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hardlyinteresting · 10 months ago

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Personal

Aaron Hotchner x reader

A case hits a little too close to home for the reader. Hotch makes sure she knows she not alone even as they struggle to decide if they're colleagues, friends, or something more.

Warnings: female reader, (I've given her the nickname Sweets), No physical description of reader, mildly graphic descriptions of injuries, cannon-compliant themes of violence, themes of past domestic violence, mild hurt/comfort, I am not a profiler so there are likely mistakes in the profile (please let me know if there are any warnings you'd like me to add. Aaron Hotchner Masterlist | Send Requests

Word count: 3.2K

"Hope is a gift. You can't choose to have it. To believe and yet to have no hope is to thirst beside a fountain" Ann-Marie MacDonald

The case comes in early in the morning. Aaron has hardly managed a sip of his coffee when the phone rings with a call from a local P.D. in Aberdeen, Virginia. It's urgent. It always is. He cannot begrudge the haste with which his job forces him to chug down the scalding liquid in his mug as he calls upon Garcia to prep the relevant files for the case. It's not the first time, and it certainly won't be the last. Sufficiently caffeinated (albeit with a burnt tongue), and briefed on the case, Hotch calls the team to meet him in the conference room.

His colleagues seem to be in good spirits today. With a passing glance around the room Hotch silently completes a behavioural checklist for each of them in his mind. No one on the team seems over-exhausted, overtly anxious, or withdrawn. They chat amongst themselves, teasing and joking like siblings as they wait for him to settle into the remaining seat at the table. He nods at Penelope, “Garcia, let's get started”. With a quick “yes, sir,” she presses a button on the remote to begin the briefing.

This morning the police in Aberdeen discovered the body of a woman left propped up against the wall outside a local medical clinic. Abigail Lawson. 27 years old. She had been badly beaten. A single stab wound. No sign of sexual assault.

“Cause of death?” Prentiss asks.

“Blunt force trauma to the head,” Garcia supplies the response.

“And she's the first?” Morgan follows up.

“Two weeks ago Stella Amos, twenty-five, was admitted to hospital with similar injuries. She passed away two hours later. A punctured lung”.

The photographs of the injuries are disturbing. After years on the job, the images never seem to get less brutal. A chill travels down his spine as he looks over the extent of the wounds on both of the women. A hush falls over the room as everyone else takes a moment to swallow down their own shock and compartmentalize their feelings of disgust. They train themselves, scanning the photographs and notes for the facts they can work with in hopes of saving anyone else from meeting the same fate.

“No stab wound. Are we sure these cases are connected?” Reid surveys the provided facts one more time.

“Similar age, hair colour. They were from the same neighbourhood. Steady jobs,” Rossi lists, “there's a pattern in victimology to be sure”.

“They could be unconnected acts of domestic violence,” Morgan posits before continuing, “but leaving these women at medical centres is unique. Could be remorse”.

“A man who beats women within an inch of their lives before dropping them off for medical attention. It's a big risk. Knowing they might survive to identify him”.

Hotch nods at the assessment. He had followed the same thought process himself when he got the call.

“Maybe he's banking on them being too afraid to talk if they do pull through,” another voice in the room speaks up for the first time this morning. Sweets, the team calls her. An affectionate nickname that’s stuck since her first week on the team. “the stabbing is an escalation and these are high-risk victims. This UNSUB isn't worried about getting caught. These attacks are personal to him somehow”. It's an important assertion, and something they'll need to consider as they build and expand their working profile.

He's glad to hear Sweets adding to the conversation. She's never been shy when contributing to the team's brainstorms, and he had begun to worry when it had taken her so long to speak up. He doesn't miss the wobble in her tone, or the way she now avoids eye contact. She’s a valuable team member, and despite being the most recent addition she’s settled herself flawlessly over the last year. Aaron is well aware of the poor retention rate for new team members in the BAU and has continued to be impressed by her ability to hang on to her brand of optimism and take their most difficult cases in stride. She’s worked hard to see the best in people, and unsurprisingly endeared herself to those around her; himself included.

At first, Hotch had been grateful for her unique perspective from her experience working for victim services. Then, he grew to appreciate her attention to detail, and the way his piles of paperwork seemed smaller and smaller at the end of each week. She quickly became a friend and a confidant after long nights in the office, and the field. Now, their relationship lies in limbo somewhere between friends and something more.

Lately, the tugging at his heartstrings has grown nearly painful. All the old cliches leave his heart racing and he feels like a teenager whenever her hand brushes against his own. A night out with the team had ended with her curled up in his bed the next morning, and he’s been a goner ever since. It's been weeks, she hasn’t mentioned it, so neither has he. The guise of professionalism makes it easy to shove down his insecurities, and recurring fears; his age; his scars, physical and metaphorical; the weight of his career; he pushes them to the back of his mind. He does not dare to hope. He does not allow himself to consider the reasons why she might want to keep him at arm's length. It hurts less that way. “Whatever the case we've got a week before he strikes again,” Hotch confirms, his mind focused on the case, “we should head out”.

It’s August, and the sun is nearly blinding; the heat and humidity are intolerable, but nobody complains as they split up between the most recent crime scene, the morgue, and the precinct. Hotch would never admit it, but he’s glad when the woman who occupies half his thoughts volunteers to head to the station with JJ. Not for his peace of mind, but hers. Driving into the town he had seen her hands fidgeting in the back seat of the Suburban. Something about this case is already weighing on her, and he doubts the discomfort of the summer calefaction will be much help. He tries not to think about it any more than that.

The crime scene doesn’t tell them much more than they already knew. There’s no security footage to help them identify the UNSUB. But, the way he leans the victims to sit against the way rather than just dumping them shows some kind of warped sense of concern for their well-being. The women are likely substitutes for someone else. He was likely raised in a violent home. He can only hope that the rest of the team has managed to learn more.

Sweets is glad that the station had the forethought to move a coffee maker into the room they’ve set up for the BAU team to work out of. In her short time on the team, she’s learned how essential caffeine is to the function of herself and her teammates. Not enjoying coffee is not an option. Cream and sugar make it tolerable to those who despise the bitter taste. As she preps her second cup of the day she watches Spencer dump 4 packets of sugar into his mug. Whatever gets you through the case. She reminds herself.

“Defensive wounds on her arms, but her manicure wasn't chipped. There was no blood or skin under her fingernails. No bruising on her knuckles,” Morgan shares what he and Rossi learned at the morgue, “She held her arms up to protect herself, but she didn't fight back. She didn't scratch, claw, or punch her assailant”.

“She probably knew him then,” Prentiss says, “He’s not sneaking up on these women. But, he has the advantage and control required to attack them head-on”.

The profile continues to build and Sweets pulls further in on herself. The personal nature of the attacks leaves her nauseous. Flickers of memories she’s fought hard to forget flash behind her eyes, but she forces herself to stay in the room. Reign it in, she wills herself. Without looking across the room she knows Aaron’s eyes are on her. Her cheeks warm though she can’t be sure if it’s his gaze or her anxiety to blame. She tries not to read into it, not wanting to feel too self-important. It’s his job to watch everyone on the team, she knows that. It doesn’t mean anything, she reminds herself the same way she has since she woke up next to him all those weeks ago. She doesn't want attention because she slept with him, and she'd be silly to think it meant anything to him anyway. It's easier to ignore it. He hasn't mentioned it, so she hasn't either.

Despite her best efforts, she does like him. More than she should. Normally, the attention would leave her with butterflies fluttering in her chest, like a schoolgirl with a crush. But today, she feels too seen, too exposed. she focuses her attention on controlling the unwanted emotions this case continues to dredge up. Aaron has seen her undressed, he’s seen her let down her walls and crack jokes. He knows her better than the rest of the team, but this is not a side of her he needs to see.

Under the table she plants her feet, pressing the soles of her boots hard against the linoleum. She reminds herself who she’s with and why she’s here. When she’s able to breathe without gagging she speaks up, “If it looks like domestic violence maybe that’s exactly what it is”. Hotch’s head tilts up, his eyes moving off of the files he’s been pretending to read for the hundredth time, “What do you mean?”

“This morning Morgan said these murders looked like cases of DV. Maybe that’s exactly what this is. We know he had some kind of relationship with the victims-- maybe they were dating him,” Sweets holds her breath waiting for a response.

“It would help to explain the gaps in our profile-- Prentiss, call Garcia and have her look into any recent purchases by the victims. New clothes, new shoes, restaurants, anything that might suggest they’ve been dating,” Hotch instructs, “Sweets, you and JJ should speak to their friends and family; ask if they’ve mentioned anyone new in their lives”.

Like with any case, she hopes her insight helps, that her perspective and thinking might get them one step closer to finding the UNSUB before anyone else gets hurt; and that they might be able to bring closure to the families of the victims.

She's learned that personal experience can help as much as it can hinder. Seeing things from an angle that no one else can is certainly an advantage, but it doesn't make it easy to live with either. But, her stomach churns. His face. His touch. The bruises he left behind. She tries to remember she has nothing to be ashamed of. She has nothing to hide. It's no secret everyone on the team struggles with different types of cases, JJ has always found it difficult working cases involving children, and Hotch becomes snappier when they're searching for family annihilators.

She can feel Aaron's eyes on her again. She prays the twisting in her gut and the scratching in her mind are worth it.

The next morning begins with news of a third victim. A Jane Doe was found outside the fire station. Aged between 22 and 25. Beaten beyond any kind of recognition. The M.E. will have to try to use dental records to ID her.

The crime scene photographs are a gruesome addition to the already horrific crime board in the conference room. “It would take an incredible amount of rage and power to beat someone to death like this,” Rossi points out.

Hotch’s fingers buzz. His usual ground method of rubbing his thumb and forefinger together isn't working. He clenches and unclenches his fist willing the memory of bone cracking, and blood splattering beneath his knuckles away. He hates that even years after his death George Foyet continues to find new ways to sink his teeth in; the mere memory of him is enough to leave bile rising in the back of Aaron's throat.

Their profile is ready. A white male, mid 20s to early 30s. Traditionally attractive. He's well-groomed and takes pride in his appearance. He more than likely works in an office setting. At work, his desk is neat and well-organized. He does everything by the book. He aspires to a role above his own and will talk about it often. In his eyes, he's overworked and under-appreciated; but, in reality, it's his quick temper and outward frustration that have kept him in his menial role. He may be flirtatious towards the women around him but likely won't pay them any attention when it comes to business matters. As a child he would have grown up in a working-class household, and more than likely faced abuse at the hands of his father. As a teenager, he learned to place blame on his mother for this abuse and began looking down on her the same way his father did. But no amount of hatred could ever win him his father's attention. This made him hate his mother more and allowed his misogynistic views to solidify in adulthood. He will have a history of violence throughout school and early adulthood, and more than likely charges for battery or assault.

A call from Garcia confirms that the first and second victims both had paid for dinners at restaurants within the same two-block stretch despite living and working on opposite sides of town. Their cards had been used at the restaurants only 25 minutes before their attacks.

“And he didn’t pay for their dinners either. Chivalry really is dead,” Prentiss dismisses. Predictably, their collective disdain for the UNSUB continues to grow as they learn more about him. Penelope manages to rustle up security footage from one of the restaurants, she's unable to get a facial ID on the man leaving with the first victim but promises to search for other footage from the area and call back when she has a new lead. One step closer, Hotch reminds himself.

Twenty minutes later word from the M.E. Office arrives. A positive ID on Jane Doe. Grace McKinney, 24. Aaron watches as Sweets pins a photograph of Grace to the victims' board. Her hands shake as she takes a step back, and then she's rushing out of the room before he can ask if she's alright.

His body feels lead-heavy, his limbs so hebetudinous that he’d swear he was melting into the floor if it weren’t for his feet carrying him out of the room without instruction. Sweets is doubled over in the alleyway behind the station, remnants of her breakfast splashed across the ground. She has nothing left to bring up, but still she dry heaves as if trying to expel more than the contents of her stomach. He knows the feeling.

“Sweets?” his voice starles her, and Hotch is quick to hold his hands out in a surrendering motion as he approaches, “Are you alright?” He knows the real answer, and he knows that she’ll look right at him and lie; but he asks anyway. “Are you asking as my boss, or as my friend?” She asks. “Would it make a difference?” it’s his turn to wonder. Finally close enough to touch her, he places a hand on her back. It’s impossible to miss the shiver that runs up her spine. Sweets hides her face, angling herself away from her, shrinking in on herself. She tries to hide from him, as unwilling as ever to show any kind of weakness real or perceived. “I’m asking as someone who cares,” Hotch tries again, snuffing out the burning sensation that seems to grow in his chest; his fear of vulnerability fighting hard to shut him down. He won’t let it. “It’s me,” she tells him as if it’s obvious. “Yes”. He's confused. Of course, it's her, he can see her standing right in front of him. “It's me. I'm the Jane Doe; Grace. Abigail. Stella”. His heart stops. She continues, looking at him for the first time, her eyes tearing up, “Not literally-- I just mean…”

“The victimogy. I understand. Same age, hair colour, similar backgrounds--”

“Yes,” She admits, “but we see cases with women who look like me all the time”.

Aaron nods, taking her openness as an opportunity to guide her out of the alleyway, waiting patiently for her to continue in her own time. “I had a boyfriend a few years ago…I just-- I need some time to collect myself”.

Again, Aaron nods, understanding, “Would you like me to leave?”

She shakes her head, her hand shooting up to hold to his arm. She’s shaking less now than she was before. More than ever he wants to hold her, but he doesn’t want to overstep; and during a case, there are lines he cannot cross as her boss. It’s the crux of the predicament they’ve found themselves in. Their personal lives and feelings bleeding and blending to create this strait. Deep down, he’s sure that a line of open communication between them would ease this impasse, but he’s far too shy to suggest it. For now, he settles for being glad her breathing has slowed, and her tears have stopped. “Thank you,” Sweets breathes out. Her hand slips down to squeeze his before she lets go and steps away from him. “Anytime,” he swears. He means it.

They find their UNSUB three hours later. Garcia’s scanning of security footage gives them a few license plates from cars within a two-block radius of the restaurants the victims went to. Only one owner fits their profile. He’s at work when they find him. Sweets takes great pleasure in cuffing the man. Hotch has no complaints.

When they arrive back in Quantico it’s nearing midnight. The team takes their leaving swearing they’ll finish their paperwork tomorrow morning. Sweets takes advantage of the rare silence in the bullpen to complete her reports. She’s not ready to go home. Not yet. At work, she has a shield, a carefully crafted persona; as cracked as it may be at the moment, it holds back the onslaught of personal fallout she’s sure waits for her at home. Sure her apartment is warmer and cozier than the office ever is. Her bed is far more comfortable than any desk chair. But, at home, she has nothing to distract her. At home, she has no obligation to maintain a facade sewn up by professional self-preservation. At home, she’ll be alone without the steady presence of Aaron Hotchner working away in his office.

