𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || your husband sometimes gets carried away with his devotion to you...
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 3.7k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || noncon/heavy dubcon smut (18+ only!!! rough sex, breeding kink, marking kink, hair pulling, praise and degradation, dark but the reader is lowkey into it lmaooo), jealousy and possessiveness, yandere vibes?, gaslighting/manipulation, established relationship, alcohol consumption
"Heavens, you look stunning!" Gordon announced when he saw you, opening his arms wide as an invitation for an embrace. You only went in for a quick hug, but he grabbed you tight and kissed the top of your head as you laughed delightfully. "Doesn't she look ravishing? Don't I have excellent taste?"
The other ladies nearby nodded in agreement, hanging off of him like they tended to. That was the way Gordon was: magnetic, for his personality just as much as his looks. Blonde curls with light brown eyes and that megawatt smile… as long as you'd known him, he'd never had trouble with ladies— he just made trouble for them.
"Aren't I the greatest literary agent you ever had?" he asked you, and you rolled your eyes.
"You're the only I've ever had," you reminded him. "You represented me when I was a teenage girl trying to sell my assignments from secondary school!"
"Yes, so I win by default," he decided with a big kiss to your cheek that made you scrunch up your nose.
"But that makes you the worst I ever had, too, doesn't it?" you noticed as Gordon relaxed his embrace to just an arm around your waist.
"See?" he prompted the nearby women, "Didn't I tell you? Can't get anything past this one— sharp as a whip, she is—"
As you shrugged in dismissal of the praise, you looked around the room in awe of all Gordon had done for you now. He had a taste for the extravagant, clearly; truth be told, it was nothing like you'd pictured it, and nothing like what you'd asked him for when he insisted on throwing a party.
"So, please, drink up, be merry, all of that," Gordon instructed his ladies, motioning out towards the crowded room, "get properly sloppy if you must— all in honour of this lovely woman right here… a genius of writing, and one of my longest and dearest friends."
As they departed in search of free drinks, you turned to Gordon with a nervous frown. "I'm not sure this is really all for me, Gordy," you sighed.
"Of course it is," he chuckled heartily, "I told you I'd throw something to celebrate another year of us working together— I wanted to have a gala for your novel's first publishing, but you were too busy on the honeymoon then—"
You smiled just at the mention of your honeymoon.
"All these people, doll, they're here for you," Gordon assured.
"The people, maybe; but the evening wear, the drinks, the music, the glamour? That's for you, isn't it?" you smirked.
But before he could respond to the accusation, his eyes fell somewhere at the other end of the room, and he turned you to look the same way. "Speaking of people here for you…" he trailed off.
You perked up when you saw William, slipping through the crowds of people, already approaching you with his hat tucked under his arm.
"You came!" you squealed with excitement as you jumped towards your husband, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "Oh, dear," you sighed when you saw that you'd printed berry-red lipstick on his cheek, starting to wipe it off with your fingers.
"I couldn't miss it, of course," he smiled at you, his voice so soft you barely heard it over the hustle and bustle of the party.
"They shouldn't have let you in," Gordon said, making you both look back at him. "It's black tie only, you know."
William smiled slightly with his lips pressed together. "He's only joking," you realised with an awkward mumble.
"The uniform seemed to go over alright," William replied, sticking his hand out towards Gordon for a shake.
"Oh, don't be so formal," Gordon laughed as he yanked William into rough side-hug. "We know each other, don't we?"
"Sort of," William answered under his breath as Gordon put a heavy hand— adorned with golden decorative rings— on his shoulder.
"Though I've half a mind to rough you up for convincing my star author to publish her next book under her married name," Gordon continued with a haughty laugh. "She's already so established with the maiden name!"
"I didn't convince her of anything, I only married her," William defended.
"Never thought you'd manage to tie this one down," Gordon smirked, "independent as she is."
"She didn't put up too much of a fight," William winked at you, and you felt a little flushed as you blinked quickly.
Apparently tired with that line of conversation, Gordon stood beside you and flipped it back to the real topic of the evening: your writing.
“She’s quite a prodigy!” Gordon exclaimed with a wide grin, wrapping an arm around you, then. “You’ve read what she writes, haven't you?”
“Some of it,” William admitted with a nervous laugh, looking down for a moment. “The rest is too sad for me, I’m afraid.”
“Her latest is a masterpiece,” Gordon assured. “Forbidden love, secrets, affairs—”
“Sordid stuff,” William frowned, shaking his head.
“Sells, though,” Gordon winked. “Men and women— we’re even selling copies in America!”
William only nodded, not seeming too convinced, and you deflated slightly as you reached out for your husband’s hand. “Aren’t you proud of me?” you asked, sounding much more pathetic than you meant to.
“Of course, darling,” he smiled at you, “always.”
“You don’t mind if I borrow your lovely wife again, do you?” Gordon beamed. “There’s some people over there she should meet— they might just sponsor the tour for her next novel.”
“All these book tours, I feel as if she’s hardly ever home,” William sighed.
“Well, we’ve got to keep her on the tours,” Gordon chuckled, “or that pretty face will go to waste!”
William’s jaw tightened as he nodded curtly in agreement, and you felt nervousness turning in your stomach.
“You should have a drink, soldier,” Gordon offered to lighten the obvious tension, handing William a wide glass of champagne.
He patted your husband a little too roughly on the back as he drank, before dragging you off to talk to some publishers or whatever— you glanced over to try to see your husband at the bar, hoping to catch him smiling at you, but you only caught his icy stare over the edge of his glass.
~
Enough liquor loosened you both up, and you managed to enjoy the party well into the hours of the night— it was almost one in the morning when you got home, yet you had a shocking amount of energy still coursing through you as you started to undress at the vanity. It must’ve been all the people there, and knowing they were all celebrating you; it was electrifying, even as someone who preferred to be cooped up alone with her typewriter.
William leaned against the bedroom doorway as you shed your heels and stockings, then unpinned your hair. When you saw him skulking on the reflection, you smirked to yourself, taking out one of your earrings.
“What’s the matter, love?” you asked sweetly, but he said nothing. “Love?”
“I guess I’m not much of a partier,” he explained flatly.
