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odileeclipse · 11 days ago

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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 8

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When you awoke, it was to the golden warmth of morning light spilling through your curtains, the usual grogginess absent for once. You stretched, feeling well-rested in a way you hadn’t in days. The fog that had been clouding your thoughts was gone, replaced with clarity and a renewed sense of energy. You sat up, running a hand through your hair and blinking as you took in your surroundings. Everything felt a little more vibrant the soft rustling of leaves outside your window, the distant hum of students already starting their day, the way the sunlight danced along your desk. For once, you didn’t feel the weight of exhaustion dragging you down. It was strange, in a way, how much a single day of rest could do for you. You climbed out of bed, moving with a lightness that had been missing lately. A proper breakfast actually sounded good today, and you had time before your first class. Maybe you’d stop by the dining hall on your way. Maybe you’d even get a little studying done before the day officially began.

The dining hall was quiet in the early morning, a peaceful contrast to its usual midday clamor. You had arrived early, the warmth of rest still lingering in your bones, and for once, there was no rush. No frantic last-minute studying, no half-hearted attempts to cram bites of food between reviewing notes just you, the scent of fresh-baked bread in the air, and a plate of your favorite honey-drizzled waffles in front of you. The golden syrup pooled at the edges of the fluffy waffles, glistening under the morning light. You took your first bite, savoring the delicate balance of crisp and soft, honey melting into the dough. It was perfect comforting, sweet, and exactly what you needed to start the day right. For a while, you ate in quiet contentment, watching the way the morning sun filtered through the tall dining hall windows, casting golden patches on the long wooden tables. Students trickled in slowly, some still rubbing the sleep from their eyes, others already deep in conversation about the day's lessons.

Not long after, the seat across from you scraped against the floor. "You're up early." You looked up to see Earl Grey Cookie setting down his tray, his usual composed expression tinged with the slightest hint of grogginess. His tea steamed beside him as he settled in, adjusting his glasses. "I almost didn't recognize you without the usual tired look in your eyes," he mused. You rolled your eyes but smiled nonetheless. "I actually got a full night's sleep. Shocking, I know." He hummed approvingly, taking a sip of his tea. "It's about time." Moments later, another tray clattered onto the table, and Chai Latte Cookie all but collapsed into the seat beside you with an exaggerated sigh. "Ugh, why is morning so early?" she groaned, pushing her hair out of her face before glancing at your plate. "Oh! You got waffles! Should’ve known you’d treat yourself after finally resting for once." You smirked slightly, taking another bite. "Not my fault I woke up feeling great." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie arrived next, looking only half awake as he sat down with a heavy sigh, his coffee the only thing keeping him upright. "What’s all this about feeling great? Who feels great? Couldn’t be me."

"You'd feel better if you actually went to bed at a reasonable hour," Earl Grey Cookie remarked. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie gave him a deadpan stare. "I’d rather suffer." Chai Latte Cookie giggled, then nudged you playfully. "But seriously, you seem refreshed. You’re not usually this… functional in the morning." You rolled your eyes. "I just needed a break, that’s all." "Glad to see it worked," Earl Grey Cookie noted, stirring his tea. "You seem… more present today." You blinked, considering his words. He wasn’t wrong. There was no haze of exhaustion dulling your thoughts, no frantic feeling of needing to catch up before the day even started. Just good food, good company, and a morning that, didn’t feel like a battle to get through. You leaned back slightly, idly twirling your fork between your fingers as your friends continued eating. The peaceful morning had given you a rare moment of clarity, and now that your brain wasn’t buried under layers of exhaustion, you figured it was time to get back on track. “So,” you began, glancing between them, “what happened in Professor Almond Custard’s lecture yesterday?” Earl Grey Cookie set down his tea with a small clink. “Ah, right. You weren’t there.” He adjusted his glasses. “It was a fairly dense lecture. He went over advanced transmutation principles and how the properties of different magical catalysts can alter reactions. He also introduced a new equation for measuring residual magic in alchemical compounds.” You exhaled sharply. “Sounds like I missed a lot.” Chai Latte Cookie nodded dramatically. “Oh, absolutely. It was so much information. He even gave us a pop quiz at the end.” You nearly choked on your waffle. “What?!” “Relax, relax,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered, sipping his coffee. “It wasn’t graded. More like… a ‘let’s see how much you already know’ kind of thing.” “Yeah, but it was brutal,” Chai Latte Cookie added with a groan. “There were questions about magical chain reactions, the different classifications of catalysts… I swear I guessed half of them.”

Earl Grey Cookie gave her a pointed look. “Then perhaps you should study more.” Chai Latte Cookie stuck her tongue out at him before turning back to you. “Professor Almond Custard also said we’re doing an experiment next class based on the lecture. Something about testing reaction stability with different catalysts.” That caught your attention. “So… if I don’t catch up, I’m going to be completely lost?” “Pretty much,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie confirmed. “But hey, nothing new for you, right?” He smirked playfully, but you only sighed in response. Earl Grey Cookie, ever the reasonable one, tapped his fingers against the table thoughtfully. “If you’d like, I can lend you my notes. I wrote down everything in detail, including the formulas.” You shot him a grateful look. “That would help a lot, actually. Thanks.” He nodded, already reaching into his bag. “I assumed you’d need them, so I brought an extra copy.” You took the notes, flipping through the pages briefly. As expected, they were meticulously written, every detail accounted for. You exhaled, feeling slightly less panicked. At least now you had something to work with.

Chai Latte Cookie rested her chin in her palm, watching you with a sly grin. “You know, if someone hadn’t been feeling under the weather yesterday, they probably would’ve had a certain very wise scholar to help them catch up.” You groaned. “Not this again.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled, while Earl Grey Cookie simply shook his head. Still, even as you brushed off the teasing, your thoughts drifted just for a moment to the study session you had missed, to the way you had felt in those quiet moments of understanding, and to the presence of the one who had guided you through it. You shook the thought away and returned to your waffles, pushing forward. You had notes to read, and an experiment to prepare for.

You let out a small sigh, pushing a piece of your waffle around your plate with your fork. "I did go to tutoring yesterday," you admitted, watching the syrup slowly pool around the edge. "But it didn’t really go as planned." Chai Latte Cookie, mid-bite, perked up. “Oh?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie glanced at you over the rim of his teacup. “What do you mean?” You exhaled slowly, trying to put your thoughts into words. “Well… we did go over some material, just not all of it. I was still really out of it from yesterday, and it was hard to focus. I tried, but my brain just kept jumbling everything together, and eventually…” You hesitated for a beat. “Eventually, he noticed and suggested we stop early.” Earl Grey Cookie nodded slightly, setting down his own cup. “That was probably for the best.” “Yeah, I mean, no point in pushing yourself when you’re barely retaining anything,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie added. Chai Latte Cookie tapped her spoon against the edge of her plate thoughtfully. “Did he seem… I don’t know, disappointed?” You shook your head, fidgeting with the sleeve of your uniform. “No, not at all. If anything, he was really understanding about it. Just said we’d continue tomorrow meaning today and left it at that.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed, propping her chin up with one hand. “That’s nice of him. Makes sense, though. I doubt the Sage of Truth expects anyone to be at their best all the time.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Yeah, and besides he’s ridiculously patient, isn’t he? It’s not like he’d throw a fit just because you had an off day.” You gave a small, tired chuckle. “I guess... It just feels weird. Like, I know he didn’t say I wasted his time, but I can’t help but feel like I did.” Earl Grey Cookie shook his head. “I doubt he saw it that way. If anything, he probably just saw it as another part of the learning process.”

“Exactly,” Chai Latte Cookie agreed, nudging your arm lightly. “Besides, it’s not like you completely wasted the session. You did go over some material.” You nodded slowly. “Yeah, just not as much as I wanted to.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie gave a lazy shrug. “You’ll make up for it today, then.” “That’s the plan,” you muttered, spearing another piece of waffle with your fork. Chai Latte Cookie shot you a sly look. “And this time, you won’t be too tired to enjoy spending time with your very renowned tutor, right?” You groaned, shoving the piece of waffle into your mouth just to avoid answering. As you finished recounting the events of yesterday, your friends sat in varying degrees of interest and amusement. Chai Latte Cookie stirred the last bit of her drink absentmindedly, while Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked knowingly. Earl Grey Cookie, as always, remained composed, though you could tell he was listening closely. “So,” Chai Latte Cookie began, tapping her spoon against the rim of her cup, “let me get this straight you had a study session with the Sage of Truth, spent half of it zoning out, got gently called out on it, somehow ended up leading him to your favorite spot, and then proceeded to talk about naps?” You sighed, sinking into your seat. “Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.” “I think it sounds kind of nice,” Earl Grey Cookie mused, adjusting his glasses. “Studying can only be productive if you’re in the right headspace for it.” “Right?” you said, gesturing vaguely in his direction. “I mean, we did go over material, just… not all of it.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Sounds to me like you got away with taking an extended break.” You huffed. “It wasn’t a break it was part of the study session! We still talked about academic stuff! He told me about some alchemical theory he was reviewing recently.” “And then you called his hat goofy,” Chai Latte Cookie deadpanned. You winced. “Okay… yeah, that might’ve happened.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low whistle. “Wow. Bold move.” “I wasn’t trying to insult him! It just… slipped out.” You groaned, covering your face. “He didn’t seem offended, though. Just… amused.” Chai Latte Cookie grinned. “Oh, he was definitely amused. Honestly, I can’t believe you actually asked him to take it off.” “I was curious!” You threw your hands up. “Besides, what if it really is cursed?” “You’re lucky he puts up with you,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie said, shaking his head. “Not many people get to just casually question the Sage of Truth and live to tell the tale.”

You rolled your eyes. “He wants people to question things that’s kind of his whole thing.” “Maybe,” Chai Latte Cookie mused, “but you’re different.” You frowned. “What do you mean?” She gave you a knowing look. “Come on, you really think he’d let just anyone drag him away from his books for an entire afternoon to talk about naps and gardens?” You opened your mouth to argue but found yourself hesitating. Now that she mentioned it… it was kind of odd, wasn’t it? You had half-expected him to leave the moment it became clear you weren’t in the right mindset for studying. But instead, he had humored your distractions, let you guide him to your favorite place, and even indulged in a conversation that had nothing to do with your studies. You glanced down at your hands, absentmindedly picking at the corner of your napkin. “I… don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe he just felt bad for me or something.” Earl Grey Cookie raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe he enjoys your company.”

Your stomach flipped at the suggestion, but you quickly dismissed it. No, that couldn’t be it. He was just patient too patient. That’s all it was. Right? You shook your head, forcing a chuckle. “That’s a stretch. He probably just saw it as part of his whole ‘guiding others to the truth’ thing.” Chai Latte Cookie smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. “So… when’s the next session?” “Today afternoon,” you mumbled. Chai Latte Cookie’s grin widened. “Oho? Looking forward to it?” You shot her a glare, but the heat creeping up your face betrayed you. “It’s just studying.” “Mm-hmm.” She leaned back, a teasing glint in her eyes. “If you say so.”

After finishing the last bite of your honey-drizzled waffles, you leaned back slightly, waiting for the others to catch up. The dining hall was still buzzing with the morning rush, scholars drifting in and out, some hastily finishing their meals while others lingered in quiet conversation. Across from you, Chai Latte Cookie was still nursing her drink, stirring it absentmindedly as she blinked the last traces of sleep from her eyes. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, always the diligent one, had his nose buried in his notes, only occasionally glancing up to take another bite of his meal. Meanwhile, Earl Grey Cookie had already finished eating and was now resting his chin on his hand, watching the rest of you with mild impatience. "You guys almost done?" you asked, tapping your fingers lightly against the table. Chai Latte Cookie let out a long sigh, finally setting her drink down. "Mmm, almost," she muttered. "You could’ve woken up earlier," Earl Grey Cookie pointed out, arching a brow. Chai Latte Cookie shot him a lazy glare before taking another sip. "And you could’ve let me sleep in. But here we are." You chuckled at their usual banter before glancing at Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie. "What about you? Ready to go?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie hummed in acknowledgment, flipping his notebook shut with a quiet thud. "Yeah, let’s get moving before we end up running late." With that, the four of you gathered your things and left the dining hall, stepping into the crisp morning air. The path to Professor Almond Custard Cookie’s lecture hall wound through the academy’s sprawling courtyards, the early sunlight filtering through the tall, arched walkways.

You took a deep breath, feeling far better than you had yesterday. After a full night’s rest and a morning free of stress, your mind felt clearer hopefully clear enough to make it through today’s lesson without too much trouble. As the four of you walked, you mulled over what you wanted to ask. You had missed the previous lecture, and you weren’t about to walk into class completely lost. After all, if there was anything you had learned from your time at the Academy, it was that knowledge always moved forward, with or without you.

You sat in Professor Almond Custard Cookie’s lecture hall, pen poised over your notebook as you tried to keep up with the lesson. Today’s topic was… well, you weren’t entirely sure anymore. It had started off making sense something about layered spell matrices and their applications in structured enchantments but somewhere between the professor’s explanations and the rapid notes scrawled across the enchanted chalkboard, you had lost the thread of understanding. Still, you did your best. You copied down notes diligently, even when you weren’t entirely sure what they meant, hoping that seeing them later would make things click. Occasionally, you glanced at your friends Earl Grey Cookie, as usual, looked completely at ease, nodding thoughtfully as he followed along. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie had that familiar focused expression, pen moving smoothly across the page. Even Chai Latte Cookie, who was not a morning person by any means, was keeping up better than you were.

You furrowed your brows, determined not to fall behind. The concepts weren’t impossible you understood parts of what the professor was saying but the connections between them felt just out of reach, like trying to grasp at wisps of fog. Every now and then, you found yourself hesitating mid-sentence, unsure whether what you were writing was correct or if you were just blindly copying words without truly processing them. Professor Almond Custard Cookie continued explaining, his tone patient yet brisk as he gestured toward the arcane diagram projected in the air beside him. “Now, when structuring a layered spell matrix, one must be mindful of interference patterns between magical currents. If improperly aligned, the entire construct becomes unstable, leading to ” A sudden flourish of his pointer wand sent the diagram shifting, its neat structure unraveling into chaotic, sparking lines. “ this,” he finished, before swiftly correcting it with another flick. The lines snapped back into place, glowing softly in harmony once more.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Okay… that made sense, kind of? You wrote down a quick summary in your notes, doing your best to capture the key ideas. It wasn’t too terrible you sort of understood but there was definitely a nagging feeling that you were missing something important. Determined not to let yourself fall behind, you kept your focus locked on the lecture, even as your mind worked overtime trying to piece things together. Maybe, if you went over everything later, it would start to make more sense. Just when you thought you might be getting a handle on today’s lesson, another student raised their hand, drawing Professor Almond Custard Cookie’s attention. “Professor, wouldn’t it be possible to stabilize an unstable spell matrix by introducing a secondary anchor rather than adjusting the magical currents directly?” The question itself wasn’t unreasonable, but it was just tangential enough to send the professor into a different line of thought. He adjusted his glasses, humming thoughtfully.

“Well, that would depend on the nature of the instability,” he mused, turning back to the floating diagram. With a flick of his wand, he altered the structure slightly, creating a glowing secondary node within the spell matrix. “If we consider an anchor point as an additional stabilizing factor rather than an interference correction, then we could ” And just like that, the entire lecture took a detour. The original discussion about layered spell matrices was abandoned in favor of an increasingly complicated breakdown of alternate stabilization methods, complete with additional diagrams and theoretical applications. At first, you tried to follow along, hoping it might still relate to what you were supposed to be learning today, but before long, you found yourself completely lost Your notes slowed. You glanced at your friends, noting the shift in their expressions Earl Grey Cookie was still following along, though even he looked slightly skeptical. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie had stopped writing entirely, and Chai Latte Cookie was giving you a look that clearly said What is happening right now? You sighed internally. It wasn’t that the discussion was useless, but it was rapidly straying too far from what you actually needed to understand. Professor Almond Custard Cookie, as brilliant as he was, sometimes got caught up in interesting tangents when prompted, and unfortunately, today was one of those days. A few more students seemed eager to engage in this new discussion, asking follow-up questions that only pulled him further away from the original lecture plan. The enchanted chalkboard, once a neatly organized display of spell matrix structures, was now covered in sprawling theoretical notes and additional equations. You tapped your pen against your notebook, feeling an odd mix of relief and frustration. On the one hand, this temporary derailment meant there was less time for new material that might confuse you further. On the other hand, the topic you actually needed to understand was now being left in the dust.