The room is bathed in warm lamplight, a comfortable difference from the overhead fluorescents down in the bullpen. Something like a moth, she’s drawn to it by an instinct stronger than her willpower. She knocks on the door frame before leaning into the room. “I finished my report,” she tells him when he looks up. “You didn’t have to finish that tonight,” he tells her with furrowed brows. He sets down his pen and shuts the file he was working on to give her his attention. She steps into the room, setting her report on the edge of his desk. “I didn’t want to go home yet”. She explains though she gets the feeling that he understands. If there’s anyone she knows with a mutual streak of using workplace responsibility to avoid personal turmoil, it’s Hotch. Still, he nods, validating her most simply. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Are you asking as my boss or something more?” she wonders.

“Would it make a difference?” He asks. “Yes,” She responds. Sweets watches as he swallows, his brows knitting together as he considers his answer carefully, “I’m asking as someone who cares about you very much, in whatever capacity you need me to right now”. It’s a diplomatic response. Gentle and inviting without being outright hopeful. Quintessentially Aaron Hotchner.

“Will you come home with me,” Sweets allows herself to be bold enough to ask.

“Yes,” he tells her simply.

In the morning he slips away only to return with two cups of coffee and a box of breakfast pastries. They don’t need to be in the office until 10:00 and he plans on taking advantage of the time they have together until then. Sweets accepts the cup he holds out to her with an eager smile, and a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch x reader #criminal minds fic

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aezuria · 5 months ago

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uptown girl!

"she's been living in her uptown world, i bet she's never had a backstreet guy" —billy joel

content: mortal au!leo valdez x reader

╰┈▸ info: stuck-up reader (she gets character development later), cursing, reader is ~18, early 2000s core

notes: stella finally posted a fic !? (pls tell me if u enjoy i need validation 😔)

this has got to be the worst way to start summer ever. first, your morning was ruined by a bird shitting all over your car window—not a mess you had the time nor the patience to clean. then, on your way to pick up your friends for some much needed girl time, your car had the fun idea of breaking down. great. it left you on the side of the road, dialing up your father. which, when you think about it, really wasn't your fault! your precious ride just spontaneously combusted or something. nothing to do with the fact that you've crashed the front about seven times since january. after all, you'd gotten them fixed! it should be the mechanic's fault. or maybe, this car was cursed!

but of course, your dad just had to disagree. apparently it was his "last straw."

you winced away from the phone's speaker as his voice burst through. "you have been so ungrateful lately! when you asked for that car, i bought it for you! i looked over the fact that you don't even have your license yet! all i asked was for you to take care of your things!" he cried. from the tone of his voice, you could imagine the creases dug into his forehead. okay, now you felt bad. just a little.

before you could apologize, he finished with, "you just wait until i get there, young lady."

leave it to him to take away your guiltiness.

"dad!" you watched in horror as the truck towed your sleek red baby to god knows where. you turned your stricken expression on him, hoping to elicit at least a little bit of sympathy. but it seemed like his mind was made up on this one. dammit.

he crossed his arms sternly, putting his foot down. "let's go. we'll talk more in the house."

"-so you want to ship me away to some place crawling with bugs and creeps for the rest of the summer!?" you screeched along with the chair as its legs slid across the kitchen's tile floor.

your dad raised his hand in a placating gesture. "now, now, just until your car is fixed. it might not even be a whole month." he shrugged. yeah, real comforting. "and the city's a nice place. we lived there when you were young, remember?"

"no, i don't remember." you snapped. you did remember, but that brought on memories you'd rather not have right now.

he sucked in a breath. "alright then. it won't be so bad. we still have that apartment, and i got it cleaned up recently. it'll teach you some responsibility and independence." he nodded, satisfied with his decision.

you opened your mouth to snark at him again, but he continued, "and you won't be completely alone. there's a nice young man who will be fixing up your car, just down the street from the apartment building. i asked him to show you around when he has the time. and you'll have your phone, so make sure to call me, okay?" his strict behavior gave way to the soft spot you knew he had for you.

"...okay," you agreed reluctantly. once he really made up his mind about something, there was no changing it, so there was no use in arguing.

he smiled, patting your shoulder gently. "great. now pack your bags."

"be sure to buy groceries, and do the laundry, and clean every so often-" your father rambled on and on. if he was this worried, why wouldn't he just not go through with it? and why was he acting like you couldn't do basic chores!? it's not like you ever did them, but they couldn't be too hard, right?

"i get it dad." you rolled your eyes, staring out the car window. the buildings were all drab, painted in browns and grays, without a single bright color in sight, save for the red stop signs.

he pulled into an empty parking spot in front of the building. your insides recoiled. you swore it didn't look this... dilapidated all those years ago. or maybe you just had better taste now.

"we're here! looks like it's got a lot of.. character." he tried to cheer you up, but even you could tell he didn't think to check how it looked. it would've hurt too much to do so.

your lip scrunched in distaste. "i can't spend a single second in there."

"don't worry, it'll be over before you know it." with one last reassuring smile, he turned and left.

the apartment itself wasn't too bad, it was all cleaned up, just as your father had said. it smelled faintly of lemon cleaner, pillows fluffed and spritzed. your room was cold despite the warmth that came with summer. the pristine sheets were unfamiliar against your skin, as if you were tucked into a hotel bed. the sound of tire rolling against pavement never ceased, people had places to go, places to be even in the dead of night. a draft through your window made you shiver. you should close that in the morning. you curled in on yourself like you did when you were little, only this time there was only the unfeeling fabric to hold you, instead of the warm, long forgotten embrace no one could quite replicate.

you cringed at the shoddy place your phone had led you to, and looked up at the peeling paint sign that read: valdez mechanics. how charming. you even debated touching the rusty doorknob, but it swung open before you could turn it. which would be nice, if it didn't almost smack you in the face.

"watch it!" you hissed, side-stepping in time to see a boy your age walking through. his hair was a mess, and there were grease stains all over his face and clothes. his fingers were tap, tap, tapping away at his leg, to the rhythm of the song blaring inside. you think he'd be cute if he wasn't so dirty.

“sorry ‘bout that!” he laughed sheepishly. he stared at you for a moment too long before asking, “you here for the thunderbird?”

“yes,” you said shortly.

he chose to ignore your clipped tone, flashing you a smile. “come on in then, yeah?”

you followed him into the tiny shop, already wanting to leave. the place smelled of oil, and you could barely find a clean place to sit on. there were tools thrown everywhere, the floor sticky with dried up grease.

“i’m leo, by the way.” his voice snapped you out of your judging thoughts as he led you to the back. you finally saw your car, propped up with the hood open.

“y/n.” you barely glanced at him as you rushed over, examining the damage. “so? what’s wrong with her?”

he gestured with the wrench in his hand—when’d he get that?—and pointed to the engine. “well that’s all busted up, so i’m gonna have to build a new one for ya. i’ll do you an oil change too and-“

“yeah um, how long will it take?” you interrupted, giving him a smile you did not want to have on.

“i’d say three to five weeks? depends if i have any other stuff that comes in so…”

three to five weeks of your summer wasted away here? when you’re supposed to be having the best time of your life before college!?

“are you serious? can you get it done sooner? i can pay you some more-“ you reached into your purse.

“whoa!” he caught your wrist. his hands were clean now, must’ve wiped them on a rag. “money won’t make me work faster, honey.” he let go and shrugged. “sorry.”

honey? “well then what will? cause i need to leave as soon as-“

“some help, maybe?”

you blinked at him, utterly flabbergasted. “you want me to help you? the person who’s paying for all this?”

“technically, your father’s the one paying,” leo pointed out. “and y’know. you don’t have to help, of course. it just might make it go a bit quicker…” he trailed off, dimples poking through as he tried to hide a cheeky smile.

you huffed. “what do i have to do?”

”i am not sticking my hands in those.” you defied, shaking your head firmly.

leo scoffed, flapping the gloves around. “come on! this is the cleanest pair i have!”

"put this here?" you asked, shoving a part that you forgot the name of into an empty space.

"hm?" leo looked up from his fiddling, jaw dropping in horror. "no no no!"

"oh i know how to do this!" you exclaimed as he gave you a screwdriver. "my dad always said 'lefty loosey, righty tighty.'"

the boy nodded. "yeah! try it out." he pointed to a loose screw.

you successfully tightened it (to the right), giving him a proud smirk. "see?"

"yup." leo grinned at your enthusiasm, even though it was the most basic thing ever. "try and tighten the rest. i'll be right back."

a loud clatter made leo jump from across the repair shop. he rushed over to you, finding the parts that were supposed to be screwed together in complete disarray. "uh, maybe you shouldn't help..."

"really?" you deadpanned. "i hadn't noticed."

"sorry." he laughed. "scooch."

you pursed your lips. no one told you to "scooch" before. but you moved over anyway.

"wanna keep me company?" leo slid his gloves on and began putting the contraption back together.

no, you thought. but you didn't have anything better to do other than wander the city like a clueless idiot. and you hated looking like an idiot. "fine."

the shop was quiet, save for the occasional clanging as leo worked on the engine. his rambling was cut short as he focused on his work, something you didn't know he could do.

"nice car you got here. i've always wanted to drive one of these." he patted its side appreciatively. "where'd you buy this?"

scratch that. maybe he could only shut up in two minute increments.

"don't know. my dad bought it for me." you looked around, not even bothering to hide your boredom.

"right." leo laughed. you found he did that a lot. "must be nice."

your eyebrows knitted in confusion. "i guess?" what did he mean by that?

"i hate it here. it's so boring!" you complained over the phone. cooking dinner had been an absolute mess. “and that leo guy is so weird.”

"give him a chance, will you? he could show you around town, maybe teach you some manners…” you father muttered the last bit.

"what?"

"nothing! all i'm saying is give that boy a chance. who knows, he could be a great friend."

“‘great friend’ my… foot.”

#*ੈ✎ stories #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson

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imagine-darksiders · 2 days ago

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On the Ropes - Chapter 26

A Spark.

Montgomery Gator x Reader.

----

You couldn’t immediately say what is it that drags you from the bliss of a sleepy fugue at some unknown but doubtlessly ludicrous hour in the morning.

Not that it matters much, you suppose. Awake is awake, regardless of how sluggishly your brain chugs itself into gear and hauls with it a familiar and unwelcome ache that spreads down the length of your spine and sharpens to a needling point when it reaches your ankle.

In a voice that’s thick and laden with fatigue, you peel cracked lips apart and croak out a single, scratchy, “Ouch…”

Was that pain always there…?

Little sparks of fire dance and zip around your foot, each strike as unwelcome as a bee sting, and accompanying them is a substantial weight that’s been draped across your thighs, too heavy to simply be your duvet.

Reluctant to face cognizance but resigned to it all the same, you hesitantly pry open your eyelids and find yourself squinting out into an almost pitch-dark room. Only the dim glow of a streetlamp standing outside the alleyway manages to cast its light far enough to creep between the gap in your curtains.

Settled against the opposite wall, the filter on your fish tank gurgles softly in the darkness, the residents inside unaware and undisturbed by your plight.

Still ensnared in that strange interim that hangs between awake and asleep, you don’t connect the pain to its root for some time. Instead, a gentle sigh whistles through your nose as your chest rises and falls, and you send several lazy blinks up at the ceiling.

You have to summon the strength to turn your head over on your pillow and squint at the little red numbers flashing back at you from the clock that’s perched on your bedside table.

‘4:12am’

Your lungs deflate with mild relief.

If nothing else, at least there’s still plenty of time to catch a few more hours of sleep before you have to get up for work. Maybe, you muse in your sleep-addled brain, you can ignore the twinges and the pressure on your lap, and simply drift right back off to sleep.

You just need to relax.

Turning your head back to the ceiling, your senses still clumsy and dull, you sink against the pillow and smack your lips, relishing the softness beneath your skull.

…. Wait…

No sooner has your head touched down however than your eyes flutter open again, brows furling together into a quizzical frown.

‘Work…? No… That’s not right…’

Another timely spike of pain twists down the outside of your ankle.

And just like that, clarity sets in with such harsh ferocity, your heart just about takes a nosedive off your sternum and plunges down into your guts, dragging with it the grim truth of a reality you’d managed to forget in your sleep.

‘Ah… Right…’ you lament to yourself with a grimace, ‘The ‘incident.’

The endo… Stella… Monty coming to your rescue…

There in the darkness, your brain arduously begins fitting the puzzle pieces together, though it pauses once you reach the part where Doctor Timpson handed you a prescription for a bag full of painkillers, and suddenly, that’s all you can focus on.

Wincing, you suck in a breath through your teeth and shift uncomfortably on the bed as the pain grows from tender to worrisome.

Now you know why you woke up.

Your painkillers must have worn off during the night.

… Figures…

Heaving a weary sigh, you reach up to scrub your fingertips roughly over your eyes, groaning like you’re scratching a satisfying itch until little bursts of colour and light start to flash across the black expanse behind each eyelid.

The painkillers, of course, are not on your bedside table, because it would have been too much to expect of yourself to place them there next to a handy glass of water…

No.

Instead, they’re still sitting by the bathroom sink in their crumpled white bag alongside a dry toothbrush and the neglected care instructions for your cast.

Just then, your ankle gives another unpleasant throb, hot and swollen within the confines of its bulky stocking.

Yielding to the fact that you’ll never get back to sleep unless you take those pills, you let out a belligerent moan and thrust your hands off your face, reaching down the length of your body instead to grasp the duvet that’s been scrunched up around your waist.

You move with every intention of tossing it aside so you can heave yourself out of bed. What you don’t expect however, is for the tips of your outstretched fingers to collide painfully with a smooth, solid obstruction nestled heavily in your lap.

There’s a dull ‘clunk!’ followed almost immediately by your squeaked, “Aah!”

The shrill bleat of alarm ruptures an otherwise peaceful twilight, but the compulsion to cry out is too overbearing to bite down on. After all, you’ve just been rocked by a very palpable wrongness in learning there’s something on your bed that definitely should not be there.

Violently, like you’ve just been burned, you rip your hand away and flail clumsily on the mattress, making a pitiful attempt to shimmy yourself backwards up the headboard only to find that your legs are trapped by the inexplicable weight still settled over them, far more noticeable now that you’ve been jolted properly awake.

In the next second though, you grow very still, frantically stuffing your lips together and choking on an expletive as your shock ducks aside to allow abject horror to take its place.

Whatever it was you’d struck utters a sharp, throaty grunt that sends reverberations rattling up through your bed frame. Without warning, the unseen obstruction gives a rough lurch and promptly shoots upright, and as it does, the weight in your lap disappears.