You smiled a little, taking out your other earring and then reaching behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. You didn’t even really notice the silence before it was broken.
“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” William said suddenly, and you scoffed— once you realised what he was talking about.
“He’s just that way,” you assured, “I don’t take it personally.”
“And all the talk of your genius, of your prodigious writing— that’s not personal?”
You shrugged slightly as you turned slightly and looked at him over your shoulder, smiling but knitting your brows together in confusion. “Isn’t that why you married me? I thought you liked the way people fawn over me.”
“But you know him,” William insisted again. “You knew him before you even met me, you work with him— you spend long hours with him, when I’m gone—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you laughed, standing up, but he only glared at you. You tilted your head as you approached him. “William, you couldn’t really think—”
“Don’t patronise me,” he sneered, and when you reached out to touch his face, he snatched you by the wrist and yanked you closer.
“William!” you scolded, whimpering as he moved his face close to yours, nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily through them. “William, please—”
“Look at me,” he demanded, grabbing your face with his other hand. “Look at your husband, darling.”
You bit your lip to suppress its shaking, meeting his fiery— yet cold— stare. “You’re hurting me,” you whispered, tightening your hand into a weak fist as he held it painfully tight.
“I can see, you know,” he told you sharply and quietly through his teeth. “I can see the way you laugh at his jokes, and let him pull you closer. His hand on your hip—”
“It’s nothing, William,” you breathed, and his hand moved down from your face to your neck, then your chest, where he brushed his fingers over the neckline of your dress.
“Wearing the dresses he buys for you,” he noticed with a sneer. “God, he’s got you looking like his fucking whore.”
He shoved you back and you tripped to land on the bed, hiding your face in fear and shame as he stalked towards you.
“Now you want to play innocent?” William spat as he towered over you. “I told you to fucking look at me!”
“I can’t!” you sobbed, fighting when he grabbed your arms and tried to pry them apart, attempting to force you to turn onto your back. “I can’t, William, not when you’re like this!”
“You made me like this!” he accused, eventually getting you to turn over so he could pin down your wrists on either side of your head. “You made me like this,” he said again, voice lowered from shouting to a soft growl. “You let him put his filthy fucking hands all over you, didn’t you?”
“No, William,” you denied, crying weakly as you shook your head. “Never. I love you— I love you more than anything.”
“But you won’t tell me the truth,” he snarled. “The truth, darling, not another story— not another one of your goddamn stories!”
“He kissed me!” you admitted suddenly, and before you could explain, William roughly slammed his lips onto yours. You whimpered into it, struggling against his tightening grip, and he pressed you down into the bed with the weight of his body.
“Tell me how it happened,” he demanded, lips still brushing against yours as he spoke, eyes still piercing through you.
“I swear, Will, I told him to stop,” you breathed, “I pushed him away. I told him I love you, William— and I do, don’t you know how much I do?”
“He kissed you,” William repeated, rage tinting his voice.
“That’s all, I swear,” you promised.
“And you didn’t tell me—”
“I thought you’d get angry,” you defended weakly.
“You didn't tell your poor, doting husband,” he groaned, “your heartbroken husband—”
“I’m so sorry, William,” you whispered.
“Why didn’t you tell me, hm? Because you love him?”
“No! Fuck, no,” you cried.
“Because you considered it— because you thought about letting him make love to you?”
“No!” you shouted, but he suddenly put a hand over your mouth to muffle it. When you stopped, stilling briefly as he looked down at you, he took his hand away and stroked your cheek with it.
“He must have forgotten,” William whispered under his breath, petting your face and acting oddly sweet. “He must have forgotten that you… belong to me.”
You blinked quickly, shivering as he pressed a slow, short kiss to your lips.
“That these lips belong to me,” he continued with a sigh, “that this neck belongs to me—”
He kissed it, but brushed his teeth teasingly over your pulse.
“That every single, beautiful, perfect part of you,” he went on, hands running down over your chest and settling on your waist tightly, “belongs to me.”
He bit down harder on your neck and you whined.
“Did you forget too, darling?”
“William, you’ll leave marks,” you whimpered, “you’ll bruise me—”
“Good,” he purred, “then you can’t just take your ring off and act single, can you?”
“I never take off your ring, William,” you swore, “not even to bathe…”
“I still want my marks all over you,” he explained darkly, “I still want you bruised tomorrow. I don’t just want them to know you’re married, darling— I want them to know how good I fuck you. I want them to know that your husband fucks you.”
Suddenly his hands were at your dress, tearing it to shreds right down the front.
“And I want them to know,” he continued with a groan, “how much you love it.”
He flipped you over roughly, yanking you up by your hair until you were forced to scramble onto your hands and knees. Your head dropped defeatedly when he let go of your hair, and he held your hips tightly with one hand as he opened his trousers with the other.
“W-wait,” you stammered, but he ignored you, reaching up under the tatters of your dress to yank your girdle and panties down. Before you could beg for some mercy again he slammed into you, making you choke out a wavering cry; instantly he was fucking you hard and fast, making you shake all over and try to reach back to grab his hips so he might slow down. “W-Will, love, please—” you whimpered helplessly.
“Fuck, if that son of a bitch could see you like this,” William sneered. “If he could see you now— he’d know who you belong to, wouldn’t he? If he could see you on your hands and knees, begging for me…”
He fucked you even harder— his hand reached up to hold onto your shoulder so you wouldn’t fall forward from the force of it.
“If he could see what a dirty little wife you are,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your skin— more marks, you were sure. “Fuck, you’re soaking me already, darling.”
A whimper slipped from your mouth as he leaned down, holding you tightly and speaking right by your ear.
“You like it, don’t you? Playing with me,” he hissed. “You like driving your poor husband crazy, thinking you might be stepping out on him?”
You shook your head, choking on a moan as he slowed his movements to make sure every thrust reached as deep into you as possible. “N-no, love, no—”
“You like how I fuck you when I’m angry, don’t you?” he went on anyways, biting the shell of your ear until your channel clenched around him. “Is that what got you so wet, darling?”
Biting your lip to hide your moans, you held tighter onto the sheets beneath you, and one of his hands came down to wrap around yours.
“So sweet,” he cooed, “such a sweet little wife. You look so innocent, darling, they have no idea what a slut you are— none of them do, but fuck… they will.”