With a quiet sigh, you made a note in the margins of your page Look up layered spell matrices later didn’t finish in class.

You had a feeling you’d be needing some serious review after this. The moment Professor Almond Custard Cookie finally dismissed the class midway through yet another tangent you wasted no time in gathering your things and slipping out the door.

You weren’t the only one. Several other students moved just as quickly, some looking dazed, others muttering under their breath about how they’d need to sort through their notes again to figure out what actually mattered for the next exam. As soon as you stepped into the hallway, you let out a quiet sigh, running a hand down your face. Your brain felt overstuffed not necessarily from the difficulty of the material, but from the sheer amount of extra information thrown in. Chai Latte Cookie caught up with you first, shaking her head dramatically. “I swear, that was the most off-track lecture I’ve ever sat through. Did we even finish the main lesson?” “I don’t think so,” you admitted, adjusting your bag. “It just kept spiraling.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low chuckle as he joined the two of you. “You should’ve seen the look on your face when he started going on about magical resonance frequencies.” You groaned. “Don’t remind me. I was actually keeping up before that.” “Could’ve fooled me,” he teased. “You had that ‘I understand maybe half of this’ look.” You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. Earl Grey Cookie approached a moment later, his own notes tucked neatly under one arm. “At the very least, the discussion was interesting,” he said, ever the composed one of the group. “Even if it wasn’t particularly relevant to what we were supposed to be covering.” Chai Latte Cookie huffed. “Yeah, but some of us would’ve liked to actually learn what was on the syllabus instead of hearing him chase theoretical rabbit holes for half an hour.” You couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “I’m gonna have to go over everything later just to piece together what was actually important.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “What, gonna run off to office hours again?” You shot him a look. “Very funny.” It wasn’t like you wanted to go to office hours all the time but sometimes, it was the only way to get real clarification. Though, after today’s mess of a lecture, you weren’t sure if even Professor Almond Custard Cookie would remember what the original lesson was supposed to be.

With little time to dwell on the confusion from the last lecture, you and your friends made your way to the next class Professor Star Anise Cookie’s lecture on Astral Mechanics and Celestial Conduits. Unlike the somewhat chaotic nature of Professor Almond Custard Cookie’s teaching, Professor Star Anise Cookie was known for his structured lessons and meticulous explanations. He had a way of making even the most abstract cosmic theories feel tangible at least, most of the time. As you entered the lecture hall, you took your usual seat, adjusting your notes and preparing yourself to actually learn something coherent this time. Professor Star Anise Cookie stood at the front, adjusting his spectacles as he tapped his staff against the floor. The room dimmed slightly, and a soft, ethereal glow spread across the domed ceiling, forming a vast, shifting constellation map. “Welcome back, scholars,” he greeted, his voice smooth yet firm. “Today, we shall continue our study of celestial ley lines and their influence on arcane energy flow.” You straightened in your seat, already feeling a sense of relief. Finally, a class that would stay on track. At least… you hoped so.

Professor Star Anise Cookie raised a hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the constellation map above shifted, golden lines threading between stars like an intricate web. "Ley lines, as we discussed last time, act as conduits of arcane energy, flowing between celestial bodies. Their alignment can enhance or disrupt spells, particularly those of high complexity." He gestured to the glowing web above. "Observe how the energy flows between these points. Each juncture represents a major celestial anchor. If a spell is cast near one of these, the influx of arcane energy can cause an exponential increase in power unless, of course, the caster fails to account for the ley line’s natural resonance." You scribbled down notes as quickly as you could, but the diagrams he wove into the air with magic were intricate, shifting too fast for you to fully grasp. You tried to follow his explanations, but the sheer complexity of the topic made your head spin. "Now," he continued, tapping the air where a bright star pulsed, "what happens when a spell is cast directly against the current of a ley line?" The room fell silent for a moment before someone near the front hesitantly raised their hand. "It… it resists the magic?"

Professor Star Anise Cookie nodded approvingly. "Precisely. Attempting to force a spell against the natural flow results in diminished potency at best and complete disruption at worst. This is why understanding celestial ley lines is crucial for advanced spellwork especially in rituals that require precise alignment with cosmic movements." He paced slowly along the front of the room, the twinkling stars above shifting again. "Consider the Lunar Convergence of the Sixth Era a historical example of ley line manipulation gone awry. The scholars of that time sought to tap into a ley line’s power during an eclipse, yet they failed to account for the way the moon’s alignment altered the energy flow. The result? A massive arcane backlash that disrupted magical equilibrium for an entire decade."

A murmur spread through the class at the thought of such a catastrophic failure. You tapped your pen against your notebook, trying to process the implications. For the rest of the lecture, Professor Star Anise Cookie guided the class through various historical case studies and theoretical applications of ley line attunement. Though the subject was fascinating, some of the equations and energy flow diagrams started blurring together in your mind. Still, compared to the confusion of the previous class, at least this one felt structured. As the lesson drew to a close, he flicked his staff once more, and the glowing celestial display above slowly faded. "That will be all for today," he announced, lowering his hands. "I expect you all to review today’s material carefully. We will continue with practical applications in our next session." Just as students began gathering their belongings, he added, "Ah, and before you go your graded projects from last lab have been evaluated. You may retrieve them from the archive room before your next session. Take note of the feedback provided it will be crucial for our upcoming practical exercises." You exchanged glances with your friends. Graded projects? Oh, right the ones from the lab when outside scholars came in to observe. You exhaled. That was something you’d have to deal with soon. For now, at least, you could take a breath before the next challenge of the day.

As you gathered your things, you glanced at your friends. "I'm gonna go collect my grade. If you all are free, you should come with." Chai Latte Cookie perked up. "Oh, right! We still have to pick those up, huh?" "Yeah," you said, adjusting your bag strap. "Even though we're in different lab sections, we all have to collect our grades from the same place." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie gave a small nod. "Right. My lab meets on a different day than yours, but Professor Star Anise said all the grades would be posted together." Earl Grey Cookie sighed, tucking his notes away. "I suppose I should check mine sooner rather than later." Chai Latte Cookie grinned, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Well, I'm definitely coming. I wanna see how I did!" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. "And if we all did horribly, we can suffer together." "Great," you said with a weak laugh, though the knot of unease in your stomach remained. You just hoped your grade wouldn’t be another disappointment. With that, the four of you made your way down the hall, the quiet murmur of students filling the space around you as you approached the archives to see your fate.

You adjusted your bag, glancing toward the hallway where grades were being posted. "Honestly, I think I’ll be fine. Shadow Milk Cookie said my product was good, so I’m confident in my grade." There was a pause. When you looked back, Chai Latte Cookie, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, and Earl Grey Cookie were all staring at you like you had grown three heads. "...What?" Chai Latte Cookie narrowed her eyes. "Did you just call him Shadow Milk Cookie?" You blinked. "Yeah?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s brows shot up. "Not the Sage of Truth? Not Professor Shadow Milk Cookie? Just… his name?" Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, scrutinizing you like you had just claimed the sky was green. "Since when do you call him that?" You shifted uncomfortably under their collective stares. "...Since he told me to? And he isn’t my professor so there’s no need for that." Chai Latte Cookie leaned forward, eyes gleaming with intrigue. "And you just… went with it?" You crossed your arms. "I mean, yeah? He literally told me there was no need for formality when we weren’t in an academic setting." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low whistle. "Huh. And you listen to him?" "Of course I do!" you huffed. "He’s the Sage of Truth! Why wouldn’t I listen to him?" Earl Grey Cookie smirked. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s weird hearing someone say his name so casually? I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone refer to him as anything other than his title." You shrugged, glancing away. "Well… it was weird for me too at first, but he insisted." Chai Latte Cookie gasped dramatically. "Oh no. He insisted? And you didn’t argue? Who are you, and what have you done with our friend?" You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "Can we please just go check our grades before you all make this into a bigger deal than it is?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. "Oh, alright but only because I’m worried about my grade." As the four of you started heading down the hallway, you couldn’t ignore the way your friends kept glancing at you with amusement, as if they had just stumbled upon a secret you didn’t even know you were keeping.

You scanned the grade sheet pinned to the board, eyes darting until you found your name. 76%. You blinked. “…Seriously?” you muttered under your breath, leaning in as if the number would somehow change if you stared at it long enough. Chai Latte Cookie peered over your shoulder. “Oof, tough break.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie whistled. “Lemme guess low yield?” You exhaled sharply through your nose. “Yeah. They’re just being nitpicky.” You crossed your arms, irritation bubbling up despite your best efforts to push it down. “I know my product was good. Even Shadow Milk Cookie said so.” Earl Grey Cookie glanced at his own grade slip and shrugged. “Well, yeah, but you know they care about yield just as much as purity. It’s part of the rubric.” “I know,” you grumbled, staring at the 76% like it had personally wronged you. “I just thought I did better.” Chai Latte Cookie patted your shoulder sympathetically. “Hey, at least you didn’t completely bomb it. And if the Sage of Truth himself thought it was good, then it was good.” “Exactly,” you muttered, still feeling a little bitter about the score. “They just wanted to nitpick.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “You gonna go complain to your new best friend about it?” You shot him a glare. “Don’t start.” Chai Latte Cookie giggled. “I mean, he is the Sage of Truth. Maybe he can confirm if they were really nitpicking or if you’re just salty.” You rolled your eyes, stuffing your grade slip into your bag. “Whatever. Let’s just go.” Even as you walked away with your friends, you couldn’t shake the frustration completely. You knew you had done well. Maybe the yield was a little lower than they wanted, but that shouldn’t have dragged your score down that much, right? You sighed. Maybe you would bring it up to Shadow Milk Cookie if only to hear him confirm that you weren’t just being stubborn. You huffed as you walked back with your friends, the irritation still simmering beneath your skin. The more you thought about it, the more it annoyed you. They were just being nitpicky. The product was good. It should’ve been graded higher.

With a sharp exhale, you turned to your friends. “What’d you guys get?” Chai Latte Cookie, sipping from her ever-present cup, hummed. “Eh, 84%. Not great, but not awful. My reaction wasn’t as efficient as it could’ve been.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “88%. They said my method was ‘textbook’ and ‘admirable.’” You rolled your eyes. “Of course they did.” Earl Grey Cookie glanced at you, then sighed. “92%.” Your eye twitched. “Excuse me?” He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I just followed the procedure exactly and got a high yield. Don’t get mad at me.” You grumbled under your breath, crossing your arms as you kicked a loose pebble on the path. “Unbelievable. They really just had it out for me, huh?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. “Or maybe you just had a low yield?” You shot him a glare. “It wasn’t that low!” Chai Latte Cookie nudged you with a grin. “Aw, don’t take it so hard. At least Shadow Milk Cookie thinks you did well.” You groaned. “You all need to stop bringing him up.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “But you’re the one who called him by his name like it’s no big deal.” You clenched your jaw, grumbling as you picked up the pace. “Let’s just get back already.” Your friends exchanged amused glances behind you, clearly enjoying how riled up you were. You, however, were still fuming. 76%. Absolutely ridiculous. Maybe you would mention it to Shadow Milk Cookie…just to get a second opinion.

After that frustrating grade, you needed a good meal to make up for it. The moment you stepped into the dining hall and saw the food options, your mood lifted, if only slightly. Your eyes immediately locked onto the jelly meats, neatly arranged and glistening under the warm lights. Even better, they finally had pineapple today. You eagerly grabbed a plate, piling on a generous portion of jelly meats before adding a handful of the bright yellow fruit. It had been forever since they last served pineapple. The sweet and tangy flavor would be perfect with your meal. “You and pineapple?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised an eyebrow as he picked up his own plate. “That’s a rare sight.” You shot him a look. “They never have it. I have to take advantage while I can.” Chai Latte Cookie giggled, reaching for a bowl of salad. “Well, at least something’s making you happy after that grade.” Earl Grey Cookie hummed, picking his usual light fare. “Pineapple and jelly meats… Interesting combination.” You huffed, moving toward an empty table with your plate. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” Your friends trailed behind, chuckling at your renewed enthusiasm. At least for now, the disappointment from earlier was pushed aside. Nothing could ruin a meal with pineapple not even a nitpicky grade.

You stared down at your plate, the once-exciting pile of pineapple now feeling more like a challenge than a treat. You had been so eager to grab as much as possible, but now… well, it was a lot. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, who had been watching you struggle for the past few minutes, finally sighed and deadpanned, “You do know you can just take it to go, right?” You blinked at him, then at your plate, then back at him. “…Oh.” Chai Latte Cookie giggled behind her cup of tea. “All that struggling for nothing.” Luckily, the dining hall had to-go trays near the exit, so you wasted no time scooping up the remaining pineapple into one. “I was going to finish it,” you muttered as you snapped the lid shut, though even you weren’t sure if that was true anymore. Earl Grey Cookie smirked. “Uh-huh. Of course.” You shot him a look but said nothing as you tucked the tray under your arm. At least now you wouldn’t have to waste perfectly good pineapple. You patted your stomach, feeling completely stuffed. “I’ll just save it for later,” you said, holding up the to-go tray. “Might be useful when I get hungry during my tutoring session.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Smart. Though I don’t know how you’re thinking about more food right now, I feel like I need to lie down after all that.” You sighed dramatically, slumping against the table. “I really don’t wanna go to my next class.” Earl Grey Cookie checked the time. “It’s only a little past noon. You still have a bit before it starts.” “Doesn’t make me want to go any more,” you grumbled. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t wanna just nap instead of tutoring later?” “Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “I’d rather get it over with.” Even if you weren’t looking forward to the struggle, at least Shadow Milk Cookie was patient. If nothing else, you’d have your pineapple to get you through.

You parted ways with your friends, making your way to class alone. Unfortunately, none of them had the same schedule as you for this one, leaving you to suffer through it solo. By the time you arrived, most of the seats had already filled. You found a spot near the middle close enough to see the board but far enough to avoid drawing attention. As you settled in, you braced yourself for what was supposed to be a lecture followed by a discussion section. Except… the discussion part never came. Instead, the professor droned on, barely pausing between points, their voice a constant stream of information. Every time you thought they might be wrapping up to let the class engage, they’d continue right into another dense explanation. You tried to keep up, scribbling down notes, but the sheer length of the lecture made it hard to focus. At some point, your wrist started aching, and you glanced at the time. There was still so much left. This was going to be a long, long class. The professor’s voice droned on, and you found yourself struggling to keep up. Not because the content was difficult, but because it had absolutely nothing to do with what the class was supposed to cover today. “…And that is why, despite popular belief, fermented glowberry paste was not originally used as a condiment but rather as an early form of adhesive in ancient baker civilizations,” the professor continued, gesturing animatedly as if this was the most riveting revelation in the world. You blinked at your notes, which were quickly turning into a chaotic mess of information you were sure would never be relevant to the upcoming exam. You had signed up for History of Food thinking it would be an easy grade learning about famous dishes, cultural significance, maybe even some tastings if the professor was feeling generous. But of course, nothing at Blueberry Yogurt Academy was ever actually easy. Instead, you had somehow ended up in a class where a simple question about early baking techniques could spiral into a thirty-minute tangent about the economic impact of candied root exports during the Spice Wars. You sighed, resisting the urge to put your head down on your desk. There was still so much time left in class, and at this rate, there was no telling where the lecture would end up next.