Your eyes - still unaccustomed to the dark - stare wildly at a massive black shape that shifts against the ebony backdrop of your bedroom, its edges indiscernible despite how you try frantically to search for definition.

Are you still dreaming? Is this a nightmare?

The bones in your ankle sing as you jerk your legs up, curling the one not in a cast as far from the silhouette as you can bear.

And then, with a mechanical whir, two spots of vivid, blood-red light sputter into existence, hanging side by side several feet off the ground, far higher than any human’s eyes ought to be.

For just a split second, you’re a child again, laying in your bed late at night with the covers pulled right up to your chin, plagued by thoughts of red-eyed monsters rising out from under the bed to eat you or kidnap you or do whatever it was monsters did to overimaginative children.

Then all of a sudden, it speaks.

The voice is gruff and pitched deep like the growl of some wild, feral animal. It fills the room, pulling a visceral flinch out of you before the words even reach your ears.

“Ugh, Lady? Whus’wrong?” it slurs drowsily, muffled as though it’s talking to you over an untuned radio, “Y’okay?” A sharp burst of static buzzes through your eardrums, and this time when the voice speaks again, there isn’t a hint of drowsiness to it. Just clear and abrupt urgency. “You hurt!?”

And just like that, the neurons in your brain light up, and the final puzzle piece shoves itself back into place, such an obvious and unmistakable piece that you wonder how you didn’t see where it fit in the first instance.

“Monty!” you gasp out in a rush, only mildly relieved by the revelation as those fearsome red lights above you start to take on a softer tinge of pink, illuminating the rounded tip of a familiar, green snout, “Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of me!”

Eyes – ‘optics,’ you remind yourself – swivel wider before they narrow again, then turn into little halfmoons hanging above you, a sign that he’s shuttering his plastic eyelids, leaving them to droop dejectedly over the lights of his LEDs.

“Oh…” the animatronic mumbles, and you hear the heavy thud of his foot as he takes a step back, away from the bed, his pistons hissing with renewed activity, “… M’sorry…”

You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to hearing an apology escape from Montgomery Gator’s speakers, and you might’ve even taken the time to recognise its rarity if you weren’t so abruptly swept up in a whirlwind of alarm and borderline panic.

All at once, your limbs spring apart as you sit ramrod straight in the bed and try to pick out Monty’s features through the gloom, ignoring the angry jolt of red-hot heat that sparks a fire in your ankle.

That heat is nothing compared to the broiling ruckus currently churning in the pit of your stomach.

“The Hell are you still doing here!?” you blurt out, all but throwing yourself sideways to fumble for the lamp on your bedside table, “You should have been long gone by now! Oh, my fucking…-! What’s your battery on!?”

Scrambling fingers find the little push switch on the side of the lamp, and you waste no time flicking it on, instantly hissing at the intrusion of light that rudely sears your retinas and forces you to squeeze your eyes shut.

“My battery’s fine,” the gator retorts, unseen, sounding less morose and more like his usual self, “I was in standby… Low energy consumption.”

Your eyelids protest valiantly when you attempt to pry them apart, but little by little, you coax them open again and blink through bleary vision at the wobbly blob of green towering above your bed. “Standby,” you echo flatly.

As if that even vaguely answers the question as to what he’s still doing in your room.

Montgomery Gator, in all his great, green glory, is standing at the side of your bed when he really, really shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be anywhere near your bed, in fact, not when he was supposed to have made his way back home hours ago.

It still comes as a shock to see how much larger he appears without the high roofs and vast rooms of the Plex as a backdrop.

In here, stuffed between your bed and the wall, with the top of his mohawk almost brushing the ceiling, and his tail sprawled out across your carpet, he seems over twice his normal size.

Apparently oblivious to the crisis of his own making, the animatronic tips his long snout down at you, the black, plastic brows on his head slotting neatly together as he declares, “S’your battery you should be worryin’ about. Can’t’ve got much charge yourself.”

You resist the urge to scoff as you match his disapproval, scowling right back up into his optics, half hidden behind his glasses.

“Humans don’t have batteries,” you argue at last, gingerly extracting your legs from the bed and lowering them over the side, taking care not to let your injured appendage bump against the floor. All the while, you have to suppress a wince.

Because watching you like a hawk, Monty grunts, “You know what I mean.”

With a shake of your head, you brace your hands on the edge of the mattress and peer glumly down at the cast covering your leg as a question springs to mind; Is this really an argument you want to have right now…? Is this an argument you want to have at all? The shock of waking up to find the animatronic in your room is slowly but surely receding with each subsequent second.

You suppose having him all but break in last night was about as shocking as it could get. Anything that follows simply doesn’t measure up. And besides, getting into a verbal spat won’t change the very glaring fact that he’s still here… All it’ll do is sap what little energy you’re pulling from your reserves, never mind what it could do to his.

It’s too early. You’re too tired. You’re in too much pain. And you do so hate to fight…

Your ears twitch when the gears in Monty’s jaw spin softly as he opens it to ask, “Did you get any sleep at all?”

The ‘you look terrible’ comment remains unspoken but conceals itself badly behind his teeth.

Tearing your eyes off the cast, you bend your neck back and release your longest sigh yet. When it ends, you just blink languidly up at the gator, and at last reply, “Doesn’t matter. A few hours’ll have to do for now.”

Under your breath, in a voice deliberately pitched so quiet that he can’t pick it up, you softly mutter, “Painkillers…”

As you start to push yourself off the squeaking mattress, you hear an unhappy grumble from the speakers of the massive animatronic, and in just one swift stride, he’s suddenly hovering right above you, curling his thick, sturdy palms under your elbows and gently lifting you onto your feet with far more care than such a formidable bot should possess.

“Does matter,” he retorts petulantly, keeping his hands under one of your arms whilst you bend awkwardly and fish around on the floor for the crutch you’d discarded near the side of your bed.

“Why’d you wake up anyway?” he continues to grouse, “I was comfy…”

Blowing an exasperated huff through your nose, you straighten up and slip your unoccupied arm through the crutch’s handle, tugging your captured appendage from the gator’s palm and making the awkward squeeze around his sizeable bulk.

“Gee, I don’t know,” you yawn, raking your fingers across your scalp and cringing at the oily slickness clinging to your hair. When did you last have a shower? “Maybe because I realised there was a giant gator in my lap. Who probably shouldn’t still be here.”

Heavy footsteps clunk after you into the ensuite bathroom. “You said I could stay!”

“For a little while, I recall,” you snap waspishly over your shoulder, running a hand over the wall until your fingertips find the light switch. With a dull ‘click,’ the tiled, white room is suddenly flooded in a buzzing fluorescence that hurts your eyes. Not a second later, you’re already regretting the sharpness of your tone.

Hissing a sigh through your teeth like a pressure valve being released, you hobble forwards to the sink and brace your front against it, lifting your eyes to the mirror and peering at your reflection.

‘Ugh.’

Well… you suppose the dark bags are a given, but did you have to drool so profusely as to leave a line of dried, crusty spit down the side of your chin?

Wetting your fingertips under the dripping tap, you scrub them fervently at the spittle and turn your gaze instead to the reflection of the large animatronic lurking behind you in the doorway.

He doesn’t meet your gaze. He’s too busy frowning down at his feet, brows resting heavily above his optics.

In contrast, your own expression softens, weary and apologetic.

“Look,” you say in a far less agitated tone, turning off the tap with a squeak of metal and inspecting your now clean chin, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to argue with you, Monty. I just want you to go home-”

“-Why’re you so keen to get rid of me?”

What follows is a silence so fragile, you could probably drop a feather and it would shatter into a thousand, fibrous pieces.

Your fingertips find the edge of the sink and flex bruisingly on the porcelain whilst you stare through the mirror, at a loss for words.

This time, Monty is looking back. His optics are set into a hard, unflinching scowl, aperture pupils shrunk down to mere pinpricks.

You’re not about to let that slide…

“That,” you snap, “is not what this is, and you know it.”

And the thing is, he does know it. Even as he admonishes himself for asking the question, he knows. You wouldn’t… do that to him. Time and again, you prove to be a better person than he consistently expects you to be.

But experience has driven a recognisable pattern right into his code that isn’t so easily shaken loose.

Montgomery Gator knows rejection far better than he knows acceptance. Humans want him gone more than they want him around, it’s been that way since he was first turned online, and proceeded to malfunction so badly, his tail broke several laptops and a workbench. Good things don’t tend to last for bots like him. He’s told himself that before. It’s a notion that’s been haunting the back of his processor from the day he met you.

There’s always another shoe, and it’s always about to drop…

He… doesn’t want you to be the one to drop it.

Anyone else… anyone at all…

Just not you.

He hadn’t realised before just how much he needs you to choose his presence over his absence. And although he knows you’re right, it’s bad that he’s here, it’s bad for both of you that he’s here… something in his programming, something that shines as green as the snout on his face, selfishly vies for your acquiescence.

Then all of a sudden, you’re doing it, you’re turning arduously around until your back is to the sink, and you’re staring him in the optics straight on, not through the surface of the mirror.

Suddenly, he finds himself straining his audials in anticipation, every wire and node in his frame poised to hear you tell him he can stay. Here.

With you.

Instead, you do something else entirely.

In a fashion he should have expected by now, you step delicately into the middle of the playing field, no man’s land, neither telling him you want him here, nor that you want him to go.

“You think I want to say goodbye and not see you for six weeks?” you ask plainly instead, bringing his processor to a grinding halt, then viciously knocking it off its tracks with the follow-up, “I don’t want to get rid of you, Monty, I want you to be safe.”

Safe…?

Several of the gator’s systems have to reset themselves, his optics first and foremost, flickering narrow then wide again as he shutters his lids in a few rapid-fire blinks.

Dumbly, he has to thump a fist against his chest when the speaker inside it stalls on a clumsy, “Huh?”

But you don’t seem all that willing to let him get his thoughts in order. “What do you think Mick’ll do if he finds out you’re not in the Plex? Hm?” you press on, “And I really hope it is ‘if’ and not ‘when’.”

… Safe…

Unbidden, one of the gator’s hands worms its way up to lay over the cavity of his chest, rubbing tenderly at the plastic casing as if it’s sore.

“I’m sorry, Monty...” you tell him, earnest and frank, setting aside the grief of your leg in favour of spending a few more moments consoling the animatronic, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to have to say it, but…” Hesitating, your brows dip, and you offer the gator a sad, tired frown. “Not everyone is on your side.”

‘Understatement of the century,’ he gripes to himself. But why should he care about that? So long as you’re on his side, things will be okay.

“But lot of people are,” you squeeze out with conviction, pouring as much encouragement into your words as you can fit, “I’m on your side. That exec came around too, didn’t she? Stella, and her mums. Andy is starting to trust you! Andy Flowers! Hell, even the public are seeing you properly for the first time. But it’s the people who aren’t on your side who you need to tread carefully around. People like Mick,” you continue, earning a sudden, guttural thrum from the gator’s speakers that you deliberately ignore. Let him be angry. You’re pretty angry too if you’re being honest.

Resisting the urge to wring your hands together imploringly, you add, “Right now, Mick is gonna be looking for any excuse to hurt you.”

You’re hardly surprised when Monty sticks his snout into the air and expels a haughty grunt, his prior astonishment all but forgotten in the overpowering wake of his pride.

“I’d like to see ‘im try,” he declares, jamming the pad of a thumb against his chest, “I protected you from an endo, an’ I can protect myself from old Mick too. I’m stronger than that pipsqueak by a mile.”

His bluster, however, is almost immediately knocked back out of him when you abruptly shove yourself off the sink with an exasperated shake of your head. “It isn’t about how strong you are!”

In your haste however, you stumble on your bad foot, and just like that, Monty is there, stooping forwards with his arms outstretched to catch you by the shoulders. At the same time, your own hands clasp feverishly on top of the gator’s wide wrists, squeezing at the plastic panelling as if you could physically press upon him the gravity of the situation.

“Monty,” you chew his name through clenched teeth, meeting his stare behind those star-shaped sunglasses, “He can hurt you – No, stop–! He can.” You have to interrupt him when his jaw opens to argue.

“Mick can hurt you,” you reiterate once the gator’s fangs click together again, “Without even touching you, Mont. All he needs is a reason. And you being here instead of the Plex?” One of your hands leaves the silent animatronic’s wrist and ventures up towards his face, cupping your palm gently over his rounded cheek. “That’s reason enough for him,” you finish, watching as the black holes of Monty’s apertures swirl wider and wider with every second that the warmth of your fingertips seeps through to his sensors.

If he was capable of swallowing, he would. His optics swivel over to your hand near his teeth, and once again, Monty finds himself slamming a firewall down to cut communications with the gears in his tail. This is not the size of room where the overeager appendage will be subtle if it starts swinging.

There’s a thought pinging around his processor, one he doesn’t dare give voice to lest the truth of it betray just how much the great Montgomery Gator has come to rely on the presence of another when the only back he’s watched for so long is his own.

How… How in the world is he supposed to survive for six weeks without you?

Almost of its own accord, his processor starts to run several hypotheticals detailing emergency protocols he’ll have to follow in the event of an incident occurring while you’re not with him.

And on the opposite side of the equation, he can’t help but wonder what you’ll do without somebody to watch over you when he’s not around?

It’s an unforeseen element of Friendship he hadn’t factored in until now, this… this worry.

Monty casts about for a better word, one that doesn’t have so many connotations attached to it, but he comes up empty, failing to marry his unease with anything more applicable.

He’s worried. And that in itself is worrying.

The blooming warmth emanating from your palm suddenly retracts, and Monty jerks his head upright, realising with some alarm that he’d been leaning his cheek quite heavily against your hand.

You’ve dropped it back down in favour of scrubbing it tiredly over your face. “I’m not sure what I’d do with myself if you got decommissioned because of me,” you admit sullenly, forcing him to cycle back several moments to recall your last words.

Still, the guilt woven through your tone is surprising.

“Cause of you?” he grunts, “Why would it be your fault what they do to me?”

You look up at him then, your eyes focused and sharp like whetted blades. “Monty,” you say slowly, “Why are you here?”

The question stops him in his tracks.

Because the answer is simple. It’s standing in front of him, staring him quite literally in the face.

It’s you. He came here tonight for you. He left the Plex for you, risked being found out for you, is still risking his own safety… for you.

It wouldn’t be your fault if Management does something drastic to him.

But it will be because of you.

Slowly, so slowly he half wonders if there’s a fault in his systems, Monty’s optics droop to observe your hands. The tiny appendages – so much smaller than his own – are clenched with a rigorous fervour, one around the handle of your crutch, and the other into the shirt you fell asleep in, twisting the fabric between your fingers that have gone white at the knuckle to expose the bone underneath.

You're scared.

“So please. For my sake,” you continue, drawing his gaze from your hands to your face, “To stop me from worrying about you so much-“

The gator’s lips twitch in a wince.

