meant running until you dropped, so be it. Alexia didn't think you'd push yourself that hard, though. She way underestimated the lengths you would go to for her approval.

"Anyway, what are you doing here? It's an off day." Alexia questioned, beginning to walk towards you.

"Ingrid wanted to work on a few things." Mapi said.

They reached your side, and Ingrid looked up sternly at your sister, a glare set on her face.

"Ale, can we go home?" You asked pathetically. You were completely pale, covered in sweat, and you were shaking all over.

"Yeah. Let's go." Ingrid helped you to your feet, holding you steady as Alexia wrapped an arm around you, and began walking you towards the exit.

"Should we call child protective services?" Ingrid wondered sarcastically, watching Alexia drag you back to the car.

"Nah. She's 19. And Alexia will have to deal with Olga when she gets that poor kid home."

----

And have to deal with Olga, Alexia did.

She helped you into the house, the AC in the car and the endless supply of water Alexia had for you helping tremendously. You felt more alive now, and honestly, you must have sweated out a lot of the alcohol, because you didn't feel that bad.

You were still shaking, though, still pale. Alexia cringed internally when she heard Olga's feet quietly making their way towards the front door, as she helped you pull your shoes off.

"Alexia." Olga gasped. "What did you do, take her to get run over by a truck?" She walked forward, easing you away from your sister, and towards the living room, shooting her girlfriend a harsh glare over your shoulder.

"No. We had a workout to do." Alexia said casually.

"Nena, are you okay?" Olga asked softly.

You smiled up at her, relaxing back into the couch. "Yep. I thought she was going to kill me for a bit, but she didn't."

Olga sighed. You were back to joking, back to pretending that Alexia's behavior didn't bother you. Back to acting like you didn't need more support from her. This needed to stop. Now.

"Drink some water. We can try to get some food in you in a bit. Alexia, come with me." Olga's tone left no room for conversation as she headed up the stairs towards their room. Alexia didn't listen immediately to a lot of people, but Olga was one of them.

She trailed after her girlfriend a little hesitantly. She knew she'd taken it too far. She hadn't done any damage to you, but it was still too far. And Olga was about to give her hell for it. Which likely, she deserved. Alexia was stubborn, though, and she wouldn't admit to being wrong without a bit of a fight.

"Are you crazy? What were you trying to accomplish, Ale? Whatever you made her do was overkill. You didn't need to take it so far-"

"NO. She is my baby sister, and she is off getting drunk and getting lost, and-" Alexia interrupted, suddenly furious again.

"Alexia, she's 19. This is what 19 year olds' do." Olga defended.

"Not HER. She is supposed to be responsible. She is an athlete, she has responsibilities, she has people relying on her-"

Olga cut her off again. "God, amor, I cannot imagine why'd she'd feel the need to go get drunk. That doesn't seem like a lot of stress on a teenager at all."

Alexia was quiet for a moment. "If she was stressed, she would tell me. If it was too much, she would tell me." She said, though she sounded suddenly unsure.

"Would she?" Olga wondered. "You're pretty strict with her, baby. Maybe she doesn't need Stern Alexia, and tough love all the time, maybe she just needs love." This had been swirling around in Olga's head for the past few weeks, though she wasn't sure how to bring it up to her girlfriend. She'd watched as you would wilt when Alexia would give you a simple 'good job' after a game, directly followed by all the things she thought you could improve. She watched you do things, and instantly turn to your sister, to see if she was impressed or not. If Alexia was, she never let it show.

For Alexia, sternness, rigidness worked for her. She didn't need people to be soft with her, to tell her all the time that she was doing a good job, so she assumed you didn't either. Olga could tell, though, that every time Alexia ruffled your hair instead of giving you a hug, shook off your request to something fun instead of reviewing match footage, it crushed you, just a little bit.

Olga wasn't surprised that this had happened, not at all. You were acting out, trying to burn off some stress while also trying to get your sister's attention.She hoped it would finally make her girlfriend understand that you needed more from her. You were young, living away from your mom, and you needed someone to care for you, not just push you. You wanted that from your sister, too, although you were always appreciative of everything that Olga did for you.