He sped up again and you whined loudly; the pain and the pleasure together made your legs shake, hardly able to hold you up on the bed. He snatched one of the nearby pillows and shoved it under your hips— it kept them up when he began to fuck you so hard that you fell forward, and the angle hit just right inside you as a desperate scream was muffled by your face falling into the sheets.
"Yes, there she is," he praised, "my whore wife— how she loves to be fucked, reminded of her place. This is your place, isn't it? In my bed, sweet cunt taking my cock? Not out with that awful man— not on those godforsaken book tours—"
When you tried to reach back to keep him from going too deep again, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them back beside your face as he kept thrusting even faster, making the whole bed bounce and shake.
"You can take it all, darling," he promised with a groan, "you can fit your husband inside, all the way— fuck, you're so beautiful like this. You're so perfect, my angel…"
He buried his face in your neck as he thrusted into you, his own moans rivalling yours while he kissed your neck and ear and shoulder.
No one could accuse your husband of lacking passion, even if they didn’t see him like this— which you really hoped they didn’t. From the very beginning, he’d pursued you fervently: he read one of your short stories, and wrote rather effusive fan mail to the magazine in which it was published. And then when he came to your publisher’s office hoping to meet you, he took one look at you and became properly obsessed. He insisted you were the love of his life… and before you’d even really gotten to know him! You were nearly offended at first; but the longer his seduction went on, the more you couldn’t help but fall for him. Strong yet tender, kind yet stern, intelligent yet sensitive… and creative, much more than you expected. He had quite an imagination.
Unfortunately, that imagination had a dark side, especially with his tendency to be quite jealous. It had never gone this far before, though.
He pulled out of you, only a moment of relief and disappointment, before turning you onto your back and hovering over you. “Look at me,” he demanded again, though his voice was low and gentle now, “look up at me, beautiful.”
He tilted your chin up with two fingers, admiring the tears in your eyes with a tender sort of expression.
“Oh, my darling,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your neck as he slowly pushed back inside you. Your back arched and he slipped one arm under it to hold you tightly as he set a more careful pace than before— though still not all that slow. "My beautiful girl— you can't help it, can you? The way men feel about you."
A slightly deeper thrust made you gasp and reach up to hold his shoulders, blinking through the watering in your eyes.
"Of course he kissed you," he breathed, "if you were another man's wife, I'd kiss you too. I'll always have to have you, darling, nothing could stop me."
"I pushed him away, love," you swore again.
"I know, I know," he cooed. "But I still can't stand to think of it… of my darling wife being kissed by someone else. He would've only done that if he thought you'd kiss him back, you know— he thought you would let him fuck you."
He picked up his pace, staring deep into your eyes and gripping you tightly.
“When you’re pregnant, then he’ll know,” William announced proudly as he held your hips. “Then everyone who sees you will know: you fucking belong to me.”
Overwhelmed by it, you felt yourself get even hotter and slicker between the legs at the idea of that. He was wrong about you wanting to make him jealous, but neither of you could deny now that you got some gratification out of it.
“Say it,” he ordered.
“I belong to you,” you promised, “I’m yours— you know I’m yours, love, always—”
He hummed in agreement, pumping deeper and faster into you as your head spun. “You’ll be the most beautiful expectant wife there ever was,” he purred, a rough hand tugging your bra out of the way and groping your breasts. “These nice and full— all of you swollen and soft—”
“W-William,” you stammered, hardly able to breathe with his weight on you and the way he filled you.
“Big belly,” he cooed, “and my baby inside— our baby. Fuck, how can I wait to see you like that?”
“F-fuck,” you choked out, “don’t stop, please… please, my love—”
“I’ll fill you, darling,” he promised lowly, baring his teeth as you started to fall into it— your head tilting back into the mattress, pleasure overtaking you, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’ll give you everything I have, every night, until it takes—”
“Please,” you begged, holding him tighter and lifting your face up with what little energy you had to bury it in his shoulder. You cried from the intensity of it all— from everything— as shudders wracked your body. He groaned as he felt you pulsing around him, kissing your face and groaning beside your ear.
“What a good little wife,” he praised as you came, “what a perfect little wife— you want it, don’t you? To be pregnant, have my child?”
You barely managed to nod, you were so overcome by every sensation running through you. But you did, and he growled proudly.
“You will, my angel,” he promised, “I’ll make sure of it. Just say one more time that you love me, darling— that you’ll always be mine—”
“I-I love you so much, William,” you swore, muffled in the jacket that you clutched needily. “I’m yours— I’m always yours— oh!”
You lost track of your words, but it didn’t matter then because you were drowned out by his gasps: heavy, low breaths as he pressed into you one last time and filled you completely.
Instantly, you were flooded with even more emotions: shame, ecstasy, confusion, hurt, love. It was too much to take even if you weren’t still slightly tipsy and entirely sleep-deprived, but altogether it just turned you into a mess.
After coming down from his high— though he was still catching his breath— William seemed to sober up in a second as you cried harder. Cooing gently at you, he wrapped his arms tighter around you and hugged you close.
“I’m sorry, darling,” he breathed as he held you tightly, “I’m so sorry. You know it’s just my love that makes me this way— I just can’t stand to see another man lay his hand on you… I just can’t imagine you with anyone else, it breaks my heart, darling.”
“You break my heart, William,” you whispered back, still hiding in his shoulder, “when you think I could ever hurt you like that. When you accuse me of something like that—”
“I just get scared, darling,” he sighed, petting your back slowly as he rocked you in his arms. “I just get scared that you’re too good to be true. That this beautiful creature can’t be all mine.”
You smiled against his skin, holding onto him tighter. “I love you so much, William… I’d never— you have to believe me, I’d never—”
“Shh,” he soothed softly, as he held your head and kissed the top of it. “I know, darling, I know. Because you belong to me.”