The professor whose name you still hadn't bothered to learn stood at the front of the lecture hall, gesturing wildly as he continued down yet another tangent. “Now, you may be wondering, Professor, what does this have to do with the history of food? And to that, I say…everything! Because if we examine the earliest known records of enchanted grain cultivation, we can see a direct correlation between its rise in popularity and the decline of honeyroot-based preservation methods. Which, by the way, completely dismantles the long-standing assumption that honeyroot syrup was the superior choice for long-term food storage. In reality, it was a political tool leveraged by-” You fought the urge to groan, staring blankly at the incomprehensible notes you had scribbled down. None of this was even close to what today’s lecture was supposed to cover. You were certain you had read something about ancient dessert rituals in the syllabus, but instead, you were being forced to sit through what had to be the fifth tangent of the day. Maybe the problem was you. Maybe you just didn’t have the mind for this sort of thing, and this professor whatever his name was, was actually a genius whose insights would change the field of culinary history forever. “-which brings me to my next point,” the professor continued, pacing across the front of the room. “Did you know that, in some regions, pre-oven baking techniques involved hot sand burial? Fascinating, isn’t it? Imagine biting into a warm, golden pastry knowing it was cooked by the earth itself!” You did not, in fact, find this fascinating. What you did find fascinating was how, despite sitting through weeks of these lectures, you still had no clue what you were actually supposed to be learning. You glanced around the lecture hall, hoping to gauge if anyone else was just as lost as you, but most students either looked completely engaged or too afraid to question the professor’s endless enthusiasm. You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. There was still so much time left in class. Would you ever actually learn about food history, or were you doomed to an entire semester of elaborate yet ultimately pointless tangents? Only time would tell.

As soon as the lecture ended, you wasted no time packing up your things at least, that was the plan. But before you could escape, you found yourself lingering behind with a few other students, waiting for a chance to speak with the professor. "Professor," you finally asked once the others had finished their questions, "when’s our next exam? And what material will it cover?" The professor blinked at you, as if surprised by the very notion of an exam. "Ah! An excellent question!" He straightened, tapping his fingers together. "I suppose it would be useful to clarify that, wouldn't it? Yes, yes… Our next exam is in" He trailed off, glancing around as if searching for the answer in the air. "...two weeks? Yes, two weeks! As for the content, well! You should, of course, expect to demonstrate an understanding of our core discussions" Your stomach dropped. "You mean… all of them?" "Of course!" he said brightly. "Every topic we've covered, both planned and unplanned, is essential to your education!" You weren’t sure how to respond to that. By the time you managed to extract yourself from the conversation, you realized you had wasted far more time than you could afford. You shoved your belongings into your bag and bolted out the door, weaving through the lingering students in the hall. You barely had enough time to process your frustration as you hurried toward tutoring. Your break between classes had completely vanished, and now you had to go straight from one grueling session to another.

The journey from the lecture hall to the Scholars’ Wing was one you had made several times now, but it never got any shorter. The winding corridors of Blueberry Yogurt Academy stretched endlessly, twisting through ancient stone halls lined with towering windows and enchanted lanterns that flickered with soft blue light. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of parchment, ink, and something vaguely herbal probably from the higher up alchemy labs deeper within the wing. As you walked, the sounds of the academy changed. The bustling voices of students thinned out the further you went, replaced by the hushed murmurs of scholars deep in discussion or the quiet scratching of quills against parchment. The Scholars’ Wing was nothing like the rest of the academy it had an air of exclusivity, a refined stillness that made it clear this was a place of intellect and discipline. At last, you reached your destination the office of the Sage of Truth. You adjusted the strap of your bag, shifting the weight on your shoulder, and knocked firmly on the door. You weren’t about to call him “Shadow Milk Cookie” here. He had made it clear that such familiarity was meant for moments outside of academics, something you were more than fine with. Using his name so casually wasn’t something you were particularly interested in, anyway. "Sir?" you called through the door. "It’s me. I’m here for tutoring." “Enter,” came the familiar voice from within calm, assured, yet laced with that ever-present theatrical lilt. However, before you could even fully push the door open, he added, “Ah, but truly, there is no need for such formality! I am not so much your elder that I warrant a ‘sir.’” You hesitated mid-step, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “I-I just meant to be respectful,” you backtracked quickly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you. You weren’t about to start calling him by his name, but now you weren’t sure what to call him at all. Shadow Milk Cookie…no, the Sage of Truth was already seated at his desk, a stack of books and scrolls spread out before him. He regarded you with a knowing smile, his eyes gleaming like he had already unraveled every thought running through your head. “Respect is commendable, of course,” he mused, steepling his fingers. “But do not mistake unnecessary reverence for it. Now then, come sit. Let us illuminate the shadows of confusion together.”

As you made your way toward the chair opposite his desk, you hesitated for a brief moment before blurting out, “Do you ever talk normally?” Shadow Milk Cookie-no, the Sage of Truth tilted his head slightly, his soft smile growing ever so amused. “Ah, now that is an intriguing question. But tell me, what is ‘normal’ to you?” You blinked. “I mean like, do you always talk like this? The whole… grand speeches and dramatic phrasing thing?” You waved your hands vaguely, trying to capture whatever it was about the way he spoke that made every sentence sound like it belonged in some ancient text rather than a casual conversation. He chuckled, a rich, knowing sound. “You ask as though words are not vessels for the soul, as though they do not shape the very essence of understanding. Would you have me speak in plain, unembellished terms? Simply say ‘hello’ and ‘yes’ and ‘no’ with no flourish, no weight?” He leaned forward slightly, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Would you find comfort in that?” You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You hadn’t actually expected him to turn the question back on you like that. “I mean… it’s not bad,” you admitted. “It’s just, I don’t know… Do you ever turn it off? Like, when you’re just going about your day?” His eyes twinkled with something unreadable. “Ah, but why should I? Should the river cease to flow simply because it might be easier to cross? Should the stars dim their glow to blend into the night?” You let out a small sigh, shaking your head. “Okay, okay, I get it. You just… talk like this all the time.” “Indeed,” he said with a pleased nod. “And I take it you are quite accustomed to it now, seeing as you inquire with such familiarity.” You frowned, about to argue, but then you remembered why you were even here in the first place. “Oh! Speaking of things I’m used to” You reached into your bag, pulling out your graded lab report and placing it on the desk with a bit more force than necessary. “I got my grade back, and can I just say they were way too nitpicky about it?” His gaze flickered to the paper, then back to you, curiosity evident. “Oh?” “Yes! I mean, look at this 76%! Because my yield was a little low? That’s ridiculous! I followed all the steps, my solution was perfectly fine” You huffed, crossing your arms. “You even said it was good, remember? When we were in the lab? You looked at it and said it was a ‘fine product, worthy of its intended purpose’ or something like that.” Shadow Milk Cookie nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “I do recall saying as much. And I stand by it.” You threw up your hands. “Then why did I get a 76%? That’s barely passing!” He leaned back slightly, considering your words. “A curious predicament, indeed. Perhaps it is not the quality of your work that was questioned, but the expectations of the assessment itself. A low yield, you say?”

“Yeah! And I get that yield matters, but it’s not like I messed up the reaction or anything! Everything was there, just… not as much of it as they wanted, I guess.” You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know, I just thought I did well, and now it’s like what’s even the point of trying if they’re just going to take off points for things I can’t always control?” You hadn’t even realized how much you had started ranting until the words were already out. And the worst part? You had been leaning forward, hands gesturing wildly, voice full of frustration as if you had forgotten, even for a moment, who you were talking to. Your eyes widened slightly as the realization hit. You had gotten comfortable. Too comfortable. Ranting about a grade to Shadow Milk Cookie of all people? The most highly regarded scholar at this academy? What were you thinking? You quickly sat back, pressing your lips together in an attempt to rein in your emotions. “…Sorry,” you muttered, glancing away. “That was… probably a bit much.” Shadow Milk Cookie, to his credit, did not seem the least bit offended. If anything, he looked rather amused. “There is no need for apology,” he said, resting his chin on his hand. “Frustration is but the shadow of passion. And I must say, it is rather refreshing to see such passion in one’s pursuit of understanding.” You weren’t entirely sure whether he was humoring you or genuinely meant that, but either way, you still felt a little embarrassed. “…Still,” you mumbled, shoving your grade back into your bag, “I didn’t mean to go on like that.” He chuckled once more. “Ah, but is it not the nature of discourse to let one’s thoughts flow freely? Now, shall we examine this predicament together? Perhaps, in doing so, we may illuminate the truth hidden within your disappointment.” You swallowed, nodding. “…Yeah. Yeah, okay.” And just like that, the tutoring session began.

You huffed, crossing your arms as you tapped your fingers against your notebook. “I just don’t get it,” you grumbled, glancing at the grade once more as if the numbers would somehow shift if you stared long enough. “I mean wasn’t the whole point of the experiment about balance? And I did balance it! You even said so!” You gestured vaguely at Shadow Milk Cookie, as if willing him to confirm your frustration. He nodded, ever composed. “Indeed, you demonstrated a fine understanding of the reaction’s delicate equilibrium.” “Exactly!” You threw up your hands. “Then why did I get a 76%? I did everything right! The only thing that wasn’t perfect was the yield, and that’s just” You clenched your jaw, feeling a surge of irritation bubble up again. “That’s just nitpicky grading.”Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a long moment, his golden eyes reflecting the lamplight like molten metal. Then, rather than offering immediate reassurance, he instead asked, “Tell me, what was the intended outcome of the experiment?” You furrowed your brows, taken aback. “What? You mean, like, what we were supposed to learn?” “Yes.” You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temple. “Something about balance,” you muttered. “About how each component was volatile on its own, but when combined in the right way, they stabilized. Something greater than the sum of its parts, or whatever.” You waved a hand, vaguely recalling his words from that day. Shadow Milk Cookie inclined his head. “And do you believe you achieved that outcome?” You hesitated. The swirling, night-sky solution flashed in your memory the way it shimmered, the careful way you had adjusted the reaction when it started going awry. “Yeah,” you admitted. “It came out exactly the way it was supposed to.” “Then tell me,” he continued, his voice as steady as ever, “why does the number on this page trouble you so?”

You frowned, gripping the edge of your notebook. “Because I thought I did better,” you said, your voice taut with frustration. “Because I was careful. Because I actually understood what was happening. That should count for more than just… a number.” A small, knowing smile touched his lips. “Ah,” he murmured, tapping a single finger against the desk. “So it is not the grade itself that unsettles you, but the dissonance between expectation and result.” You blinked. You faltered, opening your mouth, then closing it again. You hadn’t thought about it that way, but… he wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t that you had failed. It wasn’t even that the grade was bad. It was that you had expected more from yourself, and the number on the page didn’t match the effort you had put in. “I just thought I did well,” you mumbled, feeling your irritation shift into something closer to disappointment. “I thought I’d finally gotten something right.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with a quiet, thoughtful gaze before speaking again. “Perception is a fickle thing,” he mused. “A scholar may craft a masterpiece yet see only its flaws. A traveler may reach great distances yet lament the steps still ahead. And you” He placed a gentle hand on the graded report, tapping it lightly. “have created something remarkable, yet let ink on a page dictate its worth.” You swallowed, not quite sure how to respond to that. The words settled over you, heavier than you expected.

After a pause, he continued, “Tell me, if you had not received this score, if you had never seen the number at all would you still be proud of what you accomplished?” Your fingers tightened slightly around your notebook. “…Yeah,” you admitted, voice quieter this time. “I would.” He nodded, as if satisfied with your answer. “Then perhaps that is the truth you should hold onto.” You bit your lip, staring down at the paper in front of you. The grade still stung, but… maybe he had a point. Maybe it wasn’t about the number. Maybe it was about the fact that, for once, you had actually understood something. Maybe that should be enough. “…I still think they were being nitpicky,” you grumbled after a long silence, though your tone lacked the earlier frustration. Shadow Milk Cookie chuckled, a soft, knowing sound. “Indeed. And you are most welcome to challenge their assessment, should you so desire.” You snorted. “Yeah, because that’ll go over well.” His lips quirked slightly. “One must always seek the truth, even in the face of bureaucracy.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

You glanced at him, curiosity slipping through the lingering frustration. “Have you ever had to do that?” you asked, tilting your head. “Challenge a grade you didn’t like?” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment, the golden glow of his eyes steady and unreadable. Then, to your surprise, a quiet chuckle escaped him. “Ah,” he mused, leaning back ever so slightly, “there was a time, yes.” Your eyes widened. “Seriously?” He nodded. “In my early days as a scholar, I once received a score I deemed… unsatisfactory.” You leaned forward, intrigued. “What happened?” He hummed thoughtfully. “The details are, perhaps, less important than the lesson learned. But suffice to say, I believed my work had been judged with undue scrutiny. The grade did not align with the truth of my understanding.” You smirked. “So you did what you just told me to do you fought back?” Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled lightly through his nose, almost amused. “I would not describe it as ‘fighting back,’ but rather, a spirited debate in pursuit of fairness.” Your smirk grew. “And?” His gaze flickered with something akin to nostalgia. “After much discussion, my argument was acknowledged. The grade was adjusted.” You gawked at him. “No way. You actually won?” He tilted his head slightly. “Truth, when presented with clarity and evidence, is difficult to refute.” You let out a breath of disbelief. “That actually worked? I figured professors would just shut down any complaints.” “A baseless complaint, perhaps,” he conceded. “But an argument built upon reason? Even the most rigid minds must acknowledge its weight.” You shook your head in wonder. “You’re unreal.” Shadow Milk Cookie merely smiled, his expression calm but certain. “Not at all. I merely sought what was just.” You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Alright, fine. If you can do it, maybe I should at least try arguing my case.” “A noble pursuit.” His voice carried a trace of amusement. “Should you decide to proceed, I would advise ensuring your reasoning is sound. Emotion alone rarely sways the minds of academia.” You groaned, letting your head fall against the desk dramatically. “Ugh. More work.” Shadow Milk Cookie chuckled once more, his tone light but firm. “Scholarship is rarely effortless.” You sighed, lifting your head again. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” Still, despite your complaints, you couldn’t help but feel… a little less frustrated than before.

You sat up a little, a spark of realization flickering in your chest. “Wait… if you struggled with a grade before, even just once or twice, then maybe” You hesitated, but the thought was already forming, taking root. “Maybe that means I could get to where you are someday.” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked, his expression unreadable. “I mean,” you continued, speaking a little faster, “if you’ve been through the same kind of thing, even if only a handful of times then maybe that means I can actually get better, too. Maybe one day, I could-”

Before you could finish, he lifted a hand slightly, a subtle motion that silenced you more effectively than if he’d spoken over you. Then, his voice, measured and unwavering “Do not mistake a single similarity for a shared path.” You blinked. “Huh?” He regarded you steadily, his golden eyes carrying an unmistakable weight. “You assume that because I once faced an academic challenge, your journey might unfold as mine did. That is not so.” Your stomach twisted a little. “Wait-” “This happened to me only a handful of times,” he continued, his tone even. “For you, the road ahead will demand far more effort. More struggle. More failure.” He studied your face carefully, as if gauging whether his words would sink in. “If you wish to stand among scholars, let alone reach the heights you speak of, you must understand that it will not come easily. Nor quickly.” You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat. His words weren’t cruel, but they weren’t exactly comforting, either. If anything, they were… blunt. Still, there was no mockery in his gaze, no intent to wound. Only certainty. For a moment, you fought the urge to protest. It wasn’t fair he was brilliant, after all. Of course it only happened to him a handful of times. Of course his struggles were nothing compared to yours. And yet… He wasn’t telling you to give up. That much was clear in the way he spoke, in the way his eyes remained steady on you. He was guiding you. Even if it stung.You exhaled, crossing your arms. “…You really don’t sugarcoat anything, do you?” A faint hint of amusement flickered across his features. “Would you prefer falsehoods?” “…No,” you admitted begrudgingly. “Then take my words as they are,” he said simply. “You can improve. But it will take work. Far more than you might wish.” You huffed, leaning back slightly. “Well, thanks for the encouragement, I guess.” A pause. Then, a quiet, knowing hum. “Encouragement takes many forms.” You glanced at him, and just for a second you swore there was something gentler in his gaze, beneath the scholarly detachment. “…Fine,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I get it.” “Do you?” You shot him a look. “Yes, I do.” He merely inclined his head, as if pleased. Somehow, even though his words had been sharp, you felt steadier than before. Like maybe this was a path worth walking, even if it was harder than you wanted it to be.