“-Will you please go back to the Plex?”

And this time, with a new perspective rolling around in his processor and gumming up the gears in his jaw, he doesn’t bother to open his mouth, relying on his speakers to offer a concise and muted response.

“Okay.”

And maybe… Just maybe… the tired but dazzling smile that flutters then blooms across your expression and brightens the room makes his acquiescence all the more worth it.

“Thank you, Monty,” you tell him, the fatigue in your eyes never once stealing from the sparkling gratitude you’re trying to drown him in, “Thank you.”

And Hell, maybe he’s inclined to let your palpable waves of relief wash over him for just a bit longer.

-----------------------------------------------------

You never shut the window last night…

Standing awkwardly like a looming giant in your - now rather chilly - living room, Monty’s optics trace the scrapes and gouges he’d inadvertently torn from the wooden frame in his haste to reach you after you took that tumble yesterday.

Wincing, he clears the static from his voice box with a sheepish cough and mutters, “Uhm… I… um… Sorry, ‘bout your window…”

Leaning on your crutch beside him, you ponder the same destruction, one palm clasped around your chin.

With the painkillers now working their quick and heavenly magic around your ankle, the thoughts in your head are less of a nuisance to put together. Monty had almost tripped over his own tail in his haste to get you your requested glass of water from the kitchen. It was the only thing you could think of that would make him feel helpful and get him out of your bathroom long enough for you to splash some water on your face and idly tousle your hair.

Needless to say, it worked like a charm.

Now, you have to take several quiet breaths, in through your nose then out through your mouth before your momentary alarm at finding your window wide open starts to fade away.

It could have been worse, you suppose.

Oh certainly, the window’s frame will need to be repaired, but you’re less concerned about such a potential cost now than you would have been before Faz Co. paid you that hush money. And sure, someone could have broken in while you slept, but somehow, knowing you had a gigantic animatronic alligator on standby diminishes that particular concern. Besides, nothing looks to have been stolen. There isn’t really much to steal, after all, and you don’t live on the ground floor, a fact which deters all but the most desperate of thieves.

Besides…

“Windows can always be fixed,” you tell him, turning to flash him a warm tilt of your lips, “You, on the other hand…”

He doesn’t miss the none-too subtle hint.

Monty’s snout tilts up towards the ceiling, his tail thwacking carefully against the carpeted floor in mock exasperation. “A’right,” he huffs, venting out a hot blast of air from the regulator valves in his nostrils, “I’m goin’, m’goin’…”

Leaning your body on the crutch, you bite the inside of your cheek and muscle back a grin when Monty takes a slow, lumbering step towards the window, dragging his tail like a dead weight across the living area.

A performer to the end…

He doesn’t even make it to the window before he stops once more, twisting his nose over a shoulder strut to peer down at you, his crimson LEDs glowing faintly behind his glasses. “You sure you don’t-?”

“-I’m sure.”

“But what if somethi-!?”

“-It won’t.”

“… Right…” he concedes quietly, turning back to the open window.

With laboured movements betraying a reluctance that clogs his every motor, Monty meticulously begins navigating his too-large frame through the window, taking great care that his shoulders don’t scrape any more paint off the wood as he goes.

You’re grateful for his effort, enough to swallow back a laugh when his mohawk clunks solidly on the wood above him and he releases an audible hiss of annoyance, swivelling his optics up to give the frame a dark glare.

It isn’t lost on you that two weeks ago, if you’d asked Monty to ‘be careful,’ he’d more than likely go out of his way to do the exact opposite.

You really are proud to see the work he’s put in to improve his standing at the Plex.

As the gator turns to feed the length of his tail through your window, you give your head a fond shake and step forwards, following his path to the sill and leaning against it on your elbows and watching your breath billow out of you in a soft cloud of white.

Awkwardly sized on the fire escape, Monty manoeuvres himself about to face you, ducking his head low and dropping down onto a knee, bringing himself to your level.

His massive frame rises and falls as he synthesises a sigh, reaching up to sweep the sunglasses off his nose and drape his forearm over a bent knee.

“Guess this is it, huh?” he gripes aloud, brightening ever so slightly when you give a husky laugh.

“Monty. It’s not forever, you know.”

“Might as well be.”

Blinking, your lips quirk affectionately, and you lean your chin on a palm, tilting your head to one side. “Aww~. I thought Freddy was meant to be the charming one.”

As you should have expected, Monty’s plating immediately flares around his neck and he draws himself up, thoroughly affronted. “I’m plenty charming!” he declares.

Flashing him a sly grin, you reply, “So I’m gathering.”

You can see the moment his CPU connects your words together. The animatronic’s brows tick up his forehead and his jaws promptly snap shut with a loud ‘clack.’

You figured he’d appreciate ‘charming’ over ‘cute.’

Even with the nightly bustle of the city drifting into the alleyway, you can hear several of Monty’s gears kick up a notch, whirring noisily in the relatively peaceful alleyway.

Taking pity on the stupefied animatronic, you tip your head upright again and lose the teasing lilt.

“It was very kind of you to come and check on me, Monty.”

Optics click shut, then open again, spinning prettily as they land on you. Without his sunglasses, you find him all the more expressive. An odd realisation for you to have about a robot.

“Yeah?” he utters softly.

Humming, you nod your head, slapping on a sickly-sweet smile and a tone that oozes warning. “Yep… Don’t you ever do it again.”

Dipping his nose sheepishly, Monty rubs at the back of his neck, avoiding your stern glare.

“You’ll head straight back to the Plex?” you add.

“Uh huh.”

“And you’ll be careful and make sure nobody sees you?”

“Mmhmm…”

The façade crumbles and you’re smiling again, still weary, but a smile all the same.

The animatronic catches it when he braves a glance up, and his contrition melts away at the sight of it, as it seems to be doing more and more often of late.

“Good,” you murmur, swaying your torso further out the window, hardly putting a lot of thought into what you’re about to do.

Later, you’ll blame it on the ungodly hour dulling your senses, and the bud of gratitude for Monty swelling in your chest until it was large enough that you thought nothing of stretching your neck out and pressing a gentle, chaste peck on the very tip of his nose.

It’s over and done in a moment, nothing noteworthy about it, just a fond farewell between friends.

But that’s only half of the collective perspective.

Because Monty…. Well, he could have lived in that second for the rest of eternity.

The warmth of soft, tender skin squashing against his snout is at first surprising, thought it almost immediately gives way to something a little more abrupt once his processor registers what you’re doing.

When it does, a surging jolt of electricity thrusts his internal fans into overdrive, riding the currents of his wiring all the way through his frame and overloading several core systems. One after the other, they shut down, rebooting after a nanosecond, and still your lips are on him, so, so perilously close to his teeth.

His jaw motors fail then, followed immediately by the hydraulics in his arms, letting them fall slack to his sides. His optics flutter closed in blissful contentment as his entire frame threatens to buckle and teeter sideways, held aloft when the fail-safes in his limbs lock them into place to prevent damage from a fall.

The warmth – the sheer, unutterable warmth is there for eons, and for a mere second – and then…

Cold. The spot you’d graced with a fabled kiss is cold once more, and Monty’s optics snap open and his fingers fumble to resecure their slackened grip on his sunglasses.

You’re there, in front of him, haloed by the golden light of your living room, looking every bit the angel he’s only seen on Christmas cards they sell in the gift shops.

They don't hold a candle to real thing, he realises mutely.

“Goodnight, Monty. Be safe, okay?” you ask.

Is that all? Don't you realise you could ask him to bring you the Moon and he'd find a way to do it?

Starstruck, the gator just nods his head dumbly in response, barely paying attention as you withdraw from the windowsill and raise your hands to the frame over your head, slowly drawing it shut. He’s still standing there when your hands slide around the curtains and you cock a smile, flapping one arm at him in a shooing motion.

With his frame still buzzing and sparking with excess electricity, Monty’s residual processing power manages to turn him about on a heel and take the stairs one at a time, each clanging footstep growing faster and faster as his systems burst back to life.

He doesn’t recall how he made it to the rooftops again. Only that his thundering footfalls feel light – lighter than they’ve ever felt before, even when he’s performing on stage, even when the crowd is roaring with excitement.

Monty flies over the buildings, he’s sure he’s flying.

Perhaps there’s a hidden feature the engineers snuck into his programming that would cause him to barely notice his own weight because this euphoria shouldn’t be possible for an animatronic made of wires and codes.

The early morning is dark and bitingly cold.

But Monty only has sensors for the patch of warmth his silicone still remembers on the tip of his nose.

Already, in the corner of his HUD, the feedback of that moment is playing on a loop.

When the lights of the Megaplex come into view on the city’s outskirts, he almost believes he could leap right off the current building and soar all the way over the immense carpark to the rooftop he began his journey from. He only stops himself when logic catches up and reminds him that he definitely cannot fly.

Keeping his promise to you, he scales down the wall and slinks silently across the vast ocean of tarmac, sticking to the shadows on the perimeter of the Plex until he finds the same spot he’d jumped from last night.

It’s just as easy – easier, in fact with the residual energy coursing through his systems – to launch himself halfway up the towering wall, grabbing onto a gutter and then kicking off again, hauling himself hand over hand and digging his claws into the brickwork until he’s vaulting over the guard rail and onto the roof proper.

There, he turns - his chest bloated and bursting with elation – to face the city.

Somewhere among those shimmering lights is your home. And by extension, you.

He knows where you are, and that alone is enough to soothe the glaring code that longs to be within reach of you.

He’ll stay at the Plex to make you happy, and he’ll do so gladly.

Because Montgomery Gator is not about to jeopardise his chances of getting another kiss.

#fnaf #fnafsb #security breach #five nights at freddy's #Monty Gator #Montgomery Gator #Reader #Monty x reader #Fluff #omg first kiss?#Monty's tail is its own character

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yenqa · 11 months ago

Text

ADVANTAGES

in which…

on jay’s live, fans point out a stuffed animal on his bed, one that seems to be the other piece to your notorious missing pair. as imaginary pieces start to connect for fans, the viewers beg for some kind of interaction. and though you and jay have never met before, why not use this situation to your advantage?

warnings : profanities, i think thats it ?

wc : 1019

stupid question

☆

“Chat, what do you mean my position is different? I’m literally centered!”

strawberrylimesoda : GUYS TRUST SHES LYING

BluebirdFly : This girl is Suspicious!! special guest maybe?

lilaclavender : @/BluebirdFly THAT MAKES SENSE WAITT…

“Guys I don’t have a special guest-!”

The greenscreen behind you is torn down to reveal Jay’s smiley face behind you, you let out a squeal when he hugs you tightly from behind the chair. He takes a seat next to you, waving to the camera.

BluebirdFly : OH MY GOSH WHAT DID I SAY

“Everyone please introduce–wait what’s your twitch name Jay?”

He chuckles, “It’s Bluejay, hi Y/n’s chat.”’

You bring your face closer to the screen, trying to read the small text that’s zooming across your view. Turning your head down slightly, your hair falls in front of your eyes, blocking your view.

Before you can do anything about it, you can feel a hand brushing it behind your ear. Obviously startled, you sit back up. Looking at Jay with a flustered smile you let out a giggle.

Oh god, I did not just giggle.

You slap your hand over your mouth, hearing Jay’s low chuckle in the background. “Shut up,” You mutter, slapping his arm to make him ignore your flusteredness.

user18126712 : THE GIGGLE IM CRYINGGG

stellaverse : OH MY GOD ME WHEN

Feeling your face heat up, you keep your hand over your mouth, not wanting to be embarrassed anymore. “Okay, we are moving on!” You exclaim, lifting both your feet onto your chair to hug your knees.

You look over at him, gesturing for him to say or do something. He has a small smile on his face, looking at you for a second too long before diverting his eyes to the chat.

“Jay, is your girlfriend single? No, she’s not. That’s a stupid question.” He answers, eliciting a gasp from you.

“Hey! Don’t call my chat stupid.” You look straight at the stream with your mouth open.

He shrugs, “I called the question stupid, technically.”

He slithers his hand to rest on your thigh. His hand is warm, and large. Heating up your thigh (and face cause lord were you flustered).

Trying to act like that simple touch isn’t driving you insane, you roll your eyes.

“Technically my ass, anyways, ask us questions!”

strawberrylimesoda : ARE YALL DATING OR…I CNAT TELL ANYMORE

“Are we dating, Y/n?”

“What?”

You whip your head to see a sly smirk on his face with eyes that tell you to play along, feeling your mouth part you quickly shut it, turning back to the webcam.

Trying to fight the smile growing on your face, you rest your index finger on your lips, replying, “I don’t know… Are we?”

Looking at him on your screen, you both let out a laugh, unable to take your facade seriously any longer. “Jay, I’m in charge of reading the questions now.”

“But that’s–”

“Stella asks!” You cut him off, ignoring the pout on his face, “why did you donate one thousand dollars, Jay? Actually I have that question too, so do enlighten us please.” Pretending your fist is a microphone, you place your hand in front of his mouth, raising your eyebrows waiting for his answer.

“I told you, to pay you back.”

“Jay, I gave you one hundred dollars. So either you can’t read or you have a big fat crush on me.“

“I’m pretty good at reading.”

“Ow! Why’d you do that Y/n!” He caresses where you slapped him, feigning a hurt expression.

You slap his arm again, “Stop saying stuff like that! Answer the question, actually.”

“You looked pretty, Y/n, that’s it.”

You tilt your head, looking at him with enlarged eyes “A thousand dollars pretty?”

“A billion dollars pretty.”

“Thank you, Jay” You’re surprised it even gets out of you, coming out as a hushed mumble just so he can hear it. You look at your webcam to see your reddened face, covering the bottom half of your face you relish in disbelief. When did this guy get so confident–and flirty?

He lets out a breathy laugh at your reaction, changing the topic so you could collect yourself–which you very much needed. It’s hard when your hyper focused on his presence next to you, every touch electrifying your body in the best, but at the same time–worst way possible.

Jay continues to answer questions, and you stay silent, watching him talk all he wants to your viewers.

He has habits when he talks and explains things. you’ve noticed a few. How fast he blinks for one, blinking at a noticeable rate, sometimes Jay blinks two times instead of one, maybe for variety? How he uses his hands to describe whatever he’s talking about, or to get a point across. How the corners of his mouth spread when he’s thinking of what to say next, or to fill some silence. How he tilts his head trying to catch any of the fast-paced comments–

“Y/n?”

Oh shit.

“Huh?”

Jay chuckles– something he does a lot around you, eyes crinkling as he rereads the question, “What games are you going to play in future streams?”

You purse your lips, searching your mind to find any answer at all, “Hmm–I don’t know. I was planning on doing some more Minecraft but if you have games, recommend some please!”

He nods, “I want to try that village game, what’s it called?”

“I don’t know?”