One of the facts that originally endeared Cillian Murphy the most to me was his life-long love of the Beatles. He once said of them: “The Beatles are my, kind of, musical touchstone..I think they probably represent, in my mind, one of the greatest artistic achievements of the 20th century. Not just musically, but in terms of their humor and their sort of friendship and their tolerance." The Beatles have played such an incredible role in my own life, both creatively and personally, so I thought that this year to celebrate Cillian's 49th birthday, I'd write thirteen one shots starring a variety of characters Cillian has played over the years. Each story will be inspired by a song from each of the Beatles' thirteen albums, starting with Please Please Me and ending with Let It Be. I will post one a week for thirteen weeks.
To Cillian, I borrow the words of Sir Paul McCartney when I say: Happy Birthday to you.
WEEK ONE: Please Please Me: Jackson Rippner, Please Please Me
WEEK TWO: With the Beatles: Tom (The Party), Money (That's What I Want)
WEEK THREE: A Hard Day’s Night: Robert Fischer, Can't Buy Me Love
WEEK FOUR: Beatles For Sale: Thomas Shelby, Baby's in Black
I would die to read a fic where William Killick eats reader out like he’s starving. Thx in advance!
Omg yesss!!!! ✨️
Starving man
◇ Pairing: William Killick X wife!Reader
◇ Warnings: smut, eating out, mention of war and nightmares, desperate!William, mention of overstimulation
◇ Summary: Y/n wakes up in the night and finds her husband between her legs.
◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. No proofreaded.
"What are you doing, love?" Her sweet voice broke the tender silence of their bedroom. The pale light of the moon shone softly through the window, illuminating the dark room and the covers where her husband was currently hiding under.
It wasn't odd for Y/n to feel William shift during the night, most of the times it was due to the harsh nightmares of past war experiences or just his restless mind that led him to go for a walk. But not this time.
Her tired mind wasn't yet awake enough to fully understand what was happening or why her man was crawling under the blankets between her legs.
"Please.. please. I need it, love. I've missed it so much" his raspy voice broke the silence, muffled by the fabric as he pressed his face more against her covered cunt. His nose sniffing, taking in her smell as his mouth kept leaving open mouth kisses on her underwear.
The poor man sounded so desperate, as his life depended on it. His shifting and sniffing were just a further proof of his eagerness.
"Love..." Y/n started, moving the covers to meet her husband's eyes. Watching him lick the fabric eagerly with dilated pupils and an intese stare.
She didn't dare to stop him, deciding to spread her legs further and help him take off her panties before resting herself back down in anticipation. It didn't happen often. Normally, they would make love or have a quickie. Sometimes, she was the one pleasuring him, and sometimes it was his turn, and seeing his eagerness... that was one of those moments.
His mouth connected with her pussy lips, gracing her with soft kisses and kitty licks. His nose kept sniffing, rubbing against her clit as his tongue tasted her wetness.
He was desperate, lapping at her like a mad man. His strong arms kept her thighs still as his face presed closer, his tongue circling her entrance before thrusting in and out a couple of times just to tease and feel the walls squeeze around nothing.
Her soft moans echoed in the room, her hand pulled his curls to keep him closer and get his tongue to finally thrust fully in, licking and swirling before moving back to her clit.
William didn't stop, not even to breathe, too lost in the action to shift his attention to anything else. His only goal devouring his wife's cunt and feel her release against his tongue till he was satisfied enough to go back to sleep.
Her trembling legs or her harsh grip on his hair spurred him on, making him bury his face further, not fearing to get himself drenched with her juices but wanting simply to taste, smell and pleasure her.
One single goal that he reached after little time.
Her cum met his tongue as she creamed, whimpering in ecstasy and dizziness. Her lazy eyes never left her husband's gaze during the later three orgasms. Breaking eye contact just when he was satisfied enough.
summary: william wants a baby, but you’re not so sure— he makes sure to get you pregnant whether you like it or not.
william killick x fem!reader
includes: SMUT 18+, dark!william, non-con, baby trapping/breeding kink, choking, face slapping, unprotected p in v, cream pie
˖ ࣪⭑
Your cheek stung and bloomed with heat from the constant slaps William inflicted upon you, quick and sharp, forcing broken whimpers and heaving sobs to erupt from your throat.
“I can’t believe you would embarrass me like that,” his voice was raised, jaw tensing while his hand gripped at your throat, keeping you close and in place. “your own husband.”
You clutched at his wrist, desperate for him to go easy on you.
-
“So, Will, isn’t it time you settled down? Have a few kids running round?” One of your close friends had asked, eager to get an insight onto your married life and why on earth you were still without children.
William smiled, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressed a little kiss to your temple.
“Oh, definitely— we’ll be trying for a baby in no time, isn’t that right darling.”
His arm tightened around you, an act of dominance, a warning.
You frowned, cheeks searing and you stuttered to find your words.
“Well,” you started, “I just don’t think we’re ready for children at the moment, m-maybe in a few years.”
You smiled nervously up at your friend, them having no idea the way his hand slipped from your waist, or the immediate tension that grew between you and your husband.
-
“William,” you sobbed, little tears slipping down your cheeks, ruining the pretty makeup you had spent so much time on earlier. “please let go, you’re hurting me.”
He chuckled dryly, humourless, forcing you back with the hand around your neck, the backs of your knees bumping into the bed frame, causing you to tumble onto the mattress.
William straddled you, roughly tugging at the front of your dress, watching your tits spill out of your bodice, nipples on display and hardening from the cool air.
“Wives are supposed to obey their husbands, correct?” He spoke, running his palms along your breasts, grabbing fistfuls of the soft flesh and kneading crudely.
You whimpered, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, playing with them and watching them grow harder with each passing of his digit.
“Answer me.” He snapped, another sharp slap was directed to your cheek, leaving you breathless and shaky.
“Y-yes!” You squealed, sobbing and squirming in his grasp.
“Well then,” he cooed, all condescending stroking your swelling cheek with his knuckle before lifting your dress, bunching it against your stomach. “You’re going to give me a baby, dear— make me a proper daddy.”
Your eyes widened, glassy with another round of un-shed tears, and you pushed at his chest.
“N-no, not now— not like this, William please,” he hushed you, bringing his strong hands to your panties and tearing them apart, groaning at the sight of your pretty pussy on display for him, just begging to take his cock and be filled with the Killick prodigy.
“Now, now, none of that,” he spoke, parting your thighs wide, his strong grip stilling you. “You obey your husband like a good little trophy wife.”