You pulled out your notebook, flipping to the latest set of notes and homework problems from Professor Almond Custard Cookie’s class. The pages were filled with careful annotations well, mostly careful alongside a few places where you had scratched things out in frustration. You hesitated for a moment, then slid the notebook across the desk toward Shadow Milk Cookie. “I, uh… tried to go over everything again,” you said, tapping your fingers against the table. “But I want to make sure I actually did it right before I turn it in. Can you check?” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded the notebook for a brief moment before reaching for it. His fingers moved with practiced ease as he turned the pages, scanning over your work with that unreadable expression he always wore when deep in thought. His golden eyes flicked over each line, taking in the calculations, the explanations, the conclusions you had drawn. You sat in silence, waiting, resisting the urge to fidget.

A few times, his gaze lingered on a particular section for longer than you would have liked, and your stomach twisted uneasily. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “Your logic is sound,” he said, still skimming through the last few lines. “But there are missteps.” You winced. “Figures.” He turned the notebook back to you, tapping one of the earlier problems with a single finger. “Here. This assumption is incorrect, which caused your final answer to diverge from the expected result.” You leaned in, scanning the problem. Sure enough, you had misunderstood one of the fundamental relationships between the components in the equation. You frowned. “I thought I was supposed to substitute that value there.” “You were,” he confirmed. “But only after adjusting for the initial conditions. You skipped a necessary step.” You exhaled through your nose. “Great.” His hand shifted to another part of the page. “Here, your explanation is lacking clarity. While you arrived at a reasonable conclusion, you neglected to show the intermediate reasoning that led to it.” You squinted. “Wait, but isn’t it obvious? If you already know the result” “A scholar’s work must withstand scrutiny,” he interrupted, his voice measured. “If your argument cannot be followed by another, then it holds no weight.” You slumped slightly. “…So basically, I need to show my work.” “Precisely.” You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Ugh. I thought I actually had it this time.” “There is improvement,” he said, flipping to another section. “Your approach is more structured than before. That is commendable.” You blinked. “Wait so I did do better?” Shadow Milk Cookie nodded. “Marginally.” “…Marginally?” You narrowed your eyes at him. The corner of his lips twitched, just slightly. “Would you prefer I lie?” You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “No.” “Then accept the truth as it is,” he said simply, returning the notebook to you. “You are capable. But refinement is still necessary.” You slumped forward dramatically. “I was hoping you’d say I nailed it and didn’t have to worry.”

Shadow Milk Cookie merely tilted his head. “Would that not be dull?” You shot him a look. “No, that would be ideal.” He chuckled softly a rare sound and gestured toward the notes. “Make the necessary adjustments. I will review them again once completed.” You sighed, but there was no real frustration behind it this time. Grabbing your pen, you flipped to the problem areas he had pointed out. At least you knew where you had gone wrong this time. And, despite everything, his words stuck with you. There is improvement. You weren’t quite there yet. But at least you were getting somewhere.

You tapped your pen against the notebook, staring at the problem in front of you. Now that Shadow Milk Cookie had pointed out the mistakes, you could see them clearly but fixing them was another matter. Your hand hovered over the page, hesitating, as you tried to piece together the correct solution. But you could feel his eyes on you. His gaze wasn’t harsh or impatient, nor was there any judgment in it. And yet, knowing that the ever-perceptive Sage of Truth was watching your every movement made your nerves twist uncomfortably. Every time you started to write, doubt crept in, and your mind second-guessed itself. You swallowed, gripping your pen a little tighter. Then, without looking up, you mumbled, “Um… Could you maybe look away for a moment? Just while I try to fix it?” There was a brief pause. Then, in that same calm, measured tone, Shadow Milk Cookie asked, “Does my presence unsettle you?” Your face grew hot. “N-No! It’s not like that, I just…” You hesitated before sighing. “I just think better when I’m not being watched so closely.” For a moment, there was silence. Then, to your surprise, he gave a quiet hum of understanding. “Very well.” You heard the faint rustle of fabric as he turned slightly away, his focus shifting elsewhere. Even though he was still nearby, his gaze was no longer fixed on you, and the tension in your shoulders eased. “Take your time,” he said. “I will await your solution.” You let out a breath, feeling a little less suffocated. Finally, without the weight of his golden eyes scrutinizing your every movement, you put pen to paper and began working through the problem once more.

You sighed as you picked up your quill again, staring at the first problem Shadow Milk Cookie had pointed out. Your original mistake sat before you like a taunt a misstep in your assumptions that had thrown off the entire solution. Fine. Time to fix it. You rewrote the equation carefully, making sure to account for all given conditions. This wasn’t a simple alchemical yield problem it required understanding the interplay between magical catalysts and their energetic stability.

The question read

A transmutation reaction requires an infusion of Starflare Essence (SE) and Lunar Solvent (LS) to synthesize Luminous Dust (LD). The balanced equation is as follows

3SE+2LS→4LD

If 5.00 moles of SE and 4.00 moles of LS are reacted, determine the limiting reagent, the theoretical yield of Luminous Dust, and the remaining excess reagent.

Step 1 Identify the Limiting Reagent

You started by calculating how much Luminous Dust could be produced from each reactant.

For Starflare Essence

(5.00 mol SE/3)×4=6.67 mol LD

For Lunar Solvent

(4.00 mol LS/2)×4=8.00 mol LD

Since Starflare Essence produced the smaller amount of Luminous Dust, it was the limiting reagent.

Step 2 Determine the Theoretical Yield

The reaction could only produce as much Luminous Dust as the limiting reagent allowed so the maximum possible yield was 6.67 moles.

Step 3 Find the Excess Reagent Leftover

Now, you needed to figure out how much Lunar Solvent remained unreacted. You calculated how much Lunar Solvent was actually needed

(5.00 mol SE/3)×2=3.33 mol LS

Since you started with 4.00 moles, that meant you had

4.00−3.33=0.67 mol LS remaining

Final Answer

Limiting Reagent Starflare Essence (SE)

Theoretical Yield of Luminous Dust 6.67 moles

Excess Reagent Remaining 0.67 moles of Lunar Solvent

You sat back, staring at the parchment, your hand cramping slightly from how tightly you had been gripping the quill. The trance-like state you had fallen into while solving the problem slowly lifted, and the familiar weight of the laboratory around you returned. The faint hum of enchanted lanterns, the occasional rustling of paper, the sound of quills scratching across parchment it all came rushing back at once. Taking a deep breath, you glanced toward Shadow Milk Cookie and, hesitantly, called out. “Sage of Truth.” He turned toward you at once, stepping forward with his usual unhurried grace. His golden eyes flickered to your parchment as he came to stand beside you, scanning your work before you could even say a word. You swallowed. “I, uh… I went through it again. I think I got it right this time.” He took the parchment from you, his gaze methodically sweeping over the equations. The silence stretched as he examined each step, tracing your reasoning, weighing your conclusions. You held your breath, waiting. Then, he gave a single nod. “This is correct.” Relief crashed over you like a wave. “Oh, thank the-” “But.” Your stomach dropped. “Oh no.” He tapped a specific line in your work, his voice calm as ever. “Your notation here lacks clarity. While mathematically sound, it would be beneficial to denote your reagent states explicitly particularly for Lunar Solvent, as its phase transition may alter the reaction’s efficiency.” You blinked. “…That’s it?” He tilted his head slightly, as if amused by your reaction. “Would you prefer I find a greater mistake?” “No, no, definitely not,” you said quickly, hurriedly fixing the notation. You adjusted the way you had labeled Lunar Solvent, making a quick note about its phase transition in your margins. Shadow Milk Cookie observed your correction, then gave a small nod of approval. “Much better.” You exhaled, finally allowing yourself to relax. “So, that’s it? I actually got the problem right?” “You did.” A slow, satisfied smile crept onto your face. “Hah. Guess I am improving.” “Marginally.” You shot him a look. “You love saying that, don’t you?” The faintest smirk flickered at the edge of his lips. “Perhaps.” You groaned, but this time, there was no real frustration behind it. Just an odd sense of accomplishment and, if you were being honest with yourself, a strange sort of warmth at his approval.

A/N Finally got this out guys...I had to reformat the equations because it didn't translate well onto Tumblr I think it's because I used the equation function on word....No matter it makes sense now!!! btw guys ik it seems unimportant but their choice of food matters, in a couple chapters duh <3 Please enjoy And...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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thesiltverses · 8 months ago

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A very big thank you

I posted this on Patreon, but really wanted to share it here as well:

Post-show life begins

For a long while now I’ve been getting up at 4.30 or 5am, grabbing myself the first coffee of four, and then coming to sit at my desk.

I open up the assembly cut of the newest TSV episode.

I listen to it, I try and pin down which scenes I need to be going back over today. I try and push through the entire morning without a break because when the momentum stalls, that’s what kills your release schedule. (I also worry endlessly about just how much of my hair is falling out, and how spending 12 hours a day wearing headphones could be contributing to that.)

Today was different. I still woke up early - it’s a hard habit to shake off, and probably a useful one going forward. But I didn’t go to my desk, and I didn’t put my headphones on.

I went to the rocking chair we bought for our son when he comes, and I sat there - gently swaying and trying not to spill my coffee all over it, because for some reason it’s fucking beige - and looked out over the city skyline.

I slugged back my coffee surrounded by all the stuff we’ve panic-bought for the baby, and I got to take all of it in - washcloths and the changing table and romper suits - with a sudden focus and a clarity and a rising excitement that I really hadn’t allowed myself to feel until today, because until today the work was still unfinished and there was still much left to be done.

All at once I felt very free, and fully sated, and happy and proud for everything that’s coming next.

There’s so much to feel grateful for from the past three years of working on this show. But what’s probably going to sit with me the most is being able to arrive at that moment and those feelings today, - and we have all of you incredible people to thank for that.

Not just in terms of listenership or financial support, although that’s been truly invaluable and a lifeline for us that’s enabled us to actually make the show - but also your enthusiasm, your passion, your jokes and comments and everything that’s helped to keep us motivated and working on it.

So - with as much feeling as words can convey, thank you so, so much for everything.

What’s coming next, in rough order

#1: Parentdom is going to take over our lives for a while! I also want to write the final Patreon episode commentaries in the next few days, while I have the time and the clear memories. #2: The next thing we’ll organise will be the post-season Q&A (we’d also like to do some kind of off-camera cast party if we can make schedules work, just to say thank you to our amazing VAs and celebrate with them). Please do ask us questions! #3: We have long-unfinished commitments to the Patreon which I need to complete: the last two episodes of So Long, Good Luck, and rounding off Sid Wright’s story. As ever, huge thank-yous for your patience with these; they’ve just been impossible to polish off while also working on the main show so much. #4: Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time is the possibility of going back to Season 1 and redesigning it from scratch to try and bring it closer in style to S2 and S3. We have the raw audio files - some of the mic quality will just be rough no matter what, but we can certainly try. This is something I want to be conscientious and careful about; I very much want to respect the sound design work that’s already taken place, and ensure we’re not overriding anything. But I do know that the initial quality still sometimes puts new listeners off; we were learning a lot about direction and mastering from scratch, and our designers were working with limited budget and a total lack of plugins, so there’s simply a lot more we can achieve now. (This would also be a good opportunity for me to finally rework the transcripts, another fallen hurdle). #5: A few months back, we were contacted by a literary agent in NYC who was interested in us adapting the show into a series of novels. There’s a long road ahead to actually get published, but I'm thrilled to say that I have signed with them and I’m really excited to hopefully start work on the first book once I’ve settled into dad-dom. I’ll need to check what’s possible, but if it doesn’t interfere with any contract condition I’d obviously love to share excerpts on here as it’s written. #6: Then there’ll also be another larger audiodrama project - we’ve spoken about the different possibilities before! Excited to get started on our final choice.

Just one last word about endings

God, endings are scary. Because endings are impossible.

How many serialised stories actually end in a way that’s received unequivocally well? People yelled at The Sopranos for its ambiguity and open-endedness. People criticised Breaking Bad for treating Walt too sympathetically at the end and relying on a generic mob of snarling Nazis to act as his final foe.

Endings are either too pat and neat, or too inconclusive to be satisfying, or too surreal and dreamlike, or they simply make what feels like the wrong choices for the characters we care about. We’re all caught in that barbed wire, creators and audience alike, weighed down by the baggage of what’s come before and we've already spent so much time anticipating the infinite possibilities of how it could all turn out - it’s like we can’t get free of the story that’s trying to end.

And the beautiful thing about these longform, iterative works is that they insist upon becoming completely ungovernable. No matter how much of a planner the creator claims to be, how much prepwork they carry out - they were never really in control. There’s spontaneity and surprises and dead ends and beautiful distractions that come spilling out along the way (I was baffled and delighted to learn that people really - at the end of the show, with such limited time to spare - wanted to find out what had happened to Eddie*).

So they can’t end. Not really. There’s too much wonderful mess in them to ever be reasonably disentangled.

And, of course, for every ending people remember with frustration or dissatisfaction, there’s another hundred endings that nobody remembers at all, because we lost our enthusiasm along the way and it feels better to keep going back to the start and avoiding the slow decline. (Who the fuck remembers how the umpteenth X-Files reboot ended? What increasingly tired post-modern antics was Alan Moore getting up to in the final League of Extraordinary Gentlemen books?). I really just didn’t want the show to end up in that latter category.

All of that probably sounds like I’m warding off criticism about the show's ending, but for me it’s actually been the opposite.

For an ending which is all about narrative dissatisfaction, and failed potential and missed opportunities, and how we need to come to terms with the lack of existential fairness and certainty and narrative control in our lives and keep ploughing forward all the same for as long as we possibly can, I’m massively stunned at just how positive the reception has been on here and elsewhere, and that’s something I’m actively having to process, because I think I was fearfully anticipating much more pushback.

But, look - the Eskew finale was originally quite poorly-received and then people came back around to it over time. So I’m not going to pat myself on the back too hard, because maybe it’ll ultimately be the opposite with this show, and that’s OK. For 200 years everyone was convinced King Lear was improved by having everyone survive at the end and get married. Endings take time to settle into their final condition.

For now, I am incredibly relieved that the ending we chose seems to have landed for most people, and I’m incredibly grateful for the lovely messages we’ve got about it and for the trust in us that you’ve all shown throughout the story.

So, yeah, let’s end with another thank you, because that’s what I feel so deeply and so forcefully at this point.

Thank you so much again, and speak soon.

Jon

*My take? We’ve established that the guy is in some kind of blue-collar job and has been pushed into constant overtime due to the reduced workforce. We’ve seen that the so-called ‘national holiday’ doesn’t actually rescue workers from their commitments. So I personally imagine that Eddie was working during the parade somewhere on the city outskirts, and is alive and well.

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ninihousebears3000 · 8 months ago

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HR Department! reader X Alucard

A goodnight kiss.

Pulling an all-nighter causes you to hear strange things.

CW: No warnings!

It's quite late.

You had to agree with the voice in your head. Pulling overtime was necessary considering how your workload suddenly increased. Now you're bookkeeper another responsibility on your plate. Computerizing this ancient system that the organization was barely running on was your mission. But efficiency is your reputation and you wouldn't be able to sleep knowing that things were left in limbo.

Rest, work will be here tomorrow but you won't be here much longer if you keep going on like this.