The corner of his mouth spreads into a small smile, “Stardew valley! It looks like a cute game.”

user43985 : I NEED TO SEE YNJAY PLAY STARDEW VALLEY STOPPP

popcornpops : lets talk abt how hard they are flirting.. get a room. ( THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE.)

Soobsleftboob : a billion dollars pretty SHUT THE FUCK UPPPP

strawberrylimesoda : do you guys plan on meeting up often?

Hopefully you two do.

“Hey–Jay, can you pass me my waterbottle over there?” You point to the opposite side of the desk.

He looks over to where you're pointing, replying “Yes, ma’am,” before handing it to you, letting your fingers graze each other.

You were definitely not going to make it through this stream.

☆

back masterlist next

yenqa > hi guys im sosos sorry for no chapters! i dont have a reason i just didnt want to write this lol

taglist (CLOSED): @yeokii @hanniluvi @euncsace @jongsiemain @mrchweeee @fakeuwus @ashy1um @rikisly @filmofhybe @nwjws @yizhoutv @soov @tocupid @tzke1ta @yannew @manooffline @mars101 @haechansbbg @enhaz1 @teddywonss @en-happiness @kim2005bomi @sunooscheeks @luvswonyoung @flwoie @lilriswife4life @nicholasluvbot @ikeusol @lylovw @alwayswook @astrae4 @choi-beomgyulvr @aishigrey @infpistj @jiawji @planethyuka @mari-oclock @222brainrot @jakevascaino @rory-cant-sleep @hyehae @vixensss @hearts4hanni @kgneptun @tongtongie @www-jungwon @lovejunz @fluerz @jiyeons-closet @nyuzip @leehanist @heerinnie @eneiyri

yenqa © please do not copy, steal or translate.

#advantages — yenqa 🎀#enhypen jay x reader #jay x reader #park jongseong social media au #jay smau #enhypen smau #enhypen x reader #enhypen au #streamer!au #enhypen reactions #jay angst #jay texts #jay au #jay scenarios #jay fics #jay fluff

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ladykailitha · 1 month ago

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The Hellfire Exotic Club Part 9

Hey guys! Last week was a bit rough on all the chapters. So I'm hoping things pick up this week.

In his we have Nancy being nosy and Steve and Robin accidentally stumble on a part of the mystery.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Robin and Steve were coming out of their appointment at the district attorney’s office when they spotted an unusual couple seating in the cafe across the street.

“Say, Robin,” Steve said tilting his head forward, “what say we try out that cafe today?”

At first Robin was confused then she spotted the duo, too. “You know, when you’re right, you’re right. I wonder if they pain au chocolats.”

“Oohh,” Steve said, rubbing his hands together. He loved those chocolate croissants as much as she did. “I wonder if they serve hot chocolate, too!” He liked coffee, but the mark of a good cafe in his opinion was their hot chocolate. The richer and darker the better.

They walked into the cafe. It was brightly lit and everything was in warm browns and bright yellows. Steve loved it immediately.

Turned out that not only did they have Robin’s pain au chocolats, they also had cheesecake by the slice. So Robin got her latte with her pain au chocolat and Steve got his hot chocolate with a slice a white chocolate raspberry cheesecake.

Then Steve and Robin sat down at table near their interesting couple and Robin turned on the record function on her phone with a wink, and then pulled a book out her purse and Steve pulled out his phone to scroll through social media.

They didn’t have to wait long before the couple said something stupid.

“What do you mean you’re not doing it anymore?” Billy hissed. “The goal was to get the new guy out.”

“Yeah,” Stella growled back. “To get your job back, but if I continue and that nosy bitch gets wind of it, we’ll both be out of job. Hell the whole club will be out of fucking job!”

“Tell me about it again,” Billy said with a heavy sigh.

So Stella went over the whole thing with Nancy and Jason again. “She rocketed to the top of journalism world in two short years, Billy. If she starts sniffing around and finds out about the attacks on Steve, she’ll blow up the whole joint without batting a single eyelash!”

“I thought you said they were exes or some shit,” Billy huffed. “Why the fuck does she still care for the guy? Like he’s not even that great of a dancer. He’s new and shiny, once the novelty wears off, people will slack off and Eddie will be begging me to come back.”

“Who knows,” Stella said, waving her hand dismissively. “But does that mean we can stop, at least until she writes her little article?”

“Yeah, baby,” he purred. “You can stop until the nosy little reporter get her rocks off and nothing happens, same as usual.”

Steve and Robin rolled their eyes as sounds of making out reached their eyes. Robin turned off her recording after making sure to get video of the two them kissing and giggling with each other.

Shortly after Billy and Stella left, probably to avoid getting kicked out for public indecency.

“So what do you think, Robs?” Steve said with a grin, “You think we should come back here more often?”

“Hell, yeah!”

“What do you mean you’re not going to do anything about it?” Steve protested. “I have evidence right there!”

“Steve...” Eddie said softly. “I get it. I do. But I want to catch them in the act, too. And if they’re gone to ground, then we wait them out. It’s hard. I know. You want justice and I do too, for you. But we have to play this smart. I’ll make copies of the recording and keep it safe. But let’s focus on keeping the club open so everyone still has jobs, yeah?”

Steve deflated and sat down hard in the chair. He put his hands between his legs. “I know the club is more important but to have that just fall in me and Robin’s lap. It just seemed like a sign you know?”

Eddie got up and walked around his desk. He knelt in front Steve and took his hand. “It is. It is exactly what we needed. We know who it is now. We can monitor them closely. Catch them in the act. But we have to tread carefully. Especially with Jason Carver and Nancy Wheeler teaming up to shut us down.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath and nodded. Eddie gently raised his head head by putting his fingers under the and gently raised it.

“Well get them good,” he promised. “But first tell me everything about Nancy Wheeler. I take you two were partners?”

Steve scoffed. “I was the only danseur who would put up with her diva attitude.” He shrugged. “Mainly because I could out bitch her. She was a talented ballerina, completely wasted on Indiana, but she didn’t want to leave her younger siblings when things were getting rough between their parents. It was a whole fucking mess.”

“You said that an understudy performed a leap wrong and that you got hurt?” Eddie murmured, squeezing Steve’s hand. “That must have been heartbreaking.”

“She lurched to the side,” Steve said, “and I pulled a muscle. And frankly I wasn’t heartbroken, I was relieved. I didn’t have to live up to other people’s expectations anymore.” He shrugged. “Did a couple of odd jobs like the ice cream shop where I met Robin. I stripped for a couple of years and made a decent amount of money, but the boss was a sleaze and would pay you based how willing you were to sleep with him. And since he was straight, you can imagine how that went.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Oh, I know. Almost everyone of those people out there dancing for me have similar horror stories.”

“When we got the job at the rec center,” Steve continued, “we figured that it would be where we’d finally settle at. There were instructors there that had been there for ten years or more. We could finally make enough money for Robin to go to school and get her degree.”

“And then it fell apart.” Eddie was angry on their behalf. They shouldn’t have had the life they led. They were good people. “I’m really hoping that you and Robin will stay for as long as you need to.”

Steve smiled up at him. “For as long as these legs work, you’ve got me.” His breath caught when he realized how close they had gotten. Their breath mingled together. All he had to do was lean just a little more...

Then there was a sudden knock on the door. Eddie didn’t spring away, which Steve was grateful for, but he gave his hand a squeeze and stood up.

“Come in!” Eddie called, moving to lean against the desk as if he had been there the whole time.

Chrissy came in with a struggling Nancy Wheeler in tow. She pushed the journalist toward the second chair and closed the door tightly behind her. Chrissy sneered. “Look at who I found sniffing around the garbage bins.”

“Did you give her to Benny?” Eddie asked with a grin. “I’m mean if she’s dumpster diving for food, I’m sure we could persuade our cook to make up her something so she doesn’t starve.”

Nancy gave a disgruntled gasp at the very thought of her dumpster diving. “I beg your pardon!”

“Kinky,” Chrissy said wagging her eyebrows suggestively. “Who would have thought the princess was into BDSM?”

“I would never sink to the depths of depravity,” Nancy snapped, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “that you lot seem to sink to here.”

Steve shook his head. “I just don’t get it, Nance. You weren’t this militant about sex before. You weren’t a hippie by any means, but Jesus H. Christ, this is extreme.”

“If you would just walk away from this place,” she huffed, “maybe I wouldn’t have to push so hard. I’ve been hearing around that you’ve done pole dancing of some form since you left us, pretty much. You could have done anything with your craft but you chose to demean yourself by taking off your clothes for strangers!”

“Have you seen him strip?” Chrissy asked her honestly. “Because he’s good. I never got to see him do ballet, but he is sooo good at this.”

Nancy glared at her. “Of course I have,” she huffed. “Jason brought me here one night to show me what the depths this place sunk to. Everything was gaudy and over the top. Gold everywhere.”

Chrissy and Eddie shared a glance and then burst out laughing. Steve licked his lips as he tried to suppress a smile. He didn’t think he succeeded.

Nancy was looking at all of them in confusion. “What’s so funny?”

“You think Steve is a backup dancer?” Eddie asked wiping away a tear and holding his ribs with one hand. “Honey, he’s a headliner.”

Nancy glance back and forth between Steve and Eddie. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh Saturdays and Sundays,” Chrissy explained, “Steve is either part of the trio of co-headliners that include Eddie and me or his the main solo act. He’s Envy. And a damn fine one, too.”

“But why would you hire an outsider to fulfill a major spot like that?” Nancy huffed. “And why Steve? He was only the lead danseur because I insisted on it.”

“Fuck you too, Nance,” Steve spat. “I earned my place same as you. And if the director didn’t have a crush on you, you wouldn’t have been the lead in anything, your attitude notwithstanding.”

“Gross!” Nancy hissed, jumping to her feet. “You take that back! Murray Bauman did not have a crush on me. That’s disgusting.”

Steve rolled his eyes and crossed his legs. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

“If you’re out to get us closed down,” Eddie said, steering the conversation back around to the important part, his club, “you’ve got nothing. You’ve got worse than nothing. You’ve got hurt feelings and stubbornness that rivals God.”

“What about Steve falling off the stage?” she asked haughtily, looking down her nose at them. “It’s not safe, clearly!”

Steve snorted. “Like you actually care. Accidents happen.”

“Plus,” Chrissy said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “one accident in God knows how long. I don’t remember a dancer having one in all the years I’ve been here. There’s always going to be accidents with patrons or wait and cooking staff. That’s inevitable.”

“You’re forgetting when Amy broke her leg,” Eddie said seriously. “That was about three years ago, though.”

Nancy eyes lit up at the idea of a morsel she could sink her teeth into. “Oh, yeah? What happened to her?”

Eddie and Chrissy shared a glance.

“Right,” Chrissy said, pushing Nancy toward the door. “I think that’s about enough of you. If you aren’t out of the parking lot in five minutes I’m having Eddie call the cops and hand them the recording of you snooping through our trash which is private property. Shoo!”

Nancy saw herself out and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“Fuck.”

Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @sadisticaltarts @too-much-tma-stuff @dolphincliffs @chameleonhair

10- @themoonagainstmers @gloomysoup @novelnovella @micheledawn1975 @garden-of-gay

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #dance club au

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cameronspecial · 7 months ago

Text

A New Kind Of Normal (Part 7)

Pairing: Dad!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Sexual Content

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Rafe finally gets another chance and he is going to do everything to hold on to them.

Masterlist

His sobriety is still continuing strong near the end of June and he has been sending Y/N updates every week. She would respond to each update but would leave general questions about how she was doing unanswered. He loves that even with her anger towards him, she still takes the time out of her day to help support his relapse recovery. It shows him she was encouraging his recovery not only for Stella but for him. By some miracle, at the beginning of July, Rafe convinced Y/N to meet him without Stella. He knew he shouldn’t push it on that point. He offered to make her dinner at his house and it hurt him that she wanted to meet him at a coffee shop because it is a public place.

The watch on his wrist keeps getting readjusted from too tight to too loose as he waits for her to make her appearance at the cafe. He bought her a lemon buttercup and a lemonade refresher. His focus is on her food, so he doesn’t notice her sliding into the booth across from him. He looks up at her with the desire to fix everything between them. “Hi,” he breathes out, being welcomed by her vanilla perfume. She gives him a tight-lipped smile, “Hey. What did you want to talk about?” Her eyes find the stuff he bought for her and bring it towards her with a quiet thanks. He smiles when she takes a bite of it, not knowing exactly where to start, so he cuts to the chase. His hand searches for the small disc in his pocket and he brings it back out with something in it. He places it on the table, sliding it toward her. She picks it up and examines the engraved poker-like chip in her hand. Her face shows her confusion, “What is this?”

“It’s my one-month sobriety chip. Well, from before I relapsed.”

“Okay, and what am I doing with it?”

“I want you to keep it to prove how serious I am about getting sober again. I want to earn it back from you. When I’m one month sober from this day on, you can give it back to me.”

“Rafe, are you sure you want me to keep this? You may have relapsed, but you worked really hard for the chip. Plus, from what you’ve been telling me, you’ve already been sober for almost two weeks. That should count toward something.”

“I know I have been, but I think it will mean more to me if I count my month's sobriety from the moment you take the chip.”

She nods her head, piecing together what he means. “Okay, I’ll take it. But you can’t see Stella until you are two months sober, you can talk to her on the phone. And then you can’t be alone with her until you are six months sober,” she dictates. Her hand wraps around the chip and puts it in her pocket. She makes a mental note to put it in her special box on her bedside table. Gratefulness flashes on his face, “Thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to me that you are giving me another chance. You won’t regret it. Stella and yo- Stella is your daughter and she means everything to me.”

——

Every single day for two weeks Rafe has been calling Stella at six. It didn’t matter if he was in a meeting or eating dinner with his family, he called without a fail. Stella was more than happy every time they called. She would give him a detailed account of her day and then demand he do the same. It was so cute every time she would give him words of encouragement when he told her he had a hard day. However, with each call, she craves to see him in person and always begs for him to come over. He wants to say yes, but he knows what Y/N will say and he knows that he is still working toward gaining her trust.

“Daddy, I want to see you,” she begs, her voice verging a whine. Rafe’s heart wretches at her words, “I know, little witch. But Daddy is still a little sick. I don’t want to get you sick. How about you tell me about Sabrina? Are you still married?” The girl shakes her head, not understanding that her father can’t see her. Y/N whispers to her daughter she needs to say it out loud for Rafe to hear. “No, Sabrina and I got a divorce. I don’t want to be married anymore. It’s hard work, but everyone wants to be mine,” she informs her dad. He gives a little chuckle, “Being married is hard. And of course, everyone wants you, you are a Cameron. Everyone wants a piece of us.” “My last name isn’t Cameron?” she puzzles with a tilt of the head. “No, but you are my daughter and I am a Cameron. So you are one too,” he explains. She looks at he mother for confirmation, beaming at Y/N’s nod, “I’m a Cameron and a Y/L/N. That’s cool.”