He unbuckled his belt in a hurry, unzipping his fly and pulling his cock free. You watched it throb and pulse, desperate to be enveloped and you cursed yourself at the way your clit responded to it.
“See?” He cooed, running his cock head along the length of your slit, your arousal slicking him up and making it terribly easy for him to glide up and down. “You want it just as bad as I do, sweetheart, don’t try and deny it.”
His tip nudged against your hole, slipping inside with little resistance with how wet you had become, and he sank into you, balls deep, right to the hilt, throbbing hotly inside you and you whined at the immense pressure against your sweet spot.
“Darling, s-slow down,” you tried shakily, gripping onto his biceps, your nails leaving crescents in his freckled skin. His pace had turned ruthless quick, balls slapping against your ass and thighs snug with yours on every inward thrust.
“There you go,” he breathed, ignoring your plea to slow down, to go easy on you, instead he just went faster, even deeper. “You’re a good girl really, aren’t you? Just act like a brat to get fucked— I know your little games, dear.”
The thumping of your heart drowned out his filthy words, your chest heaving, coil tightening in your stomach and you just couldn’t help it.
His eyes screwed shut, moaning into the air and he throbbed inside you, you could tell he was close, thrusts already growing sloppy.
“Pull out,” you whined, “not inside, please don’t cum inside.”
He ignored you, batting your hands away when you tried to push at his chest and he lifted your legs up so they rested over his shoulders.
You cried out at the sudden switch of position, his cock so deep inside you swore you could feel him in your throat.
“That’s it, legs up— gotta make sure it takes.”
You sobbed and cried, pussy fluttering around his cock when he thrusted once, twice, three times more before spilling his load inside of you, filling your womb with his seed and painting your walls all thick and white.
“Everyone’s going to know now, darling,” he breathed, “they’ll know just how good I fuck you once you’re all pregnant, pretty.”
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.”
I decided to make a list of every fic I read each month.
I would like to interact more, but life has been complicated recently and when it comes to interacting, I get very anxious which is something I'm trying to overcome.
So, here I made this to appreciate such amazing writers and stories that inspire me and others everyday. To the authors, I want to thank them for their dedication and time spent on writing to offer us fascinating stories.
I totally recommend their work.
(If you are in this list and you don't want to, please let me know so I can fix it).
@cillianmesoftlyyy
So New | Cillian Murphy x fem!reader
Method Acting | young!Cillian Murphy x Reader
@runnning-outof-time
Research | Tommy Shelby x Reader
Bedtime Stories | Tommy Shelby x Reader & Daughter
@zablife
teacher!Luca Changretta x Reader
Funeral | Tommy Shelby x sister!reader
A Visit to the Peaky Blinders Set | Cillian Murphy x wife!reader
@gypsy-girl-08
Festive Spirit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader
All I Need... | modern!Thomas Shelby x Reader
A Gentle Warning | Thomas Shelby x wife!Reader
@pacifymebby
Arthur Shelby x Reader
@fkmarrycill
Pre-Gaming | Cillian Murphy x Reader
@holacia3
Lost and Lucky | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader
Surprise visit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader
@beastofburdenxo
Let Me Praise You | Tommy Shelby x Reader
Raising Catherine | Tommy Shelby x Reader
@look-at-the-soul
If I let you go | Cillian Murphy x Reader
@your-nanas-house
What does my princess want? | sugar daddy!Cillian Murphy x sugar baby!reader
I'm pretty sure you're mine | sub!William Killick x dom!fem!Reader
What are we, idiot? | Neil Lewis x best friend!Reader
Thirsty | Tommy Shelby x secretary!Reader
@raincoffeeandfandoms
To the end of the world | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc
Tommy, the teddy bear | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc
Emergency surgery | baby!Tommy Shelby
Fanfiction | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc
Anon | Alfie Solomons
@lis-likes-fics
Loner | Edward Cullen x Reader
At the End of the Day | Tommy Shelby x wife!Reader
@rafeology
Mentor!Finnick Odair x victor!reader
@wife-of-all-dilfs
Flower Therapy | Finnick Odair x Reader
@darlingsfandom
Cillian Murphy x Reader
Tommy Shelby x artist!reader
Soft sugar daddy | Robert Fischer x Reader
@pinguwrites
Home Is Where the Heart Is | William Killick x future!reader
@http-finnick
Skin to skin | Finnick Odair x fem!insomniac!reader
@acewritesfics
Lost Love | Tommy Shelby x Reader
36 Minutes | modern! Tommy Shelby x Reader
@dearshelby
Had you first | Tommy Shelby x Reader
Little Tommy | Thomas Shelby x oc
@lau219
Red Carpet | Cillian Murphy x Reader
@peakyswritings
I Do Bad Things | demon!Tommy x Reader
@shelbystales
Ceramic Lessons | Cillian Murphy x Reader
@darthannie
Day eighteen: breeding kink with Lenny Miller | Lenny Miller x f!Reader
@hllywdwhre
Afterglow | Cillian Murphy x Reader
@red-write-hand
I'll be home for Christmas | Thomas Shelby x Reader
@mysaintkitten
Bad Behaviour | Mike Kiernan x fem!Reader
@notyour-valentine
The Spirits that I summoned | young!Tommy Shelby
@brummiereader
No Son Of Mine | Tommy Shelby
@youbyradiohead
Strawberry Syrup | Cillian Murphy x Reader
@cillianthinker
British accent | Cillian Murphy x Reader
Young and in love | Cillian Murphy x Reader
@cillspropertea
Coming home | Cillian Murphy x Reader
@cillmequick
Operation Christmas Tree | modern!Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader
Synopsis: His hunger had been festering since he returned from war, and you're just what he wants.
Warnings: Vampires(of course 😉), bloodsucking/drinking, biting, Suggestive themes, Mention of PTSD and war flashbacks, Mesmerism/Hypnotic, mention of scarification (slight).
AO3 Link
Sneak Peek
Moodboard
Here it is! So sorry for the long wait (really, it's been so long 😖 I'm so sorry!)...anyway, have fun being bitten!
Since this was from a poll, I'm tagging some mutuals, tag list, etc. (let me know if you would like to not be tagged/or if you do and I forgot you! Because apparently tumblr messed up my tags on the previous post and I never noticed, sorry about that.)