Morbid but true. Maybe some coffee will give you clarity? After all your computer screen began looking less and less clear. You were certain it was working just fine a moment ago. Standing up you grab your favorite mug off your desk heading to your in-office coffee machine. Walter had refused to use k-cups opting to brew a fresh pot for you every day. But he would cut you off after two cups so for your third and fourth cups you used your K-cups from home.

You placed your mug on the machine instinctively reaching for the box of k-cups. Only to be met with empty space. "What the hell?" You had a full box where did it go? Checking in the cabinets, your bag, and drawers, not a single K-cup could be found. Even your coat pocket didn't have an emergency K-cup. "Perhaps there's some upstairs?" Thinking aloud was your tendency nowadays since this was your own private office. Although, a few more employees and an assistant would be very helpful. Being the head of the human resources department doesn't mean much if you're the only employee.

You thought to yourself as you left your office walking through the basement.

"An office near civilization would be nice."

You retorted walking past the many cells in the dungeon. You know Seras' room is near here. "I wonder what she's up to?" You appreciate her company she seems chipper than most considering her situation. At times you can tell she just wants another person to talk to. It does pain you that she pops in at the busiest of times. It's only been a few weeks since the Police Girl ‘joined’. You did try advocating for her to have a change of uniform and to be at least called by her real name. Those were still ongoing battles.

Then there was Alucard. You're still trying to get a one-on-one meeting about his workplace misconduct. It's difficult to arrange anything with him he has no email! An audible groaning sigh escaped you.

Your thoughts kept you entertained as you finally made it to the kitchen. Normally, there would be servants and other staff members but the only remaining people here were the residents and the perimeter guards. Of course, the ones in the surveillance room which felt weird to think about them watching you right now.

Of course, there was no leftover coffee left so you were having to pull off your lazy slacks and brew some yourself.

Coffee at this hour? Your sleep will surely be ruined. The sun rises in only a few hours. How about lemon ginger tea?

You took your mug and started rinsing out the old coffee stains. Possibly something else for a change?

When you were filling up your mug with cold water to get the last of the stains out. You jolted the mug towards your face splashing your face with cold water. The sensation still shocked you but woke you up for certain.

"My voice is deep but why is my thought voice that deep?" Was delirium setting in? Or was someone truly talking to you? You can see why Sir Penwood said this place can be maddening. Instead of coffee or tea, you opted for ice-cold orange juice and a leftover banana nut muffin. The sugar should help until you find a stopping point. Plus the leftover wetness on your shirt can help keep you awake. Seems like you would be spending the night Walter gave you a ride since your car was practically living in the shop at this point.

Almost three in the morning the voice in your head was right about it being very late. By the time you returned, you finished the muffin and chugged the juice as soon as you sat down. Just one more paragraph to type and you can call it a night.

You've had worse nights from your undergrad years!

Cracking your knuckles your nimble fingers went back to work.

Sugar can't stop sleep deprivation.

There it was again! You can ignore it! Fight on you're the head of the human resources department!

What's the harm?

Just close your eyes for a few minutes.

You never noticed how soothing the baritone voice was until now. An eye break couldn't hurt, right?

That's right little human. Just close those pretty eyes.

The computer screen was looking warped in ways you've never seen a screen do before. Your lids were heavier and you were leaning on your arms at this point.

"But I am not finished yet." Trying to fight this heavy exhaustion was increasingly difficult. Before you knew it your head was using your arms as a pillow and the desk was a bed.

Everything will be fine little human.

"I am six feet." Your eyes closed for the final time. The heat from the cardigan now placed on your shoulders reminded you of the blanket on your soft bed.

Shh, sleep little human.

Wait, your cardigan was on the back of your chair!

Now be a good little human and stay asleep.

Hot breath grazed your exposed neck along with a hissing noise. You reached for the pistol underneath your desk and fired a shot at the source of this strange body heat. To your surprise you found Hellsing's trump card sitting on the ground in the corner of your office. Thankfully, Walter gave you a pistol strangely you asked for a silencer.

"ALUCARD! DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY WORKPLACE MISCONDUCT VIOLATIONS YOU STACKED UP!" Panting and filled with rage you kept your gun aimed at him.

"You know those blessed bullets do hurt." He was bleeding out of his left shoulder. Despite that, his face held an awful grin.

"YOU WERE TRYING TO DRINK MY BLOOD! AND YOU HAVE BEEN IN MY HEAD!" You never thought your first meeting with Alucard was going to be him nearly drinking your blood.

"Shh, you're louder than Police Girl." His nonchalant attitude was getting on your nerves. "Consider it a goodnight kiss little human." Alucard stood to his full height seeing how he still regarded you as little.

"We need to address some misconduct violations." Was this going to be your only chance to talk to him?

"I don't think your department applies to me." He began to walk past you. "Now if you'll excuse me the sun will be rising soon." But your reflexes were being kind to you. Opening your drawer you pulled out a thick binder and flipped to the middle of it pointing at a document.

"You and Seras Victoria fall into this category of employee." He leaned down to read it. His crimson eyes bounced up to yours and then to the book again. "Did you just call me a police dog?" A hint of irritation was in his tone.

"Therefore you must follow the same guidelines as every employee here." You were the head of the human resources department you weren't going to let this misconduct run rampant anymore!

"Please have a seat Alucard." Alucard narrowed his eyes at you and then smirked. "Alright then HR." He smirked while sitting down crossing his legs in the seat in front of your desk. While you grabbed your chair that was pushed across the room after his initial introduction.

You weren’t expecting him to give in judging from what Seras and Walter had told you. But you can’t rest knowing you had the chance.

"Now shall we begin with boundaries."

#this was supposed to be short but I couldn't help it #hr department! reader x hellsing #yea it's 2 am and I decided to finish this and not sleep #i've been thinking about this for a while #hellsing ultimate #alucard hellsing #hellsing oc #hellsing alucard x reader #hr department! reader x Alucard hellsing #hellsing #yeah I did use that last scene in hell ain't as inspo

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bonnie-the-butcher · 1 month ago

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Rip Tide | Chapter VII

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.669 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I'm sorry for introducing a side character so extensively, but I promise y'all, I swear to God it will all make sense in the future. I've been having a blast reading your comments and seeing what you think of the story. Thank you so so so much, from the bottom of my heart. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading!

Morning has a way of making everything seem lighter in retrospect.

Sleep was always a safe place for you. When you were in pain, when you were ruined, when you wished for death, you fell asleep. And when you woke up, with the sun hitting your face as reality sunk in, you weren’t so hopeless anymore.

But you startle awake that morning, nearly falling off the bed with JJ still half on top of you, having barely even slept, and you feel no metaphorical light strike you.

No clarity.

No introspection.

You feel worse.

All night long, you fell asleep and startled awake — You dreamt of stumbling up to the front door of the Cameron house to realize you were wearing nothing but the blue skirt, and woke up. You dreamt of running down the beach with JJ chasing you, persecuting you, and woke up. You dreamt of standing frozen in the kitchen at the Wreck while Kie tore your clothes off of you as everyone laughed and woke up.

It was 3:54 when you took a sleeping pill.

It was 4:09 when you woke up again.

Since then you'd drifted back and forth between a dreamless sleep riddled by the feeling of suddenly falling, and waking up, groggy and unable to move on the stifling heat of your bedroom.

You don’t feel much better when you finally open your eyes at 6:40. The sun seems to be in the room with you, scalding you, as it bleeds in through the window screen that shakes even as no wind comes through it. JJ’s skin is glued to yours, his hair sticking to your chest, his hands still gripping you as you try to move away.

He mumbles slightly, eyes peeking open in the overwhelming brightness. – Mornin’. – His fingers drift up your spine, around your waist, up to your chest. A kiss landing on the crook of your neck as he sits up next to you. – I don’t think I’ve ever slept this good in my life.

You try not to scoff at the irony as you rub the sleep you didn’t even have off your eyes. – Yeah. – He smiles against your skin, soft, warm, overbearing. – God, why is it so hot in here?

– Dunno, something to do with your presence, maybe.

A laugh falls from your lips, sharper than it should be. – Cute, JJ. Thanks a lot.

You’d be glad for the breath he lets out against your shoulder, but it doesn’t do much to help the heat, especially when he’s holding you so close, so tight, it's like being glued to a sentient heater.

The imprint of his hands seeps through the sweat on your skin. — Rough, calloused. Like sandpaper on silk, your skin seems to fray at his touch.

The wooden floorboards are hot beneath your feet as you try to stand, but JJ pulls you back, tugging at your arm until you're an inch short of falling over. – Where you going, baby? Let's sleep a little more.

– I wanna get ready.

– For what? It’s not like you’re working today. – The words linger around you, not cruel, but still sharp. – C’mon, baby. Relax.

– I’m starving. D’you want anything?

– You?

– Bye, JJ.

His laughter bounces off the walls as you walk down the hall, picking up the string of clothes he’s left behind.

You look over your shoulder on instinct. John’s door is still wide open, empty of him. If Sarah’s sleeping patterns are to be taken into account, and he truly did sleep there, neither of them are gonna wake up before midday.

So why do you feel like you’re being watched?

Worse than watched, judged.

The walls hover close, ceiling lower than you remember. The air is heavy around you, an overwhelming silence swallowing you whole even as you hear the creaks and cracks of the Chateau make themselves heard. You hesitate before stepping into the living room, eyes immediately falling over the armchair on the corner, where your dad used to sit.

Deep burgundy suede, copper buttons on the arms, probably the most expensive thing in this house. His bag still sits next to it, a worn honey-leather crossbody purse he’s had for longer than you've been alive. A gift from John's mother. You have to lift it everytime you clean the place, and it gets heavier every time, as if the piece of both of them that still lingers inside is growing.

Your breathing hitches.

You don’t know when your heartbeat picked up, why it did. But you avert your eyes like the sight had burned you, and rush to the kitchen quicker than dignity should allow.

You reach for the fridge door, thankful for the cold air that blows against you as you throw on JJ’s shirt to cover yourself. But that quick gladness doesn’t last: The fridge is almost empty, a half-done jar of peanut butter and some wonder bread you definitely didn’t buy the only things that don’t look spoiled, or just straight up empty. Your groceries never lasted long, no matter how much you try to stretch them.

The job interview still doesn’t seem appealing as Rafe’s weird words echo in your mind, but you don’t have the luxury to throw yourself on a job search you know won’t be fruitful, not now when half your bills are still to be paid.

You reach in, taking the bread, and open the little drawer, hoping for some cheese, tomatoes, anything. But your hope for semi-fresh produce vanishes as you feel JJ against you, his arms suddenly snaking around your waist. The bread falls from your hands. – Ooh, jumpy! – He giggles, leaning over you, his chin resting at the crook of your neck.

– Are you trying to give me a heart-attack?!

– You can’t bend over with an ass like yours and expect me not to do that. – His hands trail up your sides, under the shirt, his shirt, humming as he presses his hips against yours. – You look so hot like that, wearing my shirt.

A disgruntled chuckle falls from your lips as you look behind you, over your shoulder and his. – And you’d look really hot if you were wearing one.

– No need to lie to yourself, I know you like to see me naked. – He pulls you back, closing the fridge door with a kick as he leans down to kiss you. His hands find yours, pulling them to his chest. He trails them down his abs, until the strings of his shorts brush against your fingers. – D’you wanna take it off of me, baby?

– JJ, what are you doing?

– You. – He laughs, hands drifting down to your thighs. He takes a handful of flesh wherever he can squeeze, hissing under his breath as he presses on closer. – C’mon, beautiful. Aren’t you gonna give me a good morning?

– I’d have a better morning if you guys ever left anything for me to eat in this house.

– What? You hungry? I’ve got something you can put in your mouth.

– I think I’ll pass. – You turn around, but JJ grabs your waist before you can even step to the door. He’s close, much closer than what he should be, breath clinging heavy to your skin, blue eyes raking over your chest as he pushes you against the counter. – JJ, stop it.

– I don’t want to. – He growls, stepping closer, pulling at you, until his hips are against yours, thrusting so lightly you think he must not realize it. – You’re walking around like that, with nothing but my shirt— He groans, movements growing faster, more intentional. – driving me insane. And I can’t even do anything about it?

You push at his chest, trying to wriggle out from under him, but JJ’s grip is unwavering. – I’m not playing around, JJ, I’m not—

– Just a little, baby, please. Just— He’s pulling down his shorts, breath stuttering, head falling back as soon as skin touches skin. – Fuck. Fuck, that feels so good.

– JJ—

– Please, baby. Please. I promise I’ll make it quick. – You feel him pushing into you, hands holding your hips in a vice grip as he sinks in, head falling to the crook of your neck. – You feel so fucking good around me. Fuck—

You’re frozen in place, watching him use you, have at you like a toy, as if your words didn’t mean anything. He’s fucking himself into you, babbling, stuttering, rolling his eyes, almost as if he’s possessed. – How’d you do this to me? – The words fall from his lips as if he’s speaking to himself, his eyes closed, mouth pressed against your skin. – I can’t—fuck, I can’t stop.

His pace has grown faster, sloppier, dick sliding in and out so fast you can barely brace against him, nails digging into his shoulders, still unmoving.

You hear something in the distance, the familiar rumble of an engine, a sound you’d heard a thousand times before.

John.

You wake up from your daze in a heartbeat, already pushing JJ away. – The car. John’s coming JJ, get off of me!

He doesn’t listen, your protests falling on deaf ears as he moans into your shoulder, still moving like a bitch in heat. – Jus— Just a little more, please. Please it feels so– Fuck! Fuck, right there! – His hips move wildly, and even as you shove him with all your strength, it's to no avail. You can hear the car getting closer, wheels moving on the soft lakebank mud, but JJ doesn’t stop. He gets louder. More restless, begging and pleading, his pace stuttering as his stomach contracts. – Don’t stop, fuck don’t stop I’m almost there! I— Fuck, fuck! Right there, baby! FUCK–

You shut him up just as he cums, shuddering and shaking over you as you push your hands onto his mouth, dick still twitching as you finally manage to get him away. You hear his back knocking against the opposite counter just as the car door slams closed, and you’re running to the bathroom, JJ pulling up his shorts behind you, still frozen in place.

You’ve never locked a door so fast, shame burning beneath your skin as you hear your brother’s steps on the porch, the squeak of the front door banging closed against the frame as he shuts it behind him.

JJ greets him with a stutter. – Hi—hey bro, what are you doing here this early? I thought you were gonna stay at Sarah’s.

– Rafe Cameron.

– What?

– Sarah and I were sleeping and then this psycho walks into the room. – You don’t know if JJ’s too stunned to respond, or if he’s not actually listening, but even you do a double take. – We weren’t even doing anything. And he just bursts through the door like the kool-aid man and starts laughing.

– Laughing?

– Yeah! Laughing! Fucking cackling. He laughed so hard, her dad came to check what was going on. – You hear impact. John probably threw something, you can hear the frustration in his sigh. – I had to sneak out the window so he wouldn’t catch me there. And you know what’s worse?

– There's worse?

– Yeah! Rafe told me to check on my sister. – Your breath is caught. – He actually fucking talked about her! Said her name! Like they’re friends or whatever. Can you fucking believe that?!

You dig your nails into your hands.

Please don’t say anything stupid. Please don’t say anything stupid. – Rafe’s a fucking junkie, bro. He was probably out of his mind. – Thank you. – But he acts really weird about her, if you ask me.

Your nails dig deeper.

Nobody asked you anything, JJ. – What do you mean?

You're not listening anymore.

There's no way in hell you're about to let JJ fucking Maybank buy you three more months of confinement. Your brother and you have it bad enough as it is without him throwing wood into that fire.

You throw the shirt off of you, burying it deep into the laundry basket, and wrap yourself with your towel.

– I don’t know man, but don’t you think it's kinda weird that he would—

– John? You home? – The conversation dies right then as you step in, and your brother jumps to his feet, looking over to the hall at you, like you're a specter. – That’s early.