Their argument fizzled out, and Olga realized Alexia needed space to think. She left her there to do so, heading back downstairs to check on you.

-----

You and Alexia didn't speak of the incident in the days following. You could tell something had changed, Alexia was being... different with you. Less intense.

You thought she was just really angry. Which was fair. You'd been stupid and irresponsible. She had every right to be angry. You decided to let it pass, to not push her into forgiving you sooner.

You didn't realize that Alexia was rethinking the entire dynamic she had with you, the role she played in your life. She noticed, suddenly, that you weren't as affectionate as you had been before. You didn't sit close to her on the couch when you watched TV together. You didn't pull her into a hug when you saw her. You didn't talk to her when you were upset after a game. You didn't immediately look for her when you got hurt. She'd been so focused on being the coach that she thought you needed that she'd forgotten to be the sister that you'd actually needed.

She could be your mentor without pushing you so hard, Alexia had realized. You didn't need another coach. You needed your sister. Alexia just wasn't sure how to fix what she'd broken.

When she did figure out how to fix it, it came naturally to her. It was suddenly instinctual, again, the strong feeling within her to take care of you, not push you to be better.

-----

The first time you got some idea that Alexia was making an effort to be different was a few days after The Incident, as you and Olga had named your adventure. You were coming back from seeing your friends; the very same friends you had gone out with. It had started off fine, everyone joking around about your disappearing act. As the conversation continued, though, it became clear to you that a few of them had seen you leave by yourself, and not bothered to go after you. And they had all been significantly less intoxicated than you were.

They tried to excuse their behavior by telling you they were distracted by various people they'd met up with at the club. When you pushed, asking why no one thought to keep an eye on you, or go after you when you ran out, especially after they'd been pushing drink and drink on you, enjoying how increasingly absurd you got, they got defensive. They lashed out, going on and on about how you should have been responsible, and it wasn't their job to babysit you. You knew that, but at the same time, anything could have happened to you when you ran out of the club. It was a miracle that nothing did. The argument escalated into a full blown fight, until you were shouting back and forth at each other, bringing up issues that were long resolved.

Eventually, you stormed out, walking the 15 minutes back to your sister's house, angry tears falling from your eyes. Your friends weren't the best friend's a person could have, you knew this. They were your only friends outside of football, though, the only friends that were truly your's and not also your sister's. That's probably why you kept them around so long, and you never would have thought they would care so little about your safety.

The words exchanged had been harsh, and you knew as you neared home that there was no salvaging those relationships. You were upset, everything hard about the week catching up with you. You just hoped that when you walked through the front door, Alexia and Olga would both be too busy with various tasks to notice how upset you were. Alexia hated your friends, and you knew she would tell you that what happened was for the best. That was absolutely not what you needed to hear, now, though.

You opened the door as quietly as you could, slipping your shoes off and carefully placing your keys down on the little table near the door. You turned to walk up the stairs, jumping slightly when Olga was suddenly standing directly behind you, looking at her phone.

"What do you want for dinner? Your sister and I can't agree," Olga asked, growing quiet as she looked up, spotting how upset you were. "What's wrong?" The brunette's face grew sympathetic, and you ignored how it made you want to cry.

"Nothing." You told her, dodging her attempt to rest a hand on your shoulder, and slipping up the stairs. You shut the door to your room. It was a mess in there, it was past time you cleaned it; and, anyway, you needed to do something to get your anger out, and furiously cleaning seemed like as good of an idea as any.

-----

Downstairs, Olga was conflicted. Normally, she would take this, as the more emotionally available adult in the house. She knew that you didn't want her comfort, though, not in the way you wanted your sister's. And Alexia had clearly been taking to heart what her girlfriend had told her, being noticeably different with you, even if she hadn't figured out quite how to act. So, Olga slipped off to the office, knocking and entering when she heard her girlfriend's voice beckoning her inside.

"Hey, beautiful," Alexia said, smiling from behind the desk. Olga smiled in return, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Your sister just got home from seeing her friends and I think something happened, she was really upset."