Fic below the cut!
----
The memory still haunts him. The dampness and stench of the trenches, the soil of the hollow earth, the taste of death.
He’s seen many wars, bloodshed, betrayal, but the suffering doesn’t leave the mind. The sleepless nights play the carnage like a moving picture as the taste of blood imprinted on his tongue, the feelings of bitter guilt that the need to survive was just as human as the rest, and the hidden woes of a panging hunger cursed him in the fleeting threads of life.
The days are quiet in the Welsh countryside, the winds blow through the long grass as he watches you take down the laundry. You, Mrs. Y/n Killick.
His greatest desire was to leave the war behind him, live somewhere quiet to compartmentalize it like all the other wars and battles he had seen in his unnatural life, so much that he forgot what it is to be a ‘human’, for as long as he could remember the bittersweet taste of blood, the scent, the feel, the colour.
He stands out in the grass, cigarette between his lips, the smell of smoke brought him back time and time again. Remembering the days that nicotine would get the taste of blood out of his mouth.
On the battlefield, unbeknownst to all, he’d sink his teeth in enemy flesh, the hunger pangs running rampant and leaving the body to rot as he woefully came to terms with his constant need. He is a shadow, hiding in the dark, suppressing the bitter taste. The building desire of bloodlust that his heart so painfully urges for what it craves.
“William?” Your voice breaks his thoughts, oh the sweet melody, how he wishes he could drink every last drop of your bewitching words.
“Hm? Yes love?” A waft of smoke from his lips.
“Why don’t we go in? Looks like rain.”
The sky slowly darkens, and gloomy clouds come across the sky. He only nods and follows you in.
Dinner is silent and it continues as you both clean up. You finish drying the dishes as he settles at the table, another cigarette in hand, he’s restless. The low rumble of the thunder makes his heart race, takes him back to Greece. The sounds of bombs ring in his ears as he tries so hard to stay together while beads of sweat break on his brow.
The taste burning on his tongue.
He watches you light a candle on the holder, the glow creating your shadow on the wall, he lifts a hand and traces down the figure as if he were touching you. He has touched you a thousand times, kissed you hundreds of thousands. Yet, he’s never given in to carnal greed to have your blood on his lips, not like prey, not like the hundreds of enemy soldiers he ripped the throats of, to just barely get by. See, vampires are not like the ones in many tales passed on from generations, pale two fanged creatures that left faint marks, beings cloaked in black with eyes as red as blood, or soulless monsters lacking warmth. They are just like mortal men, they blend in anytime, and can be anyone, living for millennium; but their marks are what truly matters, deep gouged wounds that ooze blood, enough to satiate the whetness of their appetite and more, but to kill their prey is a whole different matter. Well hidden razor sharp teeth that eagerly wait for the right moment to strike…or to awaken a deep rooted desire.
His hand continues to caress your shadow just as you turn, your eyes staring into his blue ones, watching them swirl with a brimming darkness.
He puts his other arm down and taps his cigarette against the ash tray, as you set the candlestick onto the table.
“Are you tired William? You look ah, well…bleak.” You weren’t sure how to describe him, before he left for war, his eyes were bright and his smiles warm but now, he’s different. He tells you he’s fine, but you see the countless nights with lack of sleep, or the quiet trembling he tries to hide. Then there’s the outbursts, the fits of rage, or now the way he looks at you, as if he could swallow you whole.
“No, I’m fine, love.” He pushes the cigarette butt in the pile of ash, killing its light. “I’m just fine.”
His eyes look at yours again, swallowing thickly as he takes in how ethereal you look in the candlelight. The shadow across your face, the parting of your lips. He looks away.
“It got dark so quickly; it’s going to be horrid outside tomorrow.” You try to ease him, noting the tension in his expression. You wonder what he’s thinking, is it the war?
You both retire to bed, as the storm carries on. You sleep quietly by his side, your soft breaths a balm to his inner aches, and a lure to his hunger. His mouth burns as the sharp fangs rip though his gums, causing him to hiss. Over the many years he lived, he got used to it happening, but it’s always catching him off guard, a reminder of how far he is from humanity. How far he is from you.
He watches your chest rise and fall, sweet breath beckoning him to you, to taste you. How he desires to confide in you, this curse running through him, yet burdened with worry you’d be frightened.
Pulling back the blanket, he notices how your nightgown bunches up with every little movement, his hand reaching out and touching your leg, slowly moving up to your thigh. The rumble of thunder breaking his focus, going back and forth from nightmare and reality, grounding himself in the heat burning in his chest.
Squeezing your supple skin, he focuses on you, your scent, your softness. How badly he wants to just dig into you. He places a chaste kiss on your thigh, it’s even softer than he remembers.
“Mmm…Mm? William?” You murmur.
He freezes, feeling his mouth go dry. He can do it now, he can, dig into your skin and take a taste. Yet the worry of hurting you creeps in, scarring you to show the world who you truly belong to, to finally show you what he really is, and it terrifies him.
“Go back to sleep.” His voice is raspy, and he moves his hand away.
“What are you doing, William?” You sit up, rubbing your eyes and notice the glint in his, the way his blue eyes darken like the stormy sky just out the window, just like they did at the table.
“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.” He repeats as he rises from the bed, rummaging through his bedside table for a book of matches and wanders out of the room.
He ignores your call of concern and lights another cigarette, practically running out of the house to smoke in the rain. The cold water is a shock, one he believes he needs. The combination of nicotine and rainwater distracts him from the taste of blood that continues festering in his mind. Its call is getting harder to ignore. Only because it’s you.
Leaning against the side of the house, in the darkness of the countryside, he stands as his sleeping clothes are soaked to the bone and a chill runs up his spine. He stares out into the vast darkness of the night and thunder rolls and roars, taking him back.
Bodies litter the ground; the sky isn’t visible here. The stench of blood fills his nose, the screams of men in his ears and the mud beneath his feet in the trench is breaking as he sinks down into it like quicksand. He can’t scream, nor can he pull himself up, there’s blood on his hands, embedded in his fingernails. The ground slowly swallows him as all the familiar faces of friends fade into the dark and it’s getting harder to breathe. Caking mud that breaks with every grasp, squishing through his fingers, down, down, down, down into the hole. The smell of metal in the air and the stickiness on his tongue. Something grabs his arm as he finally sinks, and with all the strength he has left he pushes.