He barely looks at you at first, still caught up in his own frustration. You tighten the towel around your body, tucking in the corner like it's the most natural thing in the world. Your hands shake slightly as they drop back to your side. – I thought you slept at Sarah's.

John exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. – Yeah. I did. – Something burns in his eyes. – And then your buddy Rafe laughed me off the building.

– Rafe? – You hum. – What'd you mean ‘laughed you off the building'?

John scoffs. – He was high as shit. Talking in circles. Then— He pauses, his jaw flexing. – Then he brought you up.

Your stomach clenches, but you don’t let it show. You barely blink. – Me?

John's looking at you now. Really looking. – Yeah. Said your name. Told me to check on you.

The air shifts. JJ’s foot scuffs against the floor, he's looking at you too, something else in his gaze you can't quite catch from the corner of your eyes.

You feign confusion. – That's weird.

John doesn’t respond right away. He’s watching you too closely, like he’s trying to catch something in the way your face moves, in the way your fingers curl around the edge of your towel.

– When the fuck did Rafe start talking about you?

He says it slow, almost careful. But you know that tone. It’s the one he gets when he already suspects the answer.

You force a shrug, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. – I don’t know, John. Doesn’t he hate you? Was probably trynna get into your head or something.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just keeps looking at you like he’s waiting for something to crack.

He thinks you're made of glass, he always did. But he doesn't treat you like you’re fragile, he treats you like you’re all shards and sharp edges. Like he’ll cut himself on you if he gets too close.

– Why are you getting ready so early? – That tone again. Casual enough, just shy of friendly. But his eyes are like knives, and you just happen to be the one he's holding at knifepoint. – You were fired.

You can feel your expression darken. JJ's already looking at you as your eyes drift between him and your brother. – Kie told you, huh?

– Yeah, she did. – He sways on his feet as he stands. Drunk off his own self-righteousness. – And she's right to. We all know damn right you wouldn't tell me. Because it's not like I'm your brother! It's not like I worry about you!

– It happened YESTERDAY. I just got fired, and you just walked in! Was I supposed to bring it up now? Over what? The breakfast we don't have?! The pile of bills that we still have to pay?!

He's looking at you, his heart probably racing just as much as yours. – Do you think this shit is easy?! – You continue. – It's hard enough to lose the job I've had for three fucking years, John! But telling you?! Having to disappoint you like this when we don't even know if we're gonna eat tomorrow?

He’s silent now.

You are too. —All the things you have to say flutter away as your mind sends you spinning— He whispers your name under his breath, reaching. Grasping. But you don’t want him to. You recoil before he can get to you, like a scared cat curling up in the corner.

And his hand drops.

As if the rejection had sent a shock through him, one as painful as what you’re feeling now. – Don't do this to me right now. – He’s pleading, but it doesn't sound like it. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, all you see is ache. It pains you to see him like this. But it doesn’t last long. Just as soon as that worry washed over him, anger swallowed it whole. – You always do this shit. You always do that. You fuck up and you shut down and you blame it on me!

– I'm not!

– Yes you are! You are! And you always do! It's not my fault you lost your job!

– I’m not saying it is, John! I’m just trying to—

– To what?! Huh? What is it?!

You let go of your breath, of your hope for this conversation, of any possibility of mending whatever it is that's wrong with you and John right now. The heels of your palms burn against the hollow of your eyes as you press your hands into them. – Forget it. – Your stomach turns, your throat is burning, you want it to end. – Forget it, John.

Your feet move before your mind does, you barely see the house moving around you as you scurry away. The door of your room falls shut behind you, but your thoughts remain in that kitchen, like your conscience couldn't bear to leave this the way it was.

Deal with it. You tell yourself. If they don't want to listen you shouldn’t even talk. But there is so much to say.

It wasn't you who got fired, you think as you take your clothes from the dresser and rush into the bathroom, it was Kie who did it to you.

The cold water jars you, like a glacier on your burning skin, but you continue the argument in your head as you scrub your skin raw trying to get JJ's hands off of you, thinking of everything you should have said.

The towel is still damp from your last shower as you pat yourself dry, but you can't get over the way your brother still looked at you like a criminal, as if the one time you got yourself into trouble was enough to outweigh every other stupid mistake he made.

The mirror seems like an alternative reality. You look into it and you see someone who’s alive. Bags under the eyes, reddened lips, messy hair. — If you look deep enough you can see breath in those lungs, shoulders that move up and down steadily, a chest that heaves. — But you feel like death, warmed over. An animal carcass that someone threw in the microwave, just to bring the color back to the corpse.

You reach under the sink for your makeup bag, and rifle through the little items you’ve managed to swipe from drugstores along the years.

Your mother would’ve been very disappointed in you. She was all about beauty, it's the only thing you remember about the woman: her, bent over the sink, touching up a cherry-red lipstick with the precision of a pre-raphaelite painter.

She never liked to kiss you. Took too much work to get her lips like that. Too bad for you, she wouldn’t be caught dead without it.

You wonder if she was wearing it right now. If she woke up, if she still refuses to kiss, even though that’s the basis on which her entire life was built upon.

Maybe she’s dead.

Maybe that's why you never heard from her.

If they did bury her, you at least hope they got her makeup right.

You fish a tube from the deepest corner of your bag, your only one. It's not as pretty as hers was, but you put it on just like she did, thinking of her, laying on a coroner’s table, being painted up like a doll.

Concealer. Foundation. You look like a doll. Painted plastic, a fake glimmer in your eye.

The blush comes later, closer to your undereyes, just where she put it. Then the lashes. She'd bat them to anyone who'd have her. A born flirt, your father would say.

The only thing he would say about her.

A stone weighs down on your chest.

Resentment.

Solid, calcified, heavy. If you move too fast you might feel it rattling inside your ribcage. But you look prettier than you did in a while.

You almost feel like her.

You take one last look in the mirror before stepping out, and she's looking back at you, raised brow, unimpressed, the way she always looked at you—it’s the version of you that can handle this, the one who won’t crumble at the first sign of trouble. It’s armor. A little cracked, maybe, but it’ll hold.

She would hold. You never could.

The house is quiet now, holding its breath with you when you step outside. John’s still in the kitchen, seething, you don’t hear him, but you feel him there, the weight of his anger pressing against the walls.

JJ is still there. He’s outside, sitting on the steps. He’s not looking at you, not at first. Just staring out at the river, his jaw clenched tight.

He only turns when you step out.

His eyes drop, flicking over you like he’s trying to figure out what’s different. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t.

– That was cruel. – He says, and his voice is rougher than before, like he’s been thinking too hard, breathing too shallow. – What you said to him. You shouldn't— He feels guilty.

You nod, barely.

He looks away again, back to the water. – Figures.

It’s not fair. You know that. You also know that staying here, standing in front of him, means letting him say whatever it is he’s trying not to say. And you don’t have the stomach for it.

So you step off the porch. The weight in your chest shifts, sharp and insistent.

JJ doesn’t stop you.

But he does call after you, just before you reach the end.

– Don’t do that. – he says, lower, slower. Suddenly, it's like he’s talking to a child. – We were getting along so well. Don't ignore me now.

You pause.

He lets out a breath, almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. – I'm late, – His eyes widen. – For an interview, JJ. I have to be there at 10. Someone’s gotta pay the bills.

– Don't.

– Why? Is he gonna do it? – JJ sucks his teeth, looking down, it's all the answer you need. – Don't you wanna eat something other than bread and beer? Actual food? I know I do.

– Baby,

– Don't call me that. – You nod to the door behind you. – We were already poor enough when I was working. I don’t wanna think of how it could be otherwise.

JJ is quiet. You can almost hear him thinking. – Do you want me to drive you?

There’s nothing you want less. – I’m fine. I’ll see you later.

– Wait, wait. Wait a minute. – He looks over his shoulder, and pulls at your hand, standing closer. – Give me a kiss.

– JJ, stop it.

– He won't see. – His hand lands on the small of your back, heat bleeding through your shirt as he pulls you in, tighter and tighter until you can’t avoid his lips.

His mouth is warm, familiar. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess the way he fits against you, like he already knows exactly how you’ll respond.

But you don’t.

You stay still, lips barely parting under his. The pressure of his hand at your back keeps you anchored, locked in place, and when he deepens the kiss—his lips moving slow, deliberate—you don’t fight it. You just let it happen, waiting for it to be over.

JJ doesn’t notice.

You feel it when he exhales through his nose, when his fingers press just a little harder into your spine, like he’s chasing something he isn’t getting. But he doesn’t pull back, not until he’s ready, until he's had his fill, and when he finally does, he sighs against your lips, almost satisfied, but not quite.

He lingers, his nose still brushing yours, but then he shifts back slightly, studying your face.

– That’s all I get? – His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s trying to decide whether to be hurt. – Don’t leave me wanting like that, baby.

– I gotta go.

He says nothing. Just glances over his shoulder and swallows. His hand stays on you for another second, two. And he moves as if he’ll pull away, but he doesn’t.

– JJ.

Your voice is steady, but the weight in your chest hasn’t budged. If anything, it’s worse now, heavier.

JJ watches you, expression unreadable, before tipping his head back with a soft chuckle.

– Damn. – He drags a hand down his face, shaking his head. – You make a guy work for it, huh?

You don’t respond. Take a step back, hands still on his shoulders.

– Come back soon, okay? – He whispers, you nod, and he goes on. – I'll see you later, right?

It isn’t a question. It’s a statement, like he already knows the answer.

And maybe he does.

You don’t give him a reply. You just keep walking, the weight in your chest sinking deeper, spreading through your ribs.

You never thought you’d be afraid of the Cameron house.

Rafe wasn’t really wrong when he joked about your house being haunted, but there’s something about his that is actually frightening. Maybe it’s the sheer size of it, the too-perfect symmetry of the windows staring down at you from over the white balconies like a set of watchful eyes. Or maybe it’s the fact that you know what happens inside. Either way, you stand there for a moment, frozen on the pavement, your phone open to Rafe’s messages, and curse the day your broke-ass parents decided to have a kid.

You spent the last of your money printing out a copy of your resume—hastily written on Google Docs during the bus ride. You’d embellished as much as your conscience allowed, but you had no illusions; landing a job at the Camerons’ was out of the question unless you managed to impress the head chef: Kareem Nawaz.

You were surprised to realize you sort of knew him. Kareem had run a bar at Figure Eight just around the time you were hired at the Wreck. Everybody on the island seemed to turn to it in awe, the single taste of something even tangentially cosmopolitan to ever grace the Outer Banks—fancy drinks, fancy music, fancy food. But the bar didn’t last long. As you’d heard from Anthony, Kareem and the other owner had come to blows over finances. Eventually, the lawsuit got so expensive they had to shut the place down.

You think of driving past the still-empty structure as you step around the perfect lawn, heading toward the staff entrance in the back. You knock once, then a second time, a little softer.

Your clothes are less than perfect. You think of what Rafe said, a shiver running up your spine. Your mother would’ve told you to wear that skirt. Maybe you should have.

Maybe that was the only thing that could work you this miracle.

You barely have time to steady yourself before the door swings open.

– Oh, uhm, hey. I’m here for the private chef position. – The man standing in the doorway eyes you down—not obviously, but just long enough that you notice. A brief flicker of appraisal, the kind that would go unnoticed if you weren’t already on edge. He leans against the frame, the sleeves of his coat pushed up just enough to show off the dark ink decorating his forearms. – I talked to someone on the phone.

– Yeah, I know. That was me. I'm Kareem. Kareem Nawaz, the head chef.

He extends a hand. Big, manicured, intricately tattooed, and you meet him halfway, a firm handshake in which his hand lingers for a minute.

– I'm…

– I remember your name. – He cuts in, but his tone is warm, friendly. You don’t even mind. He steps aside, holding the door open wider, inviting you in. – I looked you up. Routledge, right? You worked at the Wreck?

– Yes, sir. I was a roast chef for three years.

You extend the resume to him, watching his gaze shift between the paper and you. He doesn’t rush.

You don’t know what to make of him. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick beard and a man bun. The millennial chef stereotype. And yet, something about him doesn’t quite fit the label. He’s too put-together, too composed.

Kareem is not the struggling type. You can tell he has money, significant money, in the way he talks and moves so comfortably, as if he's so deeply aware that the world is his that he doesn't even think about it.

You wait for resentment to bloom in your chest, a distaste, a mistrust, but nothing comes. You look at him, and it’s like you've known each other for years. He smiles—broad, easy, sweet—and yet you still can’t tell what’s going on behind his eyes.

– So I hear. – You freeze. – I gave your last boss a call. Regretted it, too. He did everything he could to convince me not to hire you.

Your hands twitch at your sides, but you force yourself to stay still, to keep your gaze fixed.

– Mr. Carrera never had a high opinion of me.

– And yet he kept you on for three years. Why do you think that is?

– Cheap labor? A fondness for torturing people? – Kareem laughs, crossing his arms as he leans back against the marble counter, watching you with something like amusement. – He’s a famous sadist.

– Oh, I know that. – His smile falters, just for a second, twisting at the edges. It’s quick—blink and you’d miss it—but it’s enough. The first hint of something other than friendliness. – Mr. Cameron is fond of him, don’t ask me why. The bastard makes a point to come into my kitchen and tell me how to do my job every time he’s here.

You put on your sympathetic voice. – How rude.

He chuckles, flashing straight white teeth.

– You don’t need to kiss ass, Ms. Routledge. If Michael Carrera doesn’t like you, then I’m sure we can be great friends.

You tilt your head, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling like a little girl.

– I do enjoy friendship…

– …But what you need is a job?

– I'm not rejecting the offer, but… yeah.

He smiles and glances down at your resume again.

– Here’s the deal. Three years at a professional kitchen, in the single kinda decent restaurant in this place—that’s a lot. You've worked at diners, mom&pop businesses, bakeries… You got a lot of color in your resume. That's great. But you’re what, nineteen?

– Something like that.

– You never even went to culinary school.

– No, sir.

– That’s kind of a problem.

You take a slow breath. His expression is neutral, but his eyes linger—just a beat longer than they should.

– Well, I know. I know without an education, I’m not anyone's ideal choice. But maybe, in the absence of a diploma to tell you that I’m able, you might accept another sort of proof?

He raises his brows, his mouth parting just slightly.

– Another sort..?

– Yeah.

Something in the air shifts.

His posture changes— he straightens, brushing a hand over the tattoos on his forearm, like he’s suddenly aware of them. His eyes hold yours for a moment, long enough that you feel it in your stomach, that same feeling you get when you’ve stepped a little too close to the edge of a ledge.

His voice is low when he speaks, taking a step closer. – Alright, I'll bite. – He says, voice even, unreadable. – What kind of proof?

– Well, you tell me. I can do it all.

– All?

The way he says it feels careful. You can tell he’s watching you, weighing the moment, as if waiting for you to clarify. But you don’t—not right away. That’s the gift your mother left you: suggestion. You let the silence stretch for just long enough to see the way his fingers tighten slightly over his forearm, a flicker of something in his eyes before he blinks it away.

You shrug. – Yeah. – You hum. – It really depends on what you need help with. I've been a roast chef, I can help with lunch. Or maybe the desert is the problem, that's where the bakery gig comes in handy. Pick a dish. If I wanna work here with you, I gotta learn how to follow your lead, right?

He hums, smile growing. You feel yourself mirror it without even realizing. – You wanna cook for me?

– Well, yeah. – He exhales a soft chuckle, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he tilts his head. – I'm a proactive kind of girl. That's my greatest trait.

– I bet it is. – Kareem lets out a breath through his nose, his lips pressing together in something like amusement, though there’s a slowness to it. – You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?

– I try.

You’re aware of his gaze still on you as he finally shifts, setting your resume down on the counter and turning toward the stainless steel fridge.

– Alright, chef. Lunch for today is beef tenderloin with a red wine reduction sauce. Truffle mash potatoes, cornbread with honey butter, some roasted vegetables with herbs and panna cotta for dessert.