Rafe notices the time and hates to have to end the call, but he has to head to his therapy appointment. “I’m sorry, Stella. Daddy has to go,” he apologizes, cringing at the tiny protest she lets out. “No, Daddy. You can’t. I didn’t tell you about my drawing and lunchtime yet. Why can’t you come to play with me?” she cries. It is obvious to her parents that the weeks away from her father are catching up on her. He shakes his head, “I know, little witch. I’m sorry. Forever and always?” “Forever and always, but don’t go Daddy,” she implores, gripping the phone like it’s her lifeline.

Hanging up on his daughter’s sadness is hard for Rafe, yet he needs to so he can get to his appointment on time. Even though she knows the call ended, Stella keeps holding it to her ear in hopes that her dad will come back. Her tears have not stopped. Y/N’s gut twists at her daughter’s despair and brings Stella into her lap. She pets the little girl’s muddy blonde hair, giving kisses to the temple as comfort. Y/N knows she said Rafe had to wait two months to see Stella in person, but she knows what she needs to do for their daughter.

——

He isn’t expecting the call from Y/N after his therapy. Normally, he is the one to call her when he needs her support. She never really calls him unless Stella asks, so he isn’t sure why she called. Worry runs through him as he thinks of everything that could be wrong with Stella. She has a terminal illness. She was kidnapped. Or worse of all, she died. The calm in Y/N’s voice as Rafe answers the phone calms his mind. “Hey, can we talk?” she asks, playing with the paper on her bed. Rafe hums, “Yeah, I have all the time in the world.”

“I’ve been thinking and I think you should come over for dinner tomorrow.”

“Are you sure? It hasn’t been two months yet. I haven’t gained your trust yet.”

“Have you been sober since you promised me you would be? Have you been going to all of your meetings and appointments?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Then I trust that you are doing everything in your power to get sober. Right now, Stella needs her Daddy. So come over tomorrow for dinner.”

His smile can rival the Jokers, “I’ll be there, but let me make dinner. I don’t want to put you on the spot with cooking. I know how much it stresses you out when it comes to figuring out what to eat for dinner.”

——

Y/N has kept Rafe’s visit for dinner from Stella and she can’t wait to see her little girl’s reaction. At the knock, Y/N suggests the child answer the door, which confuses Stella because Y/N hates it when she answers the door. Stella’s tiny body struggles to open the door, but eventually gets it. The gasps she lets out could break the sound barrier and she throws herself into her father’s arms. Rafe tips back a little bit, having a hard time adjusting his daughter in his arms and the bag of groceries in his hand. “You are no longer sick, Daddy?” she questions, taking his cheeks in her hands. His head moves up and down, “Daddy is still sick, little witch. But I’m not so sick that you will get hurt. I thought we could make cream of mushroom soup for dinner. Do you like that idea?” Stella cheers in excitement and takes her father to the kitchen.

Rafe orders Y/N to sit on the island stool and rest while he and Stella get dinner ready. “You are doing such a good job cutting the mushrooms,” Rafe presses, watching his daughter cut the mushrooms into uneven slices with a plastic knife. He is so patient and guiding when he cooks with Stella, it makes Y/N wonder what it would be like to have Rafe be there for Stella’s first. Would he be the type of dad to hold her by her arms to help her take her first steps or would he kneel opposite her, beckoning her to come closer? Would he spend every single second trying to get her to say Dada as her first word? She knows he would go all out with the first birthday. She would probably have to talk him down from trying to rent out Buckingham Palace for the party.

As they mix the soup on the stove, a little bit of the hot liquid splashes on Stella and she weeps at the contact. Rafe is quick to wrap around the girl, carrying her toward the sink to run room-temperature water on it. “It’s okay, little witch. Daddy is here. He will make it better. We are going to get some water to make it feel better than put a bandaid on it,” he enlightens to her, getting a bandaid out from the cabinet. He doesn’t bother to ask which bandaid Stella wants because he knows she will want the black cat one. He puts on the bandaid, giving it a kiss. Stella’s tears quieten, “Thank you, Daddy. Forever and always.” Excitement quickly replaces the hurt she was displaying, “Look, Daddy, look! I’m wearing the necklace you gave me.” She proudly holds out the diamond necklace so it catches the light. Rafe grins, taking the pendant in his hand. “I see. It still looks amazing on you. And what did you think about when you looked at it?” “I thought about how much you love me, which is this big,” she holds her hands wide apart. “And that when you look up at the stars, you think of me. Did you think about me, Daddy, when you saw the stars?” His lips touch the crown of her head, “Every night, little witch. Every night.”

Y/N couldn’t help but be entranced by the scene in front of her. He is so caring and attentive to the girl. He may not have been her father for very long, but he knows her like the back of his hand. Y/N’s mouth starts to feel a little parched; her lips slapping against each other. Rafe notices her thirst and he heads to the bag he brought to pull out the passion fruit Jarritos he bought for her. He uses the edge of the counter to pop the top off and it causes wetness to pool in between her thighs. He brings it over to her, letting her grab it from his hand. She is surprised he knows Jarritos is one of her favourite drinks. She must have mentioned it once when she was thinking over what drinks to stock at the diner while he was over. She thanks him with warm cheeks, hiding her eyes from him.

Over the weeks of listening to Rafe and Stella talk, Y/N couldn’t help but slowly fall for him. She didn’t miss the subtle ways he would ask about her to Stella. He would always find a way to involve Y/N in at least one question during each call. When he would call her for support, he would always apologize for interrupting whatever activity she normally had scheduled at the time and she was shocked he remembered her schedule.

Dinner is quickly finished and the table is set. The conversation flows smoothly. Y/N finds herself giggling at Rafe’s stupid dad jokes. She doesn’t know why; she doesn’t even think they are funny. She loves how he can see Stella’s enjoyment and keeps going with the jokes. For most dinners, Y/N’s focus is on whether Stella is eating or not; however, today, she finds her eyes glancing between Rafe and her bowl of soup. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Stella, who is absolutely in love with the view. She can see her mother slowly falling for her father and thinks about how she can get her plan back on track.

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @drewstarkeyswifehoe @kisstaya @magicalyoura @mp-littlebit @loverfu55ii @dark1paradise @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @alyisdead @emeloyy @js-a-writer @kisstaya @optimisticsandwichgladiator @justdamnpeachy

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shiro-s2e2-erukinzu · 3 months ago

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Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 104... You have been warned...! 👌

[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]

This chapter was SO MUCH FUN!! 😆 I really liked it...!! 😁👍

I had good time reading Mission 104, so let's talk about it, shall we? 😄

So, when I first opened the chapter and saw Damian...:

...I got really excited!! 😁 I was thinking that maybe Damian was gonna be thinking about the whole "Anya can read minds" thing, but then I quickly realized that we're probably not gonna get into any of that until the kids go back to Eden...! So instead, I started to wonder what kind of shenanigans Damian and his crew might get into, and after seeing that a student got a Stella for discovering some ancient pottery long ago in a book at the library, of course Damian, Ewen and Emile were gonna go for it!!! 😆

Also, Jeeves (who is still very handsome) and the butlers of Ewen and Emile tag along as well on this adventure to most definitely keep an eye on the boys and to make sure that they don't get hurt (like Jeeves hitting a snake with an acorn...!! 👌😎):

DAMN JEEVES, YOU GOT SKILLS!!! 😆

After that encounter with the snake, Damain says that because there are snakes and bugs everywhere in this place, that's why didn't want to go here in the first place...! So, Emile suggests that maybe they should just go home, but Damian refuses because...:

Oh Damian... 😓

After that, Jeeves decides that it's time to take a break to have some food, so him and the other butlers make a delicious meal for the boys before heading back out...!! 😋 Now that they've had some food, it's time resume the expedition, but none of the clues seem to be helping, so Damian tries put himself into the king of antiquity's shoes and...:

DAMIAN LOOKIN' LIKE HE JUST WENT SUPER SAIYAN...!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣

But, it didn't last for long because...:

Don't worry Damian, I would also freak out if a spider THAT SIZE landed on me too...!! 👌😌

And though Jeeves knocked the spider off of Damian, he continues to freak out until he falls over and sees THIS:

IT'S AN AWESOME LOOKING GIANT FLOWER...!! 🤩

But... It turns out that this giant flower has already been discovered, and Damian is unamused by this fact because he can't get a Stella for it, so Damian, Emile and Ewen call it a day a head home in their THREE FREAKING SEPARATE HELICOPTERS!!! 😵 (Look, I know these kids are from rich families, but I find it both hilarious and insane that they all didn't just take a single helicopter there...!! 🤣😵 Just sayin'...!! 😌)

While in the helicopter, Jeeves brings up to Damian that it seems that he always doesn't want to go home, and Damian freaks out about it and tells Jeeves that worries about the weirdest stuff...! 😌 Jeeves then offers to call Melinda to cook for Damian again like how she did in the flashback in Mission 76 (though she didn't eat with Damian, which still makes me both sad and mad...!! 😤) Then Jeeves brings up showing Demetrius the picture of the flower they saw today, and what Damian said got me...:

"When DON'T my brother's eyes look like they're bulging out of their sockets?" 😭 WHY WAS DEMETRIUS CURSED TO HAVE HIS FATHER'S EYES!? 😵 THAT POOR BOY...!!! 😩

In all seriousness, that line makes me even more extra worried about what exactly might be going with Demetrius, but besides that Damian warns Jeeves not to say anything weird to his mom, then Jeeves asks like what, and Damian says:

And then, the chapter ends!! 🤭

And that was Mission 104, a nice fun little chapter with Damian and his friends...!! 😆 Though I am a little worried about Jeeves telling Melinda about Damian's dance with Anya, I doubt Damian mentioned to Jeeves about the whole Anya can read minds part because probably still doesn't believe it as of right now...! Well, we'll just have to wait and see what happens when the kids to return Eden Academy...!! 👌😌

Anyway, I think that's pretty much all that I wanted to say on this chapter, so until the next Mission; take care, be safe out there and be kind to one another...!! 😁 (Also, I was trying to finish writing this review a lot sooner, but I was having a really bad headache this morning when I got up to read this week's chapter... 😩 It still hurts a little, but I powered through it...!! 👍) Anyway, LATERS!! 👋😊

#spy x family #sxf #spyxfamily #spy x family spoilers #sxf spoilers #spyxfamily spoilers #spy x family manga #sxf manga #spyxfamily manga #Mission 104 #damian desmond #ewen egeburg #emile elman #I'm glad we got another Damian and his friends adventure...!! 😄#It was so much fun to see what these boys get themselves into!! 😆#Also...#...Jeeves is EVEN MORE HANDSOME thanks to this chapter!! 💗😍💗#manga spoilers

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nogenderbee · 4 months ago

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♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕪 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕕𝕠𝕘𝕤 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @yulikesminori @toyaswif3y @miya-akane @hayillaaaaaaa @stellas-starry-stories13 @nenes-numberonefan @hakulivesformusic @wabatle @luhvashh

ᵀᴼᴰᴬʸ'ˢ ᴬᴿᵀ : Play with dogs - Akito Shinonome

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You have no idea how but few years ago... catboys and catgirls just began living among humans! Luckily for them, goverment decided they'll have the same rights as humans, despite their animalistic features.

Currently, you were walking to your favorite cafe~ Maybe food wasn't special there but the owner was! And you simply couldn't wait to visit him~

"Hey! How's my favorite boy doing~?"

After entering you immidietly announced your presents and walked towards ginger catboy, immidietly going to give him gentle scratch behind his ear. Akito being tsundere he is, immidietly backed away, acting like he was upset at you.

"I thought I told you not to do that!!"

"And I told you I'm still gonna do it!"

"You're as annoying as ever I see... at least I know you're nost sick... What do you want?"

"You should already know my usual, kitty~"

"Akito. Call me Akito for once."

"Maybe in few years~"

He just rolled his eyes and stood up to do your coffee personally. It was definitely quite a caring move for someone who just complained about you~ Not only that, he also makes a coffee for himself while he's at it!

"Someone's up for a chat I see~"

"You're annoying when you're teasing. But you actually can come up with some interesting stories if you try."

"Well I'll make sure to not disappoint you then!"

He peacfully did coffee for you two, his workers not getting in the way, usuals already used to the owner doing coffee for the special customers... so you didn't even get many glances or attention!

Finally, he invited you to a table next to window and places your favorite coffee in front of you and a latte in front of himself.

"So... what gossip you got this time?"

You chuckled already knowing what you want to tell him but... maybe not NOW~ He could wait just a little bit more, right?

"Well~ I think I'm a magnet for ginger cats! Because some have been really affectionate to me lately~"

"I-I'm not!! I simply am interested in town's gossips... nothing more..."

He looked away blushing, his ears fluttered as he did. Your smirk just had to widen when you got the precise reaction you wanted too!

"Who said I meant you? I meant a street cat that's been walking me home and snuggling to me lately~"

"It what...?"

You expected him to look flustered that he misunderstood... but suddenly he seemed more... pissed? But after a quick sip of his coffee he retreated his indifferent demeanor.

"Simple street cat won't protect you from some creep, y'know? They're too small..."

"But they're cute?"

"That's not making up."

He took another sip as you two sat in silence for a little while. It's not like you didn't had a topic... just simply decided to leave him in silence to make him talk a bit more~

"I can walk you back home today."

"Oh? Why so suddenly? You have your cafe to manage, you know that, right?"

"Of course! I don't have short-term memory!! Just... accept it or leave it."

"I think I'll leave it~"

He looked at you annoyed, you had to hold yourself back from laughing right here and now. But then he just sighed and leaned back.

"Fine, I'm not gonna then."

"No, no, no!! I was joking!!! Please do!"

"You're so unbelievably weird, you know that?"

"Said half cat."

"Those are simply genes!!"

You just laughed him off and sipped your coffee, enjoying the show~ But of course that wasn't your WHOLE conversation! As promised, you also told him every single gossip you heard recently!

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

#project sekai #colorful stage #x reader #project sekai x reader #colorful stage x reader #project sekai colorful stage #project sekai colorful stage x reader #akito shinonome #akito shinonome x reader #project sekai akito shinonome #project sekai akito x reader #fluff #platonic #project sekai fluff #project sekai platonic #project sekai au

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sukunasweetheart · 1 year ago

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I suddenly had the idea of college au where reader and sukuna both play this game and their first meeting was through that game. Sukuna is a massive troll so he annoys the reader in a lobby. They bicker during the whole game. Reader complains about it to her friend while heading to class and accidentally bumps into Sukuna. Not sure what happens next

Loosely based it off of My love story with Yamada-Kun L999

✦ stella .ᐟ

ohhh omg i havent seen that anime but this seems so good, im always a sucker for college AUs...

shit talking about him in the hallway with your friend first day back into college, only to bump into the man nose-first LMAO

"he was such a shithead! and mean for literally no reason, like he woke up with a stick up his ass in the morning. i can't deal with men like him-"

you stagger back from the impact, after bumping into a wall of muscle.