A scream breaks his focus.
The rain is still falling, the cigarette out and under his shoe, he sees you in his grip, outside the house, battlefield nowhere in sight.
“William, you’re hurting me.” You push your hands against his chest as his fingers dig into your arms, voice shaking as his grip only tightens.
Did…am I?” His hands slowly loosen as he trails them up to your shoulders, pressing his forehead to yours, heart weighing with guilt. The smell is driving him insane. His eyes trail over you slowly, taking in your drenched appearance. The way your gown sticks to your skin, soft and sweet, and ripe for a taste.
He gulps, feeling his mouth watering as he pushes you further against the side of the house, every fiber, every nerve just burning to the end like a match.
“You don’t know how badly it aches; I’m starving.” His voice lowers with a hiss as he presses into your neck. The bitterness won’t leave his tongue, and the desperation for relief is too great. He grips the sodden fabric around your hips as his mouth takes claim of your own, tasting of nicotine. You’re confused by his comments, yet his desire is contagious.
“William-” You start as you pull away quickly, eager to bring him back to bed.
“Shh-shh…let’s go in, before you catch your death in this rain.” He whispers, the fraying nerves of control snapping one by one.
Not out here, where a wandering eye could catch you both, he grips your wrist and drags you back into the sanctuary of privacy where he wouldn’t dare let a soul hear you, back into the comfort of shadows.
Both soaked to the bone he kisses you with ravenous abundance and wild abandon takes claim of his good sense, feeling your heart pulse and blood smelling like ambrosia just beneath the surface of its fleshly cover, much like the skin of the sweetest fruit he yearns to pierce it with his teeth. With no hesitation he shoves you against the table making you gasp, and he quickly slips his tongue into your mouth. He savours the momentary taste, but it just isn’t enough. His hands brace on either side of you as he pushes his chest against yours, the edge of the table digs into your legs and there’s nowhere to go except back.
The wood feels cool against your chilled skin and a shiver goes up your spine. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, but his hand grips your jaw and forces the two of you apart.
“You have no idea what you do to me.” His breath feels cold suddenly and his voice like a spell. The chilling feeling doesn’t fade as he kisses down the column of your throat, resisting the urge to take a bite. He wants to savour you, not kill you.
His hands trail down your waist and find a home on your hips, thumb brushing the fabric of the gown. Ever the gentleman, he asks, both eagerly and sultry.
“May I?”
You feel warmth spread across not just your face, but your whole body like a flowing stream, nodding slowly.
“Yes William, go ahead.”
He gently eases you out of the sopping wet sleeping gown as you sit up, then letting it hit the ground without care as he watches the chill creep on your skin with goosebumps. His mouth latches onto your neck again, his mind trying hard to remember to be patient. It starts as kisses and continues with sucking a bruise as a reminder on your soft skin, with quiet moaning from your mouth.
He quickly breaks away and focuses on your face. His nose brushes against yours as his cold breath flutters against your lips and his eyes swirl like the rippling of a pond in spellbinding ecstasy.
“Breathtaking. You’re mine, aren’t you?” He quietly asks, sounding further away.
“Of course I’m yours, You’re my husband.” Your voice rings in your ears, you’ve spoken a new promise that binds much deeper than wedding vows. An agreement, an open door to you.
He dreamed of this while he was away, and now that he has it, he almost can’t believe it. His hands map out your skin, every delectable place to bite until they settle on your thighs, so many veins and so unnoticeable.
He kisses across your collarbone, settles between the valley, down your breastbone, pushing you back down as he reaches concave of your ribs, the sweet scent of flesh and blood until reaching his prize. He kisses the same spot on your thigh he did hours before, then again, and again, leaving a trail to your hip until you were just begging for him. Senses heightening with every soft peck, feeling like a needle pushing through the embroidery cloth.
His patience runs out as he bites down and pierces into flesh, and blood fills his mouth. A mix of a choke and scream rushing from yours, then a sudden heat grows in the pit of your stomach. It spreads like fire, your head lulls back with a soft moan and its music to his ears. Taking a breath, he bites again and soaks in your pained sounds, letting it all satiate his appetite.
The metallic sweetness he’s been craving, greedily sucking, gulping down like a famished animal. Your taste, he was so hopelessly in love with your taste. It was an answer to the months of bitter blood. The rush on his tongue, instantly drunk on the sweetness, while you writhed.
Greed further takes hold as he pulls you closer, hand slamming against the table, your leg delicately over his shoulder as he leans with his tongue lapping blood from the deep gouge wounds and your hands curl into tight fists.
“A-Ah…” You feel your back arch, much to his amusement.
He licks his lips, taking notice of your expression, the sudden rush of blood loss yet you’re flush but your eyes tell the story he eagerly writes. Eyes glossing over in delirium and the sweet sounds of pleasure as you bend to his desire.
“I was afraid to tell you, I still am.” He confesses with another bite, “I was so hard, Love. Trying to find the right time, while you stood there, smelling like that, looking like that and all those eyes on you, I could have killed any man that touched you, but you chose me and still choose me. Oh, Y/n.”
Again, he catches the fleeting droplets with his tongue, knowing full well he could break you, but that would ruin you, no, he only wants to savour this moment. Even if you won’t remember it, your skin will.
The haze grows, and you feel tired. Your mouth dry, tongue heavy, yet you croak out one little thing as the world fades to black.
“William-”
That is all he wants, even if you never remember that every time, every moment, every chance he could get to stake his claim; you’d choose him every time. And for that, it was worth living as a shadow.
William’s stepdaughter went out for a fun night with her girls, ended up dancing with another man at a pub, and came home late.
Warning(s): Implied dub-con, implied age gap (everyone’s grown). step-cest. Infidelity. Mentions of violence but not towards the reader. Minors, dni!
Word Count: 1.4k
Upon returning to the cab, Y/N got in, feeling dejected and let down by her poor luck. The ride back to her home was a quiet one, her girlfriends chatting excitedly about their night while she just sat there, her mind filled with all kinds of anxious thoughts.