– Did you get started with cornbread?

He looks at his watch with a smile. – Not yet.

– Well, in that case. I can do the cornbread and, at the same time, something simple but tasty for us to lunch on. And later, if you’re convinced, I will do the rest.

A hearty laugh escapes him, you feel it buzz against your skin. – You weren’t playing about the proactive thing, were you?

– No sir. I'm a woman of my word.

– Hardly a woman. – He teases.

– I will ignore that comment. And what are you anyways? 27? Not exactly my idea of an old man.

– I am thirty one years old!

– In what? Dog years?

– Really funny. – His tone drips with sarcasm, but he can’t shake off the smile as you gather the ingredients for the cornbread.

– That's another thing you might look forward to. If you decide to hire me, of course.

– Hate to say it, but your fate's really hanging on how good that us-lunch is gonna be. – He pauses, smiling again. – Actually, I don’t hate to say it at all. What are you making?

– That's a surprise. Shouldn't you be getting started on that panna cotta?

– Bossy. – He bumps your shoulder, still grinning. It's starting to unnerve you.

You nod, stepping forward to scan the kitchen, already mapping out what you need.

But before you can open the fridge, Kareem moves in front. He reaches for the sink, fills a glass with water, and sets it down beside you.

– You’re shaking, y'know?

You freeze for half a second.

– I’m not.

– Sure you aren’t.

His tone is casual, almost teasing, but there’s something in the way he leans just slightly into your space as he says it. Close enough that, when you glance up, he’s already looking at you.

It’s brief. A flicker of a moment. But there’s something in the way his gaze lingers, the way his fingers drum once against the counter before he pulls away, giving you back your space.

– Clock’s ticking, chef.

You take a deep breath, fingers brushing against the countertop as you gather the ingredients for the cornbread. There’s a slight tremor in your hands, but you ignore it. You can’t afford to let nerves get the best of you—not now. The kitchen is big, the appliances gleaming, and Kareem’s presence fills the space in a way you’re not entirely sure how to handle.

But you can cook. You know that much.

It’s easy enough to find your way around the ingredients. Head chefs are all about the methodical nature of storing, and you can see his pattern as you go from the fridge, to the pantry, and back to the counter

You begin with the dry ingredients—cornmeal, flour, sugar, baking powder. There’s something almost meditative about it, the repetition of pouring and measuring, the steady rhythm that lulls you into focus. You’re already thinking ahead, the steps laid out in your mind as you mix. You add the salt, the baking powder, the sugar. The cornbread is a good start. It’s simple, but comforting—a dish that feels like a hug with every bite.

That tells you enough about him. Obviously, Kareem’s the one picking out the meals. A man like Ward Cameron is exactly the person to just hand off that responsibility entirely while he focuses on the “important things”. Beef tenderloin is posh enough to fit the Cameron’s style, especially with a wine reduction. But cornbread? That’s a chef’s nostalgia speaking.

And you’ll be damned if you can’t milk that for all it's got.

There’s a hum in the air, the soft buzz of your thoughts, as you pour the buttermilk into the bowl, watching the swirl of white in the yellow mix. Your mind drifts back to Kareem, trying to figure out his preferences.

He’s not a city boy, despite the desperate attempt to seem like one. Whenever he laughs or gets too distracted you can hear the subtle drawl on a country accent in his voice. His build hardly hints at someone unfamiliar with manual labour. You’re not a betting woman, but if you were, you’d bet he was raised on a farm. — So fancy food isn’t the right choice. He’s earnest, wholesome, and though he hides it well enough under the truffle oil and the herbs and the wine thing that are clearly not what he would prefer, his menu tells you he enjoys simplicity, but that he often has to dress it up.

What he wants is a homey fare.

Something that’s comforting, without being heavy, Something hearty. Tasty. The sort of thing that makes you drool as it cooks and fills every expectation when it's in your mouth: Chicken, mash, a salad that isn’t quite a salad just to put some color on the plate. Something a mother would make. A good mother— That’s easy enough.

You add the egg, the melted butter, and fold everything together with quick, practiced movements. No hesitation. It's easier now that you know what you’re gonna do next. You pour the batter into a cast-iron skillet, sizzling as it hits the hot surface enough to make you pause, your heart catching in your chest. The cornbread will bake up crisp on the outside and soft on the inside, just like it should. That’s the easy part. The hard part’s still to come.

As the cornbread begins to bake, you move onto your chicken. You need to get the oil hot—just the right temperature so that the chicken fries up golden brown, the skin crispy and seasoned perfectly. You take a moment to mix in the seasonings: paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, cayenne. Press it into the flour mixture, making sure it coats evenly. You feel the nervousness creep in again as you set the pieces into the hot oil. It crackles, the sound sharp and satisfying.

You glance over your shoulder, but Kareem is still a little too far away to read his expression.

Focus.

The chicken fries, sizzling as it turns a golden brown. You turn the pieces carefully, making sure they cook evenly, the skin getting crisp and crackly. There’s a slight smell of garlic and paprika in the air—rich and savory—and for a moment, the tension that’s been building in your chest starts to lift, if only a little. You move in a kind of rhythm now, your hands steady, your mind occupied with each step.

You turn to the potatoes. You throw them into a pot, fill it with water, and set it to boil. You don’t need to watch it. It’ll take care of itself for now, just like the cornbread. You wash spinach, the leaves fresh and bright, and start on the sauté. A quick toss in hot olive oil with garlic—simple, but good. The spinach wilts quickly, its deep green turning darker as it cooks. You squeeze a little lemon juice over it, just enough to add a pop of brightness.

You’re acutely aware of Kareem’s presence behind you. You can feel his eyes on you, even when you don’t turn to look. His movements are almost too quiet, too calculated as he focuses on the panna cotta, but then, you hear a soft chuckle. You glance over and catch him looking at you—just a split second before he turns back to his work. He’s not hiding it. He’s watching you.

You try to ignore it, but it’s hard. Every so often, you catch him peeking over the top of the counter, eyes twinkling with something that could be amusement—or maybe just curiosity. He watches you handle the chicken, his gaze never straying too far, like he’s waiting for you to slip up. His voice breaks the silence between you when he speaks, low and teasing.

– You sure you know what you’re doing?

You keep your hands steady as you flip a piece of chicken, not looking up. – What, you think I can’t handle some fried chicken?

– No, no. I’m just curious, – he says, his voice carrying a hint of a grin. You feel it in the air as he stays close enough to catch the scent of garlic and paprika. – The real question is: are you really going to make this whole meal from scratch?

You roll your eyes, though the corners of your mouth twitch. – Didn’t I tell you I was a proactive type of person?

His laugh is soft, almost like he’s enjoying the game of it all. – I’m starting to think I might have underestimated you, chef.

You focus on the chicken, trying to ignore the way his presence feels just a little too heavy in the kitchen. When you set the pieces on the paper towels, you catch his eyes again, this time his grin widening as he leans against the counter. He seems unbothered by the quiet, the way you’re keeping your space while working. The kitchen is like a stage, and right now, you’re not sure whether you’re the performer or the director.

As the chicken finishes up, you check the potatoes. They’re soft and ready to mash, so you turn off the heat and start mashing them, adding butter, cream, and salt to get them to the right consistency. The spinach is done now, wilted and coated with a light sheen of oil and lemon juice. You set the chicken, the spinach, and the potatoes together, and glance over at Kareem again. He’s watching you now, his eyes following every move you make. There’s something amused in the way his lips curl as he turns back to the panna cotta.

– Well, – you say, trying to sound casual, like your whole life doesn’t depend on this. – lunch is almost ready.

He takes a step forward, his gaze moving over your work. – Smells damn good, – he says with a nod, his approval heavy in the air. You feel the cold whiff of realization Pandora must have felt after the box was finally open —Surrounded by the darkness you harvested, the only thing left for you is hope, the cruelest of all feelings.

You finally pull the cornbread from the oven, the golden crust hot and ready. You cut a piece, drizzling honey butter over the top. You glance at Kareem, who’s standing just a little too close, his grin still there, like he’s enjoying the whole scene.

– You didn’t think I’d pull it off, did you? – you ask, keeping your voice light, but you know he’s been watching, testing you.

– I might’ve had my doubts, – he admits, glancing at the food, – but I’m starting to think you might just be what this kitchen needs.

You set the plate in front of him, your heart racing a little. You’ve survived. For now.

You watch as Kareem picks up his fork, inspecting the plate like he’s about to face some kind of culinary battle. The corners of his mouth twitch in a playful smirk as he takes a bite of the chicken, his eyes immediately lighting up. He chews slowly, savoring each mouthful, before his gaze shifts to the potatoes. He dips his fork in, taking a scoop with as much care as a connoisseur tasting fine wine.

– Damn, – he says, half to himself, almost in disbelief. – You really did know what you were doing, huh?

You feel a smile tug at your lips, but you don’t let it show too much. – Told you.

His eyes lock with yours as he takes another bite, clearly relishing the moment. – I thought I was just gonna get something...good, but this? – He shakes his head, clearly impressed. – This is something else.

Your chest coils at the praise, heavy, even through the gladness. Yturn to grab the panna cotta, trying to keep your composure. – It’s just food.

– Oh, don’t play humble now, – he teases, voice laced with admiration. – This is art.

You’re not sure if it’s the joke or the way his tone softens just a little, but there’s a small flush creeping up your neck. You focus on serving the dessert, trying to keep your cool. When you turn back, he’s already looking at you like he’s trying to figure out what makes you tick.

– You know, if this was a competition, – he says with a grin, – I’d say you’ve got a pretty solid shot at winning.

You set the panna cotta down, feeling your hands fail you. – You're saying this isn’t a competition?

He takes another bite, face lighting up once again. – Well, I don’t really feel like doing any more interviews.

You wait for the punchline, but instead he just takes another bite, his eyes never leaving yours, a hint of something more behind the humor. The kitchen feels different now, charged, like the food isn’t the only thing that’s being tested.

You chuckle, trying to play it cool, even as you feel yourself trembling. – I do have a shot, then?

Kareem shrugs, but there’s a gleam in his eye as he leans back against the counter, holding the plate as if it was made of solid gold. – I think, you have a job.

You blink, heart skipping a beat. His words hang in the air, playful yet serious, like they’ve both been wrapped in a layer of something unspoken. For a second, all you can do is stand there, staring at him, trying to process whether he’s joking or actually offering something more.

And then the rush of emotions hits you like a wave.

Before you can stop yourself, you practically leap towards him, your arms wrapping around him in a spontaneous hug. It’s a mix of excitement, relief, and something else that you can’t quite put a name to.

– Oh my god, thank you! Thank you so much! – you practically squeal, hugging him tighter than you probably should.

Kareem lets out a startled laugh, but there’s no resistance in his body as he gently pats your back. – You’re welcome, you’re welcome.

You pull back, your face flushing in embarrassment. – Uh, I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know what came over me. That was… uh, I mean… you know, too much.

Kareem grins, a mischievous spark in his eyes. – Don’t apologize. You’ve got energy. I like it.

You wince, still a little flustered but feeling slightly better at his easy-going response. – Well, I’m glad you’re not my old boss. He would’ve fired me on the spot.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your awkwardness. – You can hug me whenever you want if you keep cooking like this. That’s a trade-off I’m willing to make.

You stare at him, your heart still racing a little from the interaction, but there's something else beneath it, something lighter.

– Alright, well, next time I’ll just hand you a plate of burnt toast and see if you still want to hug me then.

Kareem laughs loudly, shaking his head. – I’m not that picky.

Your chest tightens, but it’s not out of nervousness. It’s excitement, maybe even anticipation. You force yourself to focus, taking a deep breath. – Well, I do have a few more tricks up my sleeve. So, if you’re lucky…

– Oh, I’m lucky alright, – he says, his tone low and serious. His gaze flicks to your lips for just a moment, then back up to your eyes, his smile still lingering. – I think I’ve hit the jackpot.

Your breath catches, and for a second its like the whole kitchen quiets, the buzz of the conversation fading as your mind tries to catch up with what just happened. But just as quickly, Kareem’s grin widens, and he’s back to normal, as if nothing happened.

You're not sure it did, now.

– Seriously, though. You’re definitely the kind of person I want in this kitchen. You’ve got a future in this.

The weight of his words is still heavy, but you let out a laugh, easing the tension a little. – Guess we’ll see, won’t we?

– Oh, we will. – Kareem raises his eyebrows, clearly amused. – Well sit down and eat already, did you put poison on the food or something?

– Who knows, maybe mr. Carrera sent me down here to kill you.

Kareem raises an eyebrow. – Sounds like something he would do.

You laugh, shaking your head. – No poison, I promise. But hey, if it were, I’d say I’d be going down with you. Can’t let you go alone.

He chuckles, taking another bite of his food. – And who's gonna finish the pana cotta when I'm dead?

– Well, when you're out of the way I'm probably be busy basking in all that glory. – You take a sip of the water he poured you, but when you look up, Kareem takes a deep breath, his face suddenly worried. – Oh God. Did I overdo it with the joke, that was a little...

– No, no. That’s not what that is. It's just this thing you should know. – Your face falls. – It’s not that horrible…

– So it is.

– I can’t hire you without telling you. I mean, you're already hired. But I should tell you. – He plays around with the food for a moment. – The job is good. The pay is good, better than what you’re gonna get slaving away at some place like the Wreck.

– So, what's the catch?

He looks over his shoulder, and after assessing if you truly were alone or not, he finally says – The employers. – It seems to weigh on him. The way he says it is almost grievous. – There's not a month that goes by without someone being fired for something stupid.

– Jesus Christ.

– Yeah. I mean, Ward is a hard-ass. He complains a lot, he talks big game, but he's fair most of the time. Sarah and Louisa, his daughters, they're fine too, sometimes they whine, but they're mostly okay. It's his wife and his son you gotta worry about.

You mull on that for a moment, staring at your plate. – Why is that?

Kareem huffs. – Rafe and Rose, they'll find issues with the slightest things if they're pissed, sometimes, even when they're not. I've heard them screaming at staff for no reason, making people cry. Just— He looks deeper at you, almost pensive. – just don't get in their way.

– Is that what happened to the last person in the job? They got "in the way"?

The question slips out before you can stop it, and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you notice a subtle shift in Kareem’s demeanor. His wavers just slightly, pausing mid-bite. For a split second, his eyes flicker over to the door again.

Before you can backpedal, Kareem clears his throat and leans back slightly in his chair, a more measured tone entering his voice. – The last guy, I don’t even know. Randomly fired, like out of nowhere. He’d been working here for a while, but one day, bam. Gone.

He glances over his shoulder, looking like he's weighing whether to continue. There's a brief hesitation, and you notice his jaw tighten just slightly. – Don’t really know the full story, but I heard it was… – He stops himself just as he’s about to finish the sentence.

You feel the sudden weight of the moment, but just as you’re about to press him further, the door swings open, and you both look up in surprise.

Rafe walks in, his presence filling the room immediately. There’s something unmistakable about the way he carries himself—like he’s constantly aware of the effect he has on people. His eyes scan the room quickly, lingering just a little too long on Kareem, before drifting over to you.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic

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shotmrmiller · 10 months ago

Text

The cool air that sweeps over your skin once you board the train feels like a gentle splash of water on a sweltering summer day. The sudden temperature change sends a shiver down your sweat-slick back, the hair on your arms standing on end in sharp relief. You press a hand to your chest, feeling the drumming of your heart against it.

You almost hadn't made it.

Everything had gone awry from the moment your alarm went off. First, you'd snoozed the clock. Half an hour later, your eyes snapped open, the horizon that'd just started to blush with the first hint of dawn giving way to a vibrant, limpid morning blue.

Shit.

You had called a cab while you were hastily getting ready, brushing your teeth, washing your face, only for it to arrive within 5 minutes. Five.

With the honking outside, you quickly threw on the first piece of clothing you found.