"...oh? it's the little doll-face who couldn't catch a single win against me back in the lobby."

your friend stifles a snort next to you.

"you-!"

"i didn't know i was occupying your mind so much, doll. why don't you say all that to my face next time, hm?" sukuna, standing with hands shoved deep in his pockets, smirks at you.

"shut up! don't you have class to get to?" you ask indignantly.

"you're not very smart. why else would i be here?" he cocks his head towards the entrance to the lecture room.

"don't tell me..." you gasp in horror.

"too bad for you huh. you'll be dealing with this shithead for the rest of the semester."

you glare up at him and he looks down at you with a smug look on his face.

"whatever. let's just get inside," you mutter, walking off first.

"getting shy now? alright. i'll talk to you after the lecture, dollface."

you hate how he gets your heart thumping, effortlessly.

sukuna sits with his own little group towards the front, and he can't help but notice the glances you're constantly giving to the back of his head. it's cute, how you're trying so hard to fight off your attraction to him. he can't wait to make you crumble in his hands.

#sorry if this was different from what u had in mind haha #idk i just thought of this on the spot #i love college AUs #sukuna x reader #poe answers

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zaceouiswriting · 3 months ago

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Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.30

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

It is my honor to reveal what I think Riven should look like. I hate him in the Netflix series because he looks sickly or as if he is a junkie. I would also like to say that I have no idea who this gentleman is or why his trainer slaps him around so brutally, but honestly, if I were Riven's teacher, I would do the same.

As the hour with Palladium ends, he asks me to stay behind. Several girls, clearly on Stella's side, smirked as they seemed sure I would be reprimanded for my outburst. Nevertheless, I stay behind and wait until everyone leaves. Only then do I rise from my throne, raise my hand, and clench it into a fist. Suddenly the throne disappears, as the stones were formed by pure magic instead of the environment. I've never been able to do this before, but since the other cores were taken out of me, I feel so much energy pulsing through me that I just had to try it.

“I see you are learning quickly,” Professor Palladium commented on my performance, smiling.

I'm already exhausted, even though it's still early in the day. Right now, all I can do is roll my eyes. "Please just tell me what you want to talk to me about. I'm not in the best mood, and honestly, there's nothing I want more than to sleep right now."

The older man nods understandingly. He walks around his desk and leans against it, barely sitting on it since he is relatively tall. "You can't blame them forever-"

"I can," I interrupt him. "There has not been a single apology, and as I have already promised, I will treat them the same way they treated me until I receive that apology."

The man sighs heavily and wipes his face. "I'm unsure if you understand the possible repercussions, but many of these fairies are princesses and future queens."

"With all due respect, Professor. I understand that fact. The problem, however, is that none of them seem to understand that I, too, will soon be ruling. I'm just waiting until my old grandfather finally dies, and then everyone will see what they did wrong."

“What does that mean?” he asks skeptically.

"For example, I want to see how Solaria harvests its food without tools or how Eraklyon makes weapons without its ore." I grin at the old man, who, like the others, doesn't seem to know where I'm the crown prince from.

I walk away, feeling like our conversation is already over, and walk past Palladium, who is visibly speechless. To my surprise, I see someone standing outside the classroom. She looks up at me with her green, gentle eyes and a cautious smile on her lips. But she seems surprised at me, smiling back.

We walk to our next class in silence. Either she feels guilty for what happened or she must have smelled that I wanted to go somewhere else because this whole class environment makes me sick. I'm just not used to sitting around for so long doing nothing but trying to remember shit; I'll probably never get used to it again.

Although I feel uncomfortable in the classroom, Professor Palladium's classes are quite interesting; brewing potions can always be useful, especially to make my home world fertile again someday.

As soon as we enter the next classroom, I turn around. If she hadn't caught me by the arm, I would have been out of there in a flash.

"Excuse me, sir. I've heard of you." A small woman with prematurely gray hair and a red hat interrupts my storming thoughts. "My name is Professor DuFour, and I teach etiquette, usually to princesses and other noble ladies, as well as all female fairies, as their work often has a diplomatic undertone."

I close my eyes for a second to gather all my willpower, turn around again, gently take the girl's arm from mine, and step forward, directly in front of the professor. "May I ask your rank, professor?"

She seems nervous but still tells me she is a countess. I nod absentmindedly as I look at her sympathetically and noticeably relax. Instead of stiffening when greeting someone superior, I simply extend my hand. Without hesitation, she lays her hand on mine. I gently stroke the soft back of her hand, lift it, and press a kiss to it without breaking eye contact. "It is a great pleasure to introduce myself to you, Countess DuFour; my name is (Y/N), Prince (Y/N), if you wish."

Her pink eyes sparkle at my introduction, and I even see her cheeks begin to glow a similar color. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out—clearly just a reaction. It's not the first time a woman has reacted to me like this. I've always been very popular with both genders.

As I slowly lower our hands and a moment later release hers, I look around. Every face I see is stunned. Maybe it's because I introduced myself impeccably like a true nobleman or because I mentioned my rank. Although I hope not many people heard it because that would only complicate matters.

The professor compliments me but tries desperately to downplay it with a noticeable cough. Although I'm not as smart as my younger brother Galan, I was still raised like a prince and was always better than everyone else at everything that didn't involve stupid books. Galan can't even talk to other people without stumbling over his words.

After a few minutes, she has collected herself again. "It's good that we have a handsome young man with impeccable manners. Please ladies introduce yourselves to him one by one, as if you met at a ball, just like we have been practicing for the last few weeks."

Her words don't immediately sink into my mind. But when it does, my head slightly snaps in the professor's direction. Although I smile widely, inwardly I'm burning with a fury I can't contain. Even though I promised to treat them like they treated me, it could affect my grade. So I take a deep breath and take a moment to collect my thoughts.

Once I've gathered my willpower, I let my smile fade slightly to make it seem more genuine. I straighten up, standing strong and proud. Extending my hand, some of the girls seem almost exuberant, while others are still wary of me.

A girl with dark blue hair steps forward first, bending down in front of me, feet crossed, body stretched straight forward, bowing to me, and lifting an imaginary dress with her hands. Her form is pretty good, I'd say. I hold my hand out to her, and she comes up from her bow. As I look into her eyes expectantly, she blushes slightly. "My name is Musa," she tells me breathlessly. "I am the future guardian fairy of the Kingdom of Melody."

She puts her hand in mine, and unlike with Countess DuFour, I lift her hand halfway up to me, and the rest of the way I bend down to kiss the back of her hand. My other hand is behind my back, my left hand slightly bent, the greatest bow I can make to a person of no rank. Yet, when we both look up, we end up pretty close.

"A girl with a beautiful voice like yours shouldn't be this nervous. Be more sleek." Her blush deepens, but as I look around cautiously, I know I have to hurry. "Please excuse me, Lady Musa, but unfortunately I still have to greet a few more ladies"- I discreetly make a hand half-moon movement only in her sight to emphasize my words- "but don't be discouraged; I will never forget our first eloquent meeting."

After giving her hand a light squeeze, I turn away from her and greet the next girl next to me.

Most of the other girls were not that remarkable, rather average or unwilling to greet me. All of them were around Stella, except Musa, who had already greeted me and the red-haired girl. But the moment the latter is about to come toward me, Stella pulls her back and quietly reprimands her.

Almost immediately after Stella finishes her tirade, the red-haired girl looks at me apologetically, which I wave off with a smile.

The professor wasn't happy about the incident; perhaps she had not been there when I arrived at Alfea. At least her friendly behavior suggested that. She apologizes for the girls' behavior toward me, but it's not her fault.

After leaving DuFour's class, the rest of the day is mostly a blur. However, I'm starting to feel like I overreacted earlier, but I'm not going to apologize for it because they're just presumptuous little girls.

When class is finally over, I stumble back to my room and fall onto the bed to take a quick nap. Until suddenly someone shakes me. Dazed, I turn around only to see Riven's stupid face way too close.

“Dude!” he shouts, almost deafening me. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” I ask sleepily, wiping my eyes.

For a moment, it's completely silent. Riven looks almost like he's desperately wanting to vanish into the ground. His behavior confuses me, so I punch him in the side, which seems to work because he shakes his head and carefully steps back. Quickly, his pale cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“What’s wrong?” I inquire further, still not fully awake.

Riven clears his throat and turns away. "Afternoon classes are over, and the teachers asked where you were because they wanted you to show off some of your fighting techniques and asked me to find you." He shifted nervously in place, which made me wonder what was wrong with him. "A red-haired chick told me she saw you strolling back to our room, and then I found you sleeping so peacefully I didn't want to wake you, but then some hair fell in your face and-„

"And you were my knight in shining armor who got the offending hair out of my face, right?" I ask him cheekily, interrupting him mercilessly even though I'm still half asleep. After a moment, I slowly sit up, grinning one-sidedly at him.

"I-I mean..." His violent stutter is followed by silence. His cheeks turn even redder. It suddenly hits me.

My one-sided grin turns into a full smirk. I move quickly, grabbing Riven's tight uniform and tugging on it. He stumbles, forcing me to fall back into my pillows as well, his arms on either side of my head, his breath mingling with mine.

"I knew it!" I whisper. Riven could only raise her eyebrows in confusion, or perhaps fear. "You think I'm hot," I state. "Are you a little into guys, Riven?" With my other hand, I trace his sharp jawline, which looks great with his long, diamond-shaped head and perfectly styled hair. If he wasn't such a psychopath, I would have pulled him even closer to me.

Riven, however, makes no attempt to escape me. His eyes dilate, and he sensually runs his tongue over his lips.

I feel my body getting warmer, my stomach tightening, and my hands starting to sweat. Before I know it, all I can think about are his lips. However, when I realize what situation I have created, I quickly push him away, sit up, and soon find myself standing next to him.

"Sorry," I murmur meekly. "I didn't mean to force you to admit something you're uncomfortable with."

Riven stares at me with an indescribable expression. I can clearly see the deep conflict within him, as his indigo eyes reflect the storm that seems to consume his mind. He shifts nervously as if he's trying to make a decision. Somehow I'm afraid of this because when a psychopath like him has to make a decision, nothing good can come of it.

I try to sneak away and quickly get to the door. Even as I reach for the doorknob, Riven is still staring at me, torn, but seemingly far away in his own little world.

As I open the door, it suddenly squeaks something that should never have happened since it is made of magic. The squeak wakes Riven from his lethargy. With a few quick movements I barely notice, he is at my side and pushes me against the door, slamming it back shut.

My breath catches in my throat. His proximity and the strong scent of lavender make me dizzy. Combined with his long, rough hands tracing my body and his muscular chest pressing me against the door, I feel my resolve slowly crumbling.

"Riven," I barely press out. But it seems enough, as his vision clears, if only a tiny bit. He shakes his head in confusion and then looks around. It takes him a moment, but soon he pushes himself away from me, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

A weak apology rolls past his lips as he quickly walks to his side of the room and exits through his door. Both his neck and ears were as flush as his cheeks. He leaves me pressed against my bedroom door, reeling from the aftereffects of his impulsive jabbing and unwelcome closeness. But was it really unwelcome? My heart hasn't beat this fast since him. That could be a good sign, or it spells total disaster. After all, I know better than anyone that I'll probably never get over him. We were meant to be together, but I ruined it. Although the memories don't hurt as much as they once did, I still feel the longing for him.

Why can’t things be easier?

I feel as if I'm slowly drowning in my long-suppressed grief. My knees are weakening. I am afraid of falling victim to the darkness in my heart again. I take a deep breath, gather my last strength, stand up, lean against the door, push away from it, raise my hands, and slap myself, not once or twice, but six times. I do it until I feel a burning sensation in both cheeks.

Maybe one day I can open my heart to someone new. Whether Riven can be that person is questionable, but he can at least help me heal my broken heart. Sky would normally be more my type since he is so much bigger; his docile, almost submissive behavior makes it difficult to see him as anything more than a loyal dog.

[Masterlist]

#x male reader #male reader #male reader imagine #winx club #winx saga #winx saga x male reader #winx saga imagine #winx club x male reader #winx club imagine #brandon imagine #brandon x male reader #brandon #sky x male reader #sky #sky imagine #riven x male reader #riven imagine #riven

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uluvjay · 2 years ago

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Illicit Affairs- J.Hughes

Authors note: Hi! Hope you enjoy this it’s the first thing I’ve written in a very very long time, I apologize for any errors❤️

Summery: Being friends with benefits with the nhls pretty boy isn’t always the best

Gif isn’t mine cred to owner!

—

Make sure nobody sees you leave Hood over your head, keep your eyes down

“You gotta go” he said as soon as you caught your breath standing up and picking your clothes off the floor. “Already? J we just finished.” , “Boys are coming over soon, you know I don’t want them knowing about whatever this is” he said walking into his en-suite. Your stomach twisted at his words and you felt your heart break a little, you didn’t know why it had been the same treatment for the past six months. You stood up getting dressed as you heard his shower turn on, “Make sure nobody sees you! And keep your head down”. You didn’t reply as you slipped out of his bedroom and grabbed your keys off his kitchen counter.

Everything started six months ago, you’ve been friends with Dawson since diapers and when you moved to Jersey for a job he was more then excited to introduce you to his friends. However you and a certain center got a lot more than friendly your second time going out to a bar with them. Since then you and the first overall pick had been in a friends with benefits relationship that absolutely nobody could no about, however what Jack didn’t about was the feelings you have for him. Despite how shitty he treats you, the way he stops whatever he’s doing if a family member calls, the way he raves about his siblings, the way he took care of your body when you were alone, and his helping nature drew you right back in every single time.

Leave the perfume on the shelf, That you picked out just for him

You sighed when you seen the text from Dawson pop up on your screen, the devils had a big win tonight and you knew he was inviting you out.

Hey! Big win tonight wanna come to Lenny’s with us?

I’m not sure, I don’t really feel like drinking tonight Daws

Aw come on for me plz? You don’t have to drink a lot and I’ll buy you nachos

It’ll only be me, Jack, Nico, and Nate tonight so we can go easy

You sighed even harder, you really didn’t wanna go out or be around Jack tonight know what it’ll more than likely lead to but you couldn’t say no to your best friend.

Okay fine

Yay your the best ever y/n! See you at 10

Looking at the time and seeing it was already 9:30 you went to get dressed and touch up your makeup from the day. You settled on a simple black body suit and jeans before going and picking your scent for the night, you’d typically go with the one Jack loved and you always wore for him but decided against it.