Alexia rolled her eyes. "They suck, I'm not surprised. Is she okay?"

"She ran off to her room, but she was crying." Olga replied, watching her girlfriend's expression carefully. Alexia looked conflicted, like she wasn't sure what to do.

"I'll go check on her." The blonde said finally, receiving an encouraging smile from Olga. She stood and headed towards the stairs, pausing when Olga stopped her.

"Just a tip. Telling her that her friends suck probably won't make her feel better. Even is she's mad at them. Just try to be nice." Olga suggested.

Alexia nodded, continuing on her way. Her girlfriend was more than a little amused at how nervous the blonde seemed. It was just you.

For Alexia, though, she didn't really know how to make you feel better. What would have worked for her was clearly not working for you, she saw that now. You were so different from her, so much more sensitive. She was nervous because she didn't want to say the wrong thing. She didn't realize, however, that any attempt she would make would be greatly appreciated by you.

Alexia knocked on your door, feeling a little ridiculous at how nervous she was, opening the door tentatively when you told her to come in. You were pacing around the room, folding clothes and putting things away, even as a few tears remained falling from your eyes. You looked furious as you cleaned rather aggressively, not acknowledging your sister when she walked in the room.

"Hey, nena?" Alexia called after a minute of watching you fold a shirt like you would have preferred to set it on fire. You hummed in response, still not looking towards her. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." You snapped, moving on to another shirt, throwing the recently folded one down on the bed, huffing in frustration when the action messed up your meticulous work.

Deciding not to second guess her instincts, Alexia strode forward, taking the shirt out of your hands and setting it on the bed. She turned you so that you were facing her, placing her hands on your shoulders. You still wouldn't meet her eyes, and you were a good few inches shorter than her, but she could still see your angry resolve cracking, your bottom lip beginning to quiver.

You didn't want to cry in front of her, not over the friends of yours that she hated. It was a waste, and you knew she wouldn't give you the sympathy that you wanted. That just wasn't how Alexia was.

"C'mere," Alexia said softly, wrapping her arms around you and bringing you into a tight hug.

Until this point, Alexia wasn't sure she quite understood what you needed from her. The second you melted into her arms, though, like a hug was all you'd needed, it became very clear. Olga was right; you'd just needed love.

Your shoulders were shaking with silent cries, as if you were trying to keep them quiet, and Alexia frowned, arms squeezing you tighter.

"You can cry, cariño, if you're upset. It's okay to cry." She whispered. Admittedly, expressing emotion wasn't something she was good with. She hadn't realized the effect this had on you expressing your emotions before now.

You cried into your sister's shoulder, no longer holding back after her words of encouragement, for a solid 5 minutes. Alexia didn't shy away from the display of feelings like you expected her to. Instead, she sat you on the side of your bed, carefully wiping the remaining tears off your face with the sleeve of her sweater.

Still sniffling pathetically, you looked down at our hands, not sure if you should tell her what happened, if she'd want to hear. Alexia caught your hesitation, sitting down next to you, and bumping your knee with hers. "Tell me what happened."

You took a deep breath, before launching into the story. Alexia grew tense next to you, clearly with anger, but you weren't sure who it was directed at. If it was at the reminder of how irresponsible you'd been, or if it was at your friends. When you finished, Alexia was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what to say.

"They suck." She said finally, before shaking her head at herself. "No, Olga told me not to say that. You deserve better friends than them, especially if their are so unconcerned with your safety and wellbeing. What if you hadn't had your phone? What if something had happened? I wouldn't have known where you were, you could have been hurt." Alexia went on, growing more agitated.

"I'm sorry, Ale," you told her.

"No, no. I am angry with them." Alexia said earnestly. "For being so careless with you. They should have been looking out for you. I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you, but I probably would have started with ruining their lives."

Protective Alexia wasn't a side of your sister you'd seen in a while. Not since you were 11 and you'd told her that a boy had tried to kiss you on the playground. She'd skipped training to march to your school, asking you to point out the boy. You had, and she'd held him up against the brick wall of the building by the collar of his shirt, warning him to never so much as look at you, ever again. He was appropriately terrified, and no one tried to mess with you again after that.