When she finally arrived back home, she thanked her friends for the ride and said goodbye before rushing inside the house.
She was greeted by silence as she entered the foyer. The house was still, and the only sound she could hear was her footsteps as she walked forward.
She realized that her mother was still out of the house, and William was home due to a few stray beams of light that escaped the living room and gave her a slight amount of light to see the hallway.
Although she saw the light from the living room, which she knew he was watching telly on a new television cabinet that came out earlier this year. She was going to walk past the living room, hoping he wouldn’t call for her.
She bent down to take her heels off her feet before tiptoeing down the hallway and headed upstairs to her bedroom, hoping that he wouldn't notice her. But before she could get too far on the stairs, she heard a voice rang out from the living room and it was William’s voice calling her name.
She bit her lip, knowing that he was anxious since she did not leave him any note of where she was going for a night out. She walked towards the living room, “yeah?” She asked nervously.
When she turned around the corner, she saw her stepfather staring at her with his arms crossed. The look on his face was stern and brooding, as if he was trying to read her mind and figure out what she was hiding.
"Where have you been?" he inquired, his tone strict and serious.
“Dancing.” She said simply. It was harmless.
William tilted his head to the side slightly, “that’s it?” he asked, his voice dripping with suspicion. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of possessiveness rummaging through his veins. She was dancing with other men in a club, and her behavior was nothing short of provocative. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was up to.
“Yes. The girls called and asked me to join them for a night out. And I decided why not.” She said softly, placing the heels on the first step on the staircase.
"Do you know what men do whenever they see a pretty girl like you?" He pressed, his tone growing sharp. "Are you aware of what kind of men frequent these clubs?"
She bit the inside of her mouth, “apparently that’s the least of my worries.” She muttered; an expression of contempt flitted across her face.
The expression on William’s face darkened even more upon hearing her words. His face twisted into a scowl, his anger growing with each passing moment.
“And why would you say that?” he inquired, his voice demanding.
She chuckled dryly, “they refused to dance with William Killick’s stepdaughter once they realized who I was.” She stared up at him with frustration in her depths.
"Is that what you think?" William asked sarcastically, his tone becoming even more accusatory as his eyes flashed icily. "Do you honestly believe that they refused to dance with you because you are my stepdaughter?"
“Yes, when they’re the ones who heard stories about you.” She hissed; her eyes widened with fury. “Even one of them told me that they were at the pub the night you had hit an older woman while being inebriated, and on top of that you shot a cottage full of people!”
He sighed, running his hand down his face as a clear sign of momentarily distress. Although it happened five years ago, he had hope she would never hear the stories that happened that night because he did not want her to not feel safe around him and selfishly, he did not want any obstacles influencing the bond they had now.
Oblivious to his inner turmoil that was rolling through him, she continued. “After they realized who I am, then they refused to dance with me any longer because they’re afraid of what you’ll do to them.” She murmured, dejected as she twiddled the hem of her dress.
"And can't you blame them?" He asked, his tone becoming harsher with each passing moment. His hands clenched into tight fists, his body starting to tremble with rage. "Do you know how protective a man usually is about his daughter? How he would do anything to protect her and keep her safe?"
“Well, their words were ‘he’s overprotective, I don’t want to get on his bad side’ as if I didn’t know that.” she said dryly.
"Of course, I'm overprotective," he snapped with an angry scowl, "but that's because you mean the world to me. How could I possibly let anyone else have you? Why would I need someone else to protect you, or love you, when I'm right here? When it's my job? My duty? To watch over and care for you?"
She stared at him with wide eyes, she would never think he would get so fired up over the argument they had about her dancing with strangers who evidently knew or heard of William’s episode that night.
Then a sigh escaped from her lungs before moving towards the living room to sit on the couch. “It’s not that. To them I will always be Y/N, the stepdaughter of William, the one they refused to dance with due to your temperament. They can’t see that I’m just a person who’s trying to live my life, and I can’t because I’m your stepdaughter that people refused to dance with.”
He couldn't even believe what he was hearing right now. The idea that other men would refuse to dance with her simply because they considered her to be his daughter didn't sit well with him. Which also played into his favor. He had no interest in sharing his stepdaughter with anyone else.
"So, you are saying that people would only dance with you if they didn't know who you are?" he inquired, his tone sharper than ever.
“Yes. One did for a short time before they realized who I am.” She said bitterly, dragging her hands from the hem of her dress to fold and crossing her arms as if she was protecting herself against something.
It sent chills down William’s spine to imagine some random man holding her in his arms and caressing her, dancing with her and seduce her all at once. And it only made him more furious to know that someone had seen to that.
“Well, I don’t want them dancing with you either,” he replied in an agitated voice, “I don’t want anyone dancing with you.”
She looked up at him sharply, “what is that supposed to mean?” She asked with wide eyes.
“You heard me,” he replied, his voice dripping with anger. “You’re my stepdaughter, and as long as you live under my roof, you won’t be going out and dancing with other men.”
She had let out a scoff, shaking her head slightly before peering up at him. “And what would happen if I moved out?” She asked calmly. She was of age -had been for a few years now- to move out of her home.
“Then you can do whatever you want,” he replied, the fury in his voice growing stronger. “But you’re not going to leave, are you? Because I am sure as hell not letting you go.”
Unwilling to accept her refusal to abide by his rules, his temperament reached new heights. He couldn’t let someone else have her, not even the other men out there. He wanted her for himself. The one line he had tried to stop himself from crossing was apparently drawn in the sand since it was rapidly disappearing.
He stepped toward her, towering over her as his possessiveness reaching an extreme intensity, “You’re mine. You hear me? Mine."
She inhaled sharply in surprise, swallowing as she craned her neck on the couch to be able to see him clearly. Before she knew it, he bent down to get on his knees onto the floor and dragged her legs towards him across the cushioned furniture which her dress were rumpled and bunched up around her waist in a process, and she yelped when he pushed her legs against her chest, forcing her thighs apart.
His rage was becoming uncontrollable, his anger growing with each passing moment. His fingers were curled into the back of her thighs firmly, as he was about to reach his breaking point. He wouldn’t let anyone take what was his, not even her.