As you walked into Lenny’s you could already spot the group as they weren’t hard to miss. However you did seem the miss the girl that was sitting under jacks arm, you noticed her and immediately looked over at Jack who was already looking at you with a smirk. You didn’t get to dwell on the pain in your chest for long though as Nico pulled you into a tight hug. “Y/n! I’m so glad you could make it” he slurred slightly but you weren’t judging he had a big night himself with four points. “Me too, congrats on the four point night!” You tried to sound happy. He didn’t get to respond as as Dawson pulled you into his arms and gave you one of his signature hugs.

You noticed out to the corner of your eye the girl with Jack was pointing at you and talking in Jacks ear. “Y/n! Come meet my girlfriend Stella” Jack said causing you to stop breathing for a second. A girlfriend? Two days ago he was buried inside you and two days before that as well. But nonetheless you turned to the little table and introduced yourself, “Hi I’m Y/n” you said putting your hand out for her to shake, all she did was look at your hand with a dirty look and say “I’m Stella”.

You just simply nodded and announced you were going to get a drink from the bar. As you were waiting for your drink you felt a presence next to you and the smell of a very familiar cologne. ”You never gave me my hug” he said, “Jack you were sitting down, I wasn’t coming all the way around a table just to hug you” you replied slightly irritated. “Well I’m right here” he said with a grin on his face, you knew he wasn’t gonna stop so you gave him a weak Side hug, but as you went to pull away you heard him sniffing. “What the hell are you sniffing?”, “you, your not wearing my perfume” you weren’t sure what to say back, he noticed? You knew he liked it but you didn’t think he paid that much attention. “Didn’t want to” “yeah but you always wear it when you know you’re gonna be around me”, “I just didn’t want to tonight jack” you said grabbing your drink and walking back to the table.

Don’t call me baby, look at this godforsaken mess that you made me

Two weeks later you found yourself on Dawsons couch bawling your eyes out and telling him everything. How it started between you and Jack and how it had pretty much ended, thankfully he wasn’t mad that you and Jack had been sleeping together. But he was pissed about how Jack treated you and the fact Jack had been dating Stella for three months. After everything he let you go nap in his guest room but forgetting to tell you he and the boys had planned for them to come over and watch a football game, so when you woke up to a familiar hand stroking your cheek you were a little more than surprised.

“Baby?” Jack asked as he seen you waking up and registering what was happening. “Why were you crying? And why are you in here? Did something happen?” He started bombarding you with questions.

“Go away” you said in a weak voice, “what? No I’m trying to make sure your okay your face is covered in dry tears and your eyes a swollen baby” the sincerity in his voice made you want to cry even more.

“Don’t call me that Jack, I’m not your baby” , “Yes you are” he said with a slight laugh but you weren’t laughing. “I told Dawson” you blurted immediately seeing his face drop into a serious one.

“Huh? Told him what? About us? Why the fuck would you do that Y/n” he said getting a little mad now. “Because I’m done Jack, I can’t take it anymore I’m in love with you okay! And you treat me like shit. You’ve been fucking me for the past six months but you’ve had a girlfriend for the last thee”

He didn’t reply you could see him thinking and trying not to say something hateful. “I can’t help you fell In love with me” he said. “Me either but I did and I can’t take it back which is why I’m done, I don’t wanna be hurt anymore I want someone that truly loves me J” you said starting to cry a little. “Okay..I respect your decision” he said giving you a kiss on your head and leaving the room.

And that’s the thing about Illicit affairs And clandestine meetings and longing stares, it’s born from just one single glance, But it dies, and it dies, and it dies a million little times.

Part2

#jack hughes #nhl imagine #dawson mercer #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #angst #nico hischier #nj devils #new jersey devils

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deanstead · 2 years ago

Text

she's alright, i guess

Pairing: Stellaride x SeverideDaughter!Reader

Requested: yes, by anon

Summary: Y/N hasn’t been very welcoming towards having Stella in their lives, but when she’s faced with a situation, Stella proves to Y/N that she’s in her corner.

Word Count: 2.2K+

Tags/Warnings: Dad!Kelly, mentions of attempted assault, single parent, victim shaming

A/N: This is a different kind of request/fic from what I've written for OC so far but I was pretty intrigued by it so I decided to give it a go. Not opening requests for daughter fics at the moment still because I’m not sure how this turned out yet so let me know what you guys think!

STELLARIDE MASTERLIST

You looked up from where you’d been playing with the food on your plate, only to catch Stella smile at your father who was sitting next to you.

Resisting the urge to make a face, you turned to look at him. “Can I be excused?”

Kelly gave a small sigh and turned to look at you, looking like he wanted to say something and then deciding against it, merely nodding. “Yeah, go on.”

You gave his girlfriend a last withering look before you took your plate back into the kitchen.

Kelly suppressed an audible sigh before he looked back at Stella. “Sorry.”

Stella smiled and shook her head. “She just needs some time.”

You rolled your eyes and headed back to your room, plopping yourself down on your bed and staring up at your ceiling.

It wasn’t really that you didn’t like Stella. Hell, you’d been okay with her before you found out she was dating your father.

As far as daughters went, you were sure that you were at least three times more protective over your father than your classmates were about their own parents.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you only ever had Kelly growing up. You’d overheard countless discussions about people telling him that it was hard being a single parent especially with his job but whatever anyone said, and however Kelly had felt from the first time he’d found out he’d had a daughter and come to get you, Kelly had stuck it out with you.

Over the years, especially once you were older, you’d seen many girlfriends come and go - some didn’t want commitment, some ran the moment they found out about you, some just… didn’t make it. It didn’t matter that Kelly had seemed fine with everything. You were not, so all that had done was make you even more protective over him.

So when you’d found out about Stella, you’d felt your hackles raise.

Logically, you knew Stella had done nothing to deserve this but your 15 year old brain couldn’t seem to override the emotion with logic.

You lay there for a while more until there was a knock on your door and Kelly poked his head in.

“Hey kiddo. Can we talk?”

You sat up but didn’t give him an answer because you knew very well what he wanted to talk about and you weren’t sure you wanted to hear it.

Kelly came in anyway, pulling out the chair at your desk and sitting across from you.

“Will you give Stella a break?”

You looked up with a look of protest and Kelly held up a hand.

“I know.” Kelly said in a low voice, giving you a small smile to show you he wasn’t mad. “Just lighten up a little and give her a chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

You didn’t say anything but Kelly let out a chuckle as you pursed your lips. “Go easy.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before patting your hair affectionately and leaving the room.

You pulled your jacket tighter around you, glancing behind you.

You hadn’t meant to let it get so late but you’d gotten a little too immersed in your notes and lost track of time. Other than the wind blowing against your back and making you shiver, you hadn’t realized how quiet the road from your friend’s house was.

You kind of regretted not calling Kelly to come and get you, but you also didn’t relish the idea of waiting here so you’d forged on, telling yourself you’d walked this street thousands of times.

But now, you were pretty sure someone was following you, hearing the echoing footsteps behind you.

Damn it.

Your hands that were jammed into your pockets closed around your phone but you were also worried things would escalate so you picked up your pace instead.

You heard the footsteps behind you match the increase in your speed and just as you thought you should break into a run, you were yanked backwards and unable to maintain your balance, you tumbled onto the concrete pavement, feeling the concrete scrape against your skin.

Your head snapped upwards, feeling your heart fall straight into your gut when you looked back into the face of the man that now towered over you.

It was a stranger, not a face you remembered seeing, but his lips ticked upwards in a smile that flipped your stomach over and your gut feeling as well as every nerve in your body was screaming at you to get up and run.

Flight.

You scrambled to your feet, slowly moving backwards as he now stepped towards you. His movements had slowed, like a predator that had just cornered his prey.

He took another step towards you and with well chosen timing, you brought your knee up swiftly, just like how Kelly had taught you.

Winded, the man bent over but not before letting out a growl.

You didn’t stick around long enough to find out what he had to say, your legs already moving before your brain realized you were running.

The wind blowing against you was painful but you didn’t dare stop because you weren’t sure if he was on your heels.

You turned the corner, sparing a glance back and collided straight into someone.

“Sorry.” You panted, glancing up.

“Y/N?” Stella looked surprised to see you before her expression switched to one of concern. “What’s wrong?”

Stella glanced up at the empty street behind you and then looked back at you. “You okay?”

You really didn’t have the energy for anything else. You just really needed an adult. You glanced up at her without talking and Stella reached for your hand.

When you didn’t pull away, Stella squeezed. “Do you want me to take you home?”

You shook your head quickly. “No. Wait. I just… I don’t want Dad to see me like this.”

Stella studied you for just a second more before she nodded. “My apartment’s just around the corner. Why don’t you come and have something at my place and we can talk? If you want to.”

You hesitated for just a second but you were still kind of spooked so you nodded, letting her lead you back down from where she came from, not even realizing your hand was still in hers.

Stella wasn’t exaggerating when she said her apartment was around the corner.

Within five minutes, you were seated on Stella’s couch, a cup of hot tea in your hands while you found yourself telling her what happened.

It was weird - you’d expected Stella to maybe pat your shoulders a little to reassure you that things would be fine before trying to convince you to call Kelly so he could come and get you. She wouldn't be the first girlfriend to hand you back over to your father as soon as she could.

But the emotions on Stella’s face as you told her were new to you - looks of concern, before outrage and then… if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was upset.

You fell quiet after a while and Stella scooted a little closer to you.

“Alright, Y/N, listen.” Stella said and you looked up at her. “We have to report this.”

You looked back down again, your index fingers twirling together even though you were still holding the mug.

“I’ll come with you.” Stella paused. “If you’ll let me.”

You looked up again and nodded quietly. "You… You’d do that?”

You registered a look of surprise on Stella’s face before she next spoke. “Of course, Y/N.”

“Can we not call my dad yet?”

There was a small silence and you held back a sigh. You knew what would happen if your father found out about this. Other than the fact that you hated making him worry and that you knew things might get blown up out of proportion with practically everyone getting involved, it was kind of awkward talking to him about some stuff.

Stella glanced at you. “How about we take things one step at a time?”

You bit your lip and Stella nodded encouragingly at you. “Let’s go to the district and then when you’re ready, we can call Kelly alright?”

You nodded quietly, taking another sip of tea before Stella smiled. “Ready?”

You got up and Stella grabbed an extra coat off her coat hanger, draping it around your shoulders.

Stella had been told to wait outside while you gave your statement to the uniformed police officer sitting across from you but you were regretting this with each question the officer asked you.

“What were you doing out so late?”

“Is this what you normally wear to school?

You were done with the insinuations in his voice and tone. You were 15, not an idiot. You knew exactly where this was going and you’d been around your father’s friends long enough to pick some stuff up.

You stood all of a sudden, the nails digging into your palms in an effort not to let the angry tears out. “I’m not answering any more questions.”

“What do you…”

You didn’t let him finish his sentence, opening the door and stalking out.

As promised, Stella was right outside, glancing up as you walked out, reading the expression on your face instantly.

“You okay?”

You pulled Stella’s jacket tighter around yourself. “I just want to go home.”

Stella frowned, glancing up at the officer that was now outside the room as well. “You still have to answer a few questions. You can’t just…”

You didn’t move and Stella looked back down at you. “Y/N?”

“He hasn’t asked me a single question about what happened.” You said in a low voice, focusing only on Stella now. “No questions about how the man looked, what street this took place on, how he sounded.”

Stella frowned. Those were enough for her to put together a few pieces of the puzzle.

“Those are necessary questions. We need to know if…”

“Kidd. Y/N.”

You glanced up at a familiar face and Stella patted your back. “Told you I got you.” She whispered in a low voice so only you could hear.

Stella nodded with a smile at Hailey.

Telling the officer she’d take over, Hailey led you back into the room and smiled encouragingly at you.

“Stella called me. Will you tell me what happened?”

It was easier than you’d expected to talk to Hailey but even as you told her what happen, you found yourself internally steeling yourself for a lecture of some sort and you suddenly just really wished Kelly was here.

But Hailey offered no lecture or talking-to. Instead, she treated you like an adult, taking down the information you offered, her questions only revolving around important information she obviously needed, before she closed the book.

“Thank you, Y/N. Here.” Hailey handed you a small bottle and a small device. “Pepper spray and a small panic button.”

You looked up a little surprised and Hailey smiled. “If nothing, maybe it’ll help you feel safer.”

You nodded, keeping the things she handed you and Hailey came around and squeezed your shoulder before taking you out of the room again where Stella was waiting.

“Dad must be worried, I…”

Stella shook her head with a smile. “I told him you’re with me so he wouldn’t. I can call him if you’re ready.”

You felt involuntary tears well up in your eyes before you nodded. "Can you? I... I think I really need him."

Kelly was here in record time, running up the steps of the district as if he’d been waiting nearby in the first place but you didn’t care. The rush of relief and safety when you saw him made you wonder why you hadn’t gone to him immediately anyway.

“Y/N!”

You didn’t say anything, merely shooting off your seat to dive into your father’s arms like you were a child once again.

“You okay? Let me see.” Kelly pulled away just a little to look at you but other than remnants of the startled look in your eyes and new tears ready to spill over, you weren’t really hurt.

Kelly gently pulled you back into his arms and exhaled. “Thank god.”

He was never one for long verbal communications of how much he loved you but you didn’t really need him to tell you. This was even more apparent now as you were huddled in your father’s arms in the middle of a police district.

“You must be starving.” Kelly said after a while, looking down at you to wipe a stray tear off your face. “Why don’t we go get something to eat, hmm?”

You gave a small crooked smile and Kelly looked up, meeting Stella’s eyes.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” Kelly said with a small apologetic smile at Stella. “Thank you.”

Stella nodded, but you interrupted them. “You’re not coming to eat with us?”

Kelly raised his eyebrows.

“Thought I’d give you two some private time.” Stella said, although she seemed to be weighing the look in your eyes now.

You shrugged. “You can come eat with us, too.”

Kelly glanced between his girlfriend and daughter. “Did something happen?”

You shrugged, lowering your voice. “She’s alright I guess.”

Kelly chuckled, swinging an arm around your shoulders as he led you out of the district. Stella fell into step on your other side and you smiled up at her. “Thank you.” You whispered, fully aware your father could hear you.

Stella smiled. “Thank you, too.”

Kelly just smiled at both his girls as the three of you walked down the empty streets. Together.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

If you want to support me, buy me a coffee!

#resa.fics #resanoona request #stellaride #stella kidd #kelly severide #severide!daughter #kelly severide x severide!daughter #stella kidd x severide!daughter #kelly severide x reader #stella kidd x reader #severide!daughter imagine #severide!daughter fanfic #severide!daughter one shot #stellaride imagine #stellaride one shot #stellaride fanfic #kelly severide x stella kidd #stella kidd x kelly severide #chicago fire

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