It was nice, feeling protected by your sister. It felt safe. It made you feel loved.

-----

Even after the conversation about your friends, Alexia still didn't acknowledge that something had changed.

Until after a rather rough match against Atlético. You were having an off day, your passes not connecting, your shots just barely missing the back of the net. She could tell you were frustrated, and she wasn't sure how to make you feel better. Normally, she'd give you a pat on the back, tell you to push through and focus. Alexia realized now, though, that you didn't need that from her.

Still, it was the middle of the match, and there wasn't time for a pep talk. She'd have to wait until the match was over, and then she could figure out what to say to you. Now, she needed to focus.

Alexia did focus. She focused on taking the corner, watching the ball sail towards your head. She focused on Lola's gloved hand extending towards the ball, and connecting squarely with your face. Alexia saw you drop to the ground, clutching tightly to your nose. The whistle blew immediately, and half the team was looking down at you uneasily, waving urgently for the medical staff. Lola was crouched by your head, clearly making repetitive apologies.

Normally, when you got hurt, Alexia kept her distance. She didn't want to suffocate you, and she didn't want to act unprofessional. On the pitch, you were teammates. Appearances didn't matter, though, not really, and she could be your older sister too, she knew.

Alexia sprinted to you, shoving players of both teams out of her way in her quest to get to your side. Lola saw her barreling towards her, and wisely backed up, leaving the spot just above you open, while the medics were arriving on either side of you.

You were still on your stomach, clutching tightly to your face, feeling hot blood seep into your hand. It was broken. You'd heard the crunch. And, like always when you got hurt, you wanted your sister to come hold your hand. You knew she wouldn't. She had to be professional, she had a reputation to protect. You were surprised when her soft voice met your ear.

"Hey, nena, can you roll over for us?"

Although your position smushed into the turf felt like the most comfortable you could get currently, you slowly rolled onto your back with a groan.

"Oh, honey," Alexia whispered, taking in the sight of your very broken nose, blood pooling all over your face.

"Broken," you mumbled, the movement of speaking hurting, blood filling your mouth. So as not to allow you to choke, Alexia and one of the medics carefully sat you up, tipping you forward, allowing your nose to drip into the towel being help against your face.

"She's right, I heard it break," Lola added, still hovering near you. It had been completely accidental, what she'd done, and she felt guilty. She backed up, though, when Alexia shot her a harsh glare.

"Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Are you going to pass out?" Alexia asked anxiously, knowing that you weren't a fan of blood. The medics exchanged amused looks at your suddenly overbearing sister, as you looked at her, less amused, and slightly comforted.

"No. Fine. Hurts't talk." You got out, closing your eyes as the pain intensified. Alexia's hand rubbed circles into your back, and you were floored when she pressed a kiss to the top of your head, right in front of the entire stadium, before looking to the medic for permission to help you to your feet. When he nodded and grabbed your other arm, they got you up, supporting you all the way to the sidelines, where another medic took over for you sister.

"Should I tell Jona to take me off?" Alexia asked you, still glued to your side, even as you neared the tunnel.

"No, go win." You spit some blood onto the ground, barely managing the words, and Alexia agreed uneasily, watching you all the way back inside.

The rest of the team was looking at her like she had two heads. Never before had they seen her be so nurturing with you, so outwardly worried. Alexia loved you, no one doubted that. She was just normally much more reserved about showing affection for her youngest sister.

-----

By the time Alexia got back to the locker room post match she was startled to see that you weren't in sitting in front of your locker waiting for her, or with the team doctors. They informed you that Olga had taken you home. You had a slight concussion, and your nose was broken, but didn't need to be reset, and you didn't want to wait for most of the second half to finish for your sister, so when Olga offered to take you home, you took her offer gratefully.

She sped through her shower and her post match routine, continuing to ignore the surprised expressions on her teammates face, and the rather satisfied one on Mapi's; the defender was finally seeing the return of the Older Sister Alexia she knew.

Alexia arrived home, abandoning her bag in the car and rushing inside. She wanted to make sure you were okay, more than anything. More than anything. It was like she'd just remembered that she was your sister, not just your captain, and her instinct to protect you was overwhelming her.

She marched right into the house, finding you laid on the couch, your head resting in Olga's lap an ice pack held over your nose by your sister's girlfriend, who was telling you an animated story about the crazy fan she'd run into in the stands today.

"Nena," Alexia sighed, feeling slightly better at the sight of you, more or less in one piece.

You sat up, still rather confused at the complete 180˚ your sister had done. "Hi." You had a rather disconcerting lisp to your speech, your lip swelling from the contact with the opposing goalkeeper's glove.

Alexia sat right next to you, removing the ice pack, and inspecting your face carefully.

"Does it hurt?" She asked.

"Not as much now. The ice is helping."

"Have you eaten? Taken anything? You should drink a lot of water, and ice every 15 minutes, and make sure you sleep propped up on a pillow, and we should go to the dentist tomorrow, just to make sure your teeth are okay." Alexia rambled, gently nudging your lip up to look at the swollen gums surrounding your upper front teeth. "Are they loose? If they're loose, we should go to the dentist now."

You exchanged a look with Olga. You were rather confused, while she just looked pleased with herself.

"They're not loose. I feel fine, Ale, and I ate some pasta. I think I'm just going to go to bed, I'm really tired."

You stood, keeping the ice pressed to your nose, catching the slightly frantic look on your sister's face. "You'll wake me up if it hurts, or if something is wrong, right?" She questioned.

"Yeah, if you want me to." You told her.

She nodded, relieved. "I would like you to."

"Okay. Goodnight, guys." Before you could step away from the couch, Alexia was standing and pulling you into a gentle hug, being extra careful with... your entire face. She kissed your forehead, before shooing you off towards the stairs.

Bewildered but pleased with your sister's odd behavior, you headed for bed, hoping that Alexia would be more normal, if still just as caring, tomorrow.

-----

You knew that was out of the question when your door opened softly an hour after you went to bed. You turned, not having fallen asleep yet, seeing your sister stood in the doorway, a blanket in hand, worrying her lip between her teeth.

"What's up?"

"Can I sleep in here? I'm worried about your face, I can't fall asleep." Alexia admitted, taking one step forward before pausing, looking anxiously at you.

You blinked at her for a minute, wondering if this was some kind of bizarre dream where your sister had undergone a personality transplant, before nodding.

"If you want," you agreed, scooting over to make room for you sister. She climbed onto the bed eagerly, smiling at you. You smiled back, wondering if it was possible that your sister was on drugs. She took several minutes to get comfortable, settling under the covers before turning on her side to face where you lay on your back, eyes closed. You could feel her watching you.

"Alexia you can't sleep in here if you're going to stare at me all night like a psychopath." You said, not opening your eyes.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just worried. I'll stop now." Alexia promised, rolling onto her back too.

You didn't say anything for a moment, not wanting to ruin the very sweet moment you were having with you sister, but also feeling curiosity burn through you.

"You're being really weird." You said finally.

Alexia sighed, like she'd known this was coming.

"Am I dying or something and no one bothered to tell me? Is that why you're being so nice to me?" You were only half joking. Alexia sighed again, and somehow, it sounded guilty. "Am I?" You asked, opening your eyes and looking at the blonde.

"No, idiota, you aren't dying. I'm just... I'm trying to be a better sister."

You heard all the time that your sister was awkward, but you'd never really gotten that vibe from her until now.

"Oh. Okay. You're a good sister already, Ale." You said gruffly, looking away from her.

Alexia blinked at you. "Well, I'm glad you think so, but there is always room for improvement. You shouldn't be surprised when I'm nice to you, or take care of you. That should be normal."

"Thanks." You said after a minute, clearing your throat. You hated when Alexia was so nice it made you cry. Hated it.

"You don't have to thank me. I love you, hermanita." Alexia said, and there was no mistaking the vulnerability in her voice.

You were so going to tell Alba about this, and make fun of Alexia endlessly for being so bad at human emotions. For now, though, you rolling into her side a little, resting your head on her shoulder.

"I love you too, Ale."

Alexia smiled to herself. God, she normally hated when her girlfriend proved her wrong, but this time, it had been so needed. She was greatful for Olga, and for you, for being so forgiving. It was very youngest sister of you, never holding a grudge. She loved you. A lot. She was going to be better about showing it.

-----

this got out of hand i won't lie.

hope you enjoyed :)

[artsekey]

I'd been seeing videos on Tiktok and Youtube about how younger Gen Z & Gen Alpha were demonstrating low computer literacy & below benchmark reading & writing skills, but-- like with many things on the internet-- I assumed most of what I read and watched was exaggerated. Hell, even if things were as bad as people were saying, it would be at least ~5 years before I started seeing the problem in higher education.

I was very wrong.

Of the many applications I've read this application season, only %6 percent demonstrated would I would consider a college-level mastery of language & grammar. The students writing these applications have been enrolled in university for at least two years, and have taken all fundamental courses. This means they've had classes dedicated to reading, writing, and literature analysis, and yet!

There are sentences I have to read over and over again to discern intent. Circular arguments that offer no actual substance. Errors in spelling and capitalization that spellcheck should've flagged.

At a glance, it's easy to trace this issue back to two things:

The state of education in the United States is abhorrent. Instructors are not paid enough, so schools-- particularly public schools-- take whatever instructors they can find.

COVID. The two year long gap in education, especially in high school, left many students struggling to keep up.

But I think there's a third culprit-- something I mentioned earlier in this post. A lack of computer literacy.

This subject has been covered extensively by multiple news outlets like the Washington Post and Raconteur, but as someone seeing it firsthand I wanted to add my voice to the rising chorus of concerned educators begging you to pay attention.

As the interface we use to engage with technology becomes more user friendly, the knowledge we need to access our files, photos, programs, & data becomes less and less important. Why do I need to know about directories if I can search my files in Windows (are you searching in Windows? Are you sure? Do you know what that bar you're typing into is part of? Where it's looking)? Maybe you don't have any files on your computer at all-- maybe they're on the cloud through OneDrive, or backed up through Google. Some of you reading this may know exactly where and how your files are stored. Many of you probably don't, and that's okay. For most people, being able to access a file in as short a time as possible is what they prioritize.

The problem is, when you as a consumer are only using a tool, you are intrinsically limited by the functions that tool is advertised to have. Worse yet, when the tool fails or is insufficient for what you need, you have no way of working outside of that tool. You'll need to consult an expert, which is usually expensive.

When you as a consumer understand a tool, your options are limitless. You can break it apart and put it back together in just the way you like, or you can identify what parts of the tool you need and search for more accessible or affordable options that focus more on your specific use-case.

The problem-- and to be clear, I do not blame Gen Z & Gen Alpha for what I'm about to outline-- is that this user-friendly interface has fostered a culture that no longer troubleshoots. If something on the computer doesn't work well, it's the computer's fault. It's UI should be more intuitive, and it it's not operating as expected, it's broken. What I'm seeing more and more of is that if something's broken, students stop there. They believe there's nothing they can do. They don't actively seek out solutions, they don't take to Google, they don't hop on Reddit to ask around; they just... stop. The gap in knowledge between where they stand and where they need to be to begin troubleshooting seems to wide and inaccessible (because the fundamental structure of files/directories is unknown to many) that they don't begin.

This isn't demonstrative of a lack of critical thinking, but without the drive to troubleshoot the number of opportunities to develop those critical thinking skills are greatly diminished. How do you communicate an issue to someone online? How do look for specific information? How do you determine whether that information is specifically helpful to you? If it isn't, what part of it is? This process fosters so many skills that I believe are at least partially linked to the ability to read and write effectively, and for so many of my students it feels like a complete non-starter.

We need basic computer classes back in schools. We need typing classes, we need digital media classes, we need classes that talk about computers outside of learning to code. Students need every opportunity to develop critical thinking skills and the ability to self-reflect & self correct, and in an age of misinformation & portable technology, it's more important now than ever.

[sirfrogsworth]

I saw this on Reddit and it reminded me of how hard it is to transport my dad to all his appointments.

I have to push him in a wheelchair for any long distance and because of stuff like this, I have had to figure out how to pop wheelies, back down curbs, and go through doors backwards because the auto-open feature is broken. You would not believe how often the auto-open button is not functioning at doctor's offices, hospitals, and other medical establishments.

This thing.

I don't know why they break so often, but someone needs to do something about it.

One of my biggest pet peeves is people blocking the wheelchair crosswalk in front of my dad's dialysis center.

This drives me nuts.

Especially because a lot of the time it is a family member dropping off someone in a wheelchair for dialysis. You'd think they'd know better.

Because I am able to walk and push my dad I always park in the disabled spot and push him across the crosswalk. People transporting patients or family members with electric wheelchairs or more serious debilitations will choose to park directly in front of the building so they don't have to transport them as far. I park in the parking lot so I don't take up space in front of the building for these more serious patients. I'm trying to do my part to make this process easier for everyone.

Unfortunately these folks will often block the crosswalk. All they have to do is pull a bit in front of the crosswalk and they can still transport the wheelchair with ease. Usually medical transport services will do this correctly, but most family members don't give a shit. They just want to get grandma out of the car as fast as possible.

But the worst offenders are customers and delivery drivers going to the Chinese place directly next to the dialysis center. These are all able-bodied people. Customers can't be bothered to park in a parking space 50 feet away so they park in front of the crosswalk and leave their car while they order food.

And then there are the motherhecking delivery drivers.

Are you seeing this shit?

He angled the truck so his ramp would reach the sidewalk. Absolutely no space to fit a wheelchair.

AHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRGGGG. Are you kidding meeee?

I had to back my dad down a curb and wheel him around the front of the truck and then wheelie him over another curb to get to the parking area.

This dude was blocking the way for at least 30 minutes. My dad wasn't finished when I got there so I had to wait for him. Almost every patient at the dialysis center is in a wheelchair. He saw me pushing my dad all around the parking lot and just kept making his deliveries.

I nearly confronted the delivery driver, but my dad was feeling really weak from dialysis and he desperately needed to get home so he could lie down. But if I see this again, I am definitely going to say something. Anxiety be damned. I was so mad.

I guess I just want people to know stuff like this happens constantly. We need to spread the word that inconsiderate stuff like this is unacceptable.

And sometimes the worst culprits can be the family members of the disabled people. We are in this together and we need to support each other.

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

What the fuck is up with this man? No seriously, what the fuck was this about? I know what you're probably thinking "Everyone was trying to send Teruko to death, why is Whit being focused on here?"

That is true, but my thing about this is, to me, Whit joining in on the immediate bandwagon to vote for Teruko is...really fucking weird given his personality. One of Whit's main traits is the way he, almost rashly, puts his faith into other people. To the point where he is willing to lie or delay information from being presented. I made a whole post about this around a year ago, but later in this trial he puts his faith into the idea that Charles is not the culprit, lying about Charles being his friend so that the others would believe him. He interrupts when Teruko starts asking Eden for the note even though the note itself implicates Eden heavily. And he outright refuses to share David's secret for multiple minutes to "protect his career (paraphrasing), which I don't buy for a second because why the fuck would Whit care? what I'm trying to say is that all three of these circumstances where someone is being suspected or in danger of being suspected, Whit implicitly puts his faith in the idea that they are not the culprit, even if a majority of the evidence is pointing towards them. ...So why the fuck does he not do the same for Teruko? Later he joins Teruko's side in the scrum debate so we know eventually he stops suspecting her, but before that and especially in the screenshot, he just wants to vote and have the trial be done with. Given everything else, there's no reason for Whit to not defend Teruko, so why doesn't he? ...Well. Unless there was any particular reason he would want her to bite the bullet for Xander's murder.

Probably nothing though

[pinguwrites]

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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