As you sat in the car, deliberately ignoring the driver's heated glare through the rearview mirror, you'd patted down your crinkled dress before crossing your legs, and realized—

You've got no knickers on. Double shit.

Whatever. It'll be fine. You were taking an overnight train across the country and even got yourself a private little room to sleep in. All would be well. But you had to get there first and boarding would start in 15 minutes.

Navigating through the aimless crowd of people had been excruciating. Children weaving in and out coupled with elderly folk stopping to chat up their friends with zero regard for foot traffic. Agony.

(You're fully aware that no one is at fault here but yourself.)

Almost hadn't made it but almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

Your heartbeat's still pounding in your ears as you walk down the narrow aisle, arms burning with the weight of your luggage bag and the tote slung around your shoulder. The thought of settling into your cabin and finally taking a breather propels you forward, albeit sluggishly.

The metronomic clatter of the wheels on the tracks smothers that burning sense of urgency you've felt since you woke. Weariness seeps into your bones once your cabin door comes into view. There's no other thought in your head apart from putting your stuff away and getting off your feet as you fumble for the handle.

In your fatigued haze, you hadn't noticed someone already inside. The world, once fuzzy around the edges, sharpens to cutting clarity in your shock. He's a big man. Very big. He looks like he's been carved out of oak— broad and solid. His shoulders are wide, stretching the seams of his shirt. His thick arms are draped along the backrest of the seat. The breadth of his chest— should, probably does— defies anatomy.

He's got legs like tree trunks. And they're sprawled outward, taking up a lot, if not most of the room. There's a bag resting against your seat even though the overhead space is empty. A bulky, grey jacket lays about.

You're tired, not blind. This is definitely the cabin you paid for with your measly income. But you're scared witless at the mere thought of trying to kick him out. He'll eat you. Gnaw your bones with his molars to dust for the offense.

You tug on the ends of the knot that is lodged in your throat, hoping to get some words out, but it only seems to tighten. The man's keen eyes lock onto yours, unblinking. Heavy with a weight that presses down on your back, your shoulders. Even the air itself.

The gentle click of the sliding door shutting behind you has your heart trying to crawl out of your mouth. (Possibly your arse, too, but you're not sure of anything right now, other than you're about to burst into tears because his gaze followed the motions of you shakily hoisting your bag up higher on your shoulder.)

His voice is a deep rumble— rich and resounding. You swear you could feel the air vibrate as he spoke.

"Sit down 'fore ya hurt yourself." It startles you into action, like a starter's pistol before a swim race. Quickly rising to the tips of your toes, you put your luggage bag away, giving it a couple of smacks to push it all the way back.

You mumble out a garbled 'scuse me as you traipse past his outstretched legs, carefully stepping over them, only to brush against his knee. You flinch, he doesn't.

"Sorry." Heat blooms beneath your cheeks. Embarrassing. You shove your tote into a little corner, its humble size dwarfed by his frame. With trembling fingers, you pull the back of your—very thin, now that you think about it— dress down, trying to compose yourself, before taking a seat.

Directly in front of him.

And he's still staring. Vaguely, you wonder if he can see your fluttering pulse beneath the delicate skin of your neck.

There's a lot of people on the train. That unbearably long line you had to stand in to board it was the proof. Yet it's unnervingly silent. Not one distant tinkle of laughter. No gentle hum of murmured conversation. Clinking of spoons against coffee cups.

Just a sharp, high-pitched whistle of the wind outside the window. Even he isn't making a sound. No rustling of clothes, no shifting around. Motionless.

You nervously grab at the skirt of your dress, clammy fingers curling, fabric bunching within your tightened fist, white staining your knuckles. The hem of your dress is frayed, like your nerves at this moment.

Oh no.

You flash your eyes to the guy's face but he's no longer paying attention to you. He's now looking straight at the apex of your legs. Your very naked apex. Amusement dances across his rugged features. His ash-blonde eyebrows quirking slightly, corner of his thin-lipped mouth curling.

The room tilts slightly, a dizzying sensation that leaves you momentarily unbalanced. Mortification pricks at your nerves, gathers in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill. An ear-grating squeak escapes past your clenched teeth as you jerkily tug down the skirt, the hem settling against your shins.

A tiny hiccup punctuates the moment.

His mud-caked boot taps the outside of your foot, demanding your attention. "Now, now. Nothin' to be ashamed of, birdy," he grunts. Then, with casual ease, he slides it in between yours, this time nudging the inside of them.

A recognizable gesture.

Open up.

(there's no getting a staff member to remove him. they're all half his size. and can he at least shut the blinds on the window????)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley #cod mw2

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cherryrikis · 7 months ago

Text

ONE LESS LONELY GIRL - 006 ! first time for everything

PAIRING idols riki x fem reader

SYNOPSIS fans always point out the chemistry between you and riki, and it only continues to grow after you become mc’s together on music bank. but as your feelings rise, so does the tension. and people begin to notice, so you try not to let riki know how you feel. but unbeknownst to you, he feels entirely the same way.

authors note no update yesterday (sorryyy) bc i decided to actually take a break! ps wc is 1.7k.. i got a little carried away😭

previous <> masterlist <> next

after giving riki your number less than 24 hours ago, he wasted no time to use it. you knew that he would eventually text or call you, it just wasn’t expected to be so soon.

so you were not expecting to wake up from a text from him.

you somewhat screamed out loud, dropping your phone on the floor. but as soon as danielle came rushing in from the other bedroom, your clarity hit.

the clock next to your bed read 4:59 am. you realized, it was the middle of the night. everyone was sleeping, until you woke up the people who were now in front of you.

“what? what is it?” danielle sat on your bed with hyein following soon after.

as she moved to lay down beside you, hyein stared at the other two girls who you shared a room with. minji and haerin were still fast asleep, having been used to your habit of being loud at the slightest inconvenience. especially since you were known to wake up in the middle of the night.

“he texted me at two in the morning, and i didn’t see till now!” you squealed.

danielle groaned in annoyance. “oh come on y/n! i almost actually slept good knowing we had no schedule today. now i’ll never be able to go back to sleep!”

hyein ignored her, turning her attention to you. she lifted her head up from your pillow before taking your phone.

“if your crush texted you in the middle of the night, you’d be the exact same way.” she squinted at danielle. “too bad i don’t like anyone then.”

they both read the text from riki, examining it.

“what the fuck? you woke us up for a ‘hey’?” hyein’s mood changed as she read the message out loud.

“well i didn’t open it! i just saw the notification..” you whined.

“wait! what? look, it says he’s texting right now!” danielle pointed her finger to your phone as the bubble appeared, which indicated he was in fact typing.

‘u busy today?’

“what are you gonna say? why is he even awake right now?”

“i bet he detected that she read it. like some spiderman tingle. that’s his.. ni-ki senses.” hyein stifled a laugh.

“shut up! give me my phone.”

you smiled at the texts, before turning the phone off and tucking it under your pillow. you pulled up your blanket from the edge of the bed, but it didn’t move, feeling unusually heavy.

at the end of the mattress, laid hyein and danielle. they had fallen fast asleep throughout the duration of your conversation.

on a typical day, you would be annoyed. but today was no average morning. you had yourself a date with nishimura riki.

you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the fact that you had to sleep with no blanket. you still slept well, looking forward to what your evening will bring.

“where are you going all dressed up?” haerin sat down next to you on the couch, as she gestured to your outfit. it was nothing too special, just a tube top and some baggy cargos.

“she has a date with nishimura riki!” hyein chimed in from the kitchen.

“what?!” hanni, haerin, and minji exclaimed in unison.

“yeah, it happened this morning. but you guys were sleeping.” you shrugged, before leaning down to tie your shoes (which danielle so kindly picked out and handed to you).

“is he picking you up?” hanni questioned, suddenly intrigued.

“yes, he should be here.. around now, actually.”

as if right on cue, riki was knocking on the door of your shared dorm.

“i got it!” minji rushed as she beat danielle to the entrance.

she opened the door, which behind it, revealed your knight in shining armor. or in his case, a hoodie layered with a bomber jacket and cargo pants. but it was good enough for you. he looked good in anything he wore.

“y/n isn’t home. better luck next time.” haerin came up to him, pushing minji out the way. she began to slowly close the door, only for riki to hold it open.

“seriously haerin?” hyein scoffed. “if you actually locked him out, y/n would be so pissed.” “i was kidding! everyone knows he’s untouchable here anyway. it’s obvious that if anyone even breathes in the direction of her boyfriend-”

she slapped a hand over haerin’s mouth, pulling her away from the doorway and switching places with her.

“sorry about that. y/n’s just grabbing her phone from upstairs. you wanna come in? i think- woah, did you guys plan this?” hyein paused as you walked towards her. she examined your outfit, and then riki’s. you realized, you were basically matching with the same color scheme. even the same cargos.

“hey. you look good.” he smiled as you stood next to him. you pulled him into a hug before pecking his cheek, just like yesterday.

almost as if it was a natural instinct, he wrapped an arm around your waist to secure you beside him.

riki spoke up once more to answer your roommates question. “not at all actually, i guess we kinda matched by pure coincidence. but uh, y/n, we really should get going? it’s almost like, an hour long drive.”

as soon as those words left his mouth, danielle came up to you both from the kitchen. she disregarded hyein, gesturing for her to leave.

“get y/n home by 10, no later then. don’t get caught, or be recognized.” she paused, as she pointed her gaze towards his hand which now held onto your hip. “and absolutely no dating scandals.” danielle poked her finger at his chest to emphasize the last sentence, not caring about the fact that riki towered over her.

“home before 10, don’t be spotted, and don’t cause a dating scandal. got it. thanks dani.” he smiled, before leaving your dorm to take you to his car.

“next in line please.” the cashier called out in a bored and monotone voice. but as you two approached the counter, her face lit up.

you were almost certain she recognized you or riki when she began to whisper to the barista. but she had no reaction as she asked for your order. you second guessed yourself, as the cashiers tired expression returned once more.

“ladies first. what will you have?” riki asked.

“could i order the strawberry matcha latte, and the chocolate croissant?” you spoke, watching as she took your order.

“and for you?” the cashier questioned, gesturing towards riki.

“i’ll have what she’s having.”

“two strawberry matcha lattes and two chocolate croissants. your total is ₩32,000. just insert your card here.”

he did indeed pay for the food. but, neither of you noticed how when the receipt printed, the cashier tucked it into her pocket instead of giving it to you.

“do you like the drink?” you asked riki, as he took a sip from his cup. “it’s really good. good thing we came here, i’ve never tried something so simple but, it’s delicious. you didn’t try it yet?.”

“i’ve been eating the croissant the whole time! okay, here. see?” you paused, placing down the chocolate croissant to sip the drink out of spite. you thought riki was exaggerating, but you didn’t expect it to be even better than he described.

he chuckled as he watched your face light up. “see? it really is good, isn’t it? nice choice.”

the two of you had been out for hours, even as the cafe closed. but there was nowhere else to go that was private, so riki just settled to take you home.

you were both sat in riki’s car, parked in the underground garage of the condos where you both lived. riki had his head resting on your shoulder as you scrolled through your phones, randomly showing each other random tiktoks you thought were funny.

it was a small yet intimate moment, you cherished it. you both were having so much fun, you almost forgot being an idol was part of your everyday lives. with you, riki felt free. he was able to forget the pressures of his job. and you felt the exact same way.

neither of you noticed it was already a little past 10.

“shit. riki, we have to go. it’s already 10:25.” you exclaimed, suddenly hyper-focusing on the time on your phone.

“i’ll walk you to your dorm.” he smiled.

and so you stood in front of your door, but you weren’t ready to go in. and he wasn’t ready to leave you yet.

“i had a good time.” you said, bringing your hands up to hold onto his shoulders. “we should go out again.”

“i wouldn’t mind.” riki mumbled, before bringing his face down to meet yours, connecting your lips in one quick movement.

your breath hitched when you felt him deepen the kiss, as he brought a hand up to softly stroke your cheek.

slowly, he pulled away. but not far, as he rested his forehead against yours.

you smiled at him, leaning forward to peck his lips once more.

“thank you for today.” he whispered, pulling away entirely so he could clearly see you. “goodnight riki.” you lightly chuckled, thinking back to your texts from earlier.

“goodnight y/n.”

but as he was about to leave, the front door of your dorm is pulled open. the two of you were met with the angry faces of minji, danielle, and haerin. “get inside here! and you too riki.” exclaimed minji, as she dragged you both into the living room.

as soon as you both are pushed to sit onto the couch, you scrambled to explain yourselves. “i know we’re late, but we just last track of time. dani, we-”

“it’s not about that! look at this.” she interrupted, pulling out her phone to hand it to you.

“riki, did you just choose to throw the three rules out the window? those are three things you can never ignore especially as an idol.” minji groaned, rubbing her forehead.

“okay, yes, we missed curfew. but we weren’t recognized or anything.” he said, confused.

“riki..?” you called out. your hands began to shake as you showed him what was displayed on danielle’s phone.

riki had never been so shocked.

“you two should’ve been more careful.”

TAGLIST (italics = couldnt be tagged) @hannicorpse @luvvhaerin @chaevibes @en-verse @ren2jay @choppedballoondetective @heartheejake @imanalien143 @istglevi-gotmesimping @yndairy @eleanorheartschishiya @lonelylandofan @gweoriz @jaemified @onlyhyunjin @softpia @frecklesbrownies @riksaes @wensurr @rikifordmiami @brideslit @ant-onie @yumilovesloona @aeminju @hoonics @catecita @clampclover @rei4sunoo @addictedtohobi @rikidaze @baekxo07 @xotyla @melancholy-z @rikisgeef @jung1w0n @tocupid @onlyseung @i03jae @iheartshopping @istphanie @queenriki7 @academiq @1117promises @nctislifue @haechansbbg @rairaiblog @nabia-bia @pkjay @lixiebokie @hiekoo @r1kizerr @d-dilemma @kingofthekards @iilwji @hoonatic @woorcve @enhaz1

#enhypen x reader #enhypen #niki smau #niki x reader #enhypen niki #nishimura riki #enhypen imagines #enhypen smau #riki x reader #riki smau #enhypen scenarios

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hispg · 1 year ago

Text

Comfort

Pairings: R4! Leon x Fem! Reader

Summary: Your husband is glad that he has you, just like he's glad to have his little family.

Wc:4.8k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, p in v, mentions of ptsd, mentions of birth and pregnancy, soft sex(nothing too kinky), oral sex(f receiving), just Leon being a sweetheart.

An:So, this week has been very busy for me. As I've been saying in my last few posts, university has been taking up a lot of my time, as well as my mental health being pretty messed up. I didn't manage to finish the chapter of 'Between Love and Vows' so I probably won't post anything new until next week. In compensation, I'll post another one of my drafts (smut), I'll make a poll so you guys can choose. And next week I'll post two new chapters of the series! Thanks for your love and understanding <3 If I haven't answered your comment, ask or request, don't worry, I will eventually🫶🫶

MDNI

Sleepless nights, the nightmares that kept tormenting him, his mind that was in turmoil all the time. Leon was used to all this, he had already realized that these were sensations he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

His trauma, ptsd that haunted him every day. Things he had seen and heard, all so fresh in his memory, so vivid. Things that no matter how hard he tried to forget, he couldn't. As if it were a mark stamped on his soul.

But he coped, as he always does with everything in life. Little by little, he understood how to deal with panic attacks, how to calm down even when he was about to collapse. He learned all this, but that didn't make things any less worse than they were.

Although he thought he had everything under control, that it wouldn't affect him as much as before, he was wrong.

His last mission in Spain proved it, he went from hell to heaven to save the president's daughter. Everything worked out in the end, but that doesn't erase what he experienced or saw.

Many times he could have sworn that if it hadn't been for you, he would have gone mad a long time ago. Even if you weren't able to end the pain he felt, you were there to be the light at the end of the tunnel for him, the clarity to his own insanity.

All this because every time he returned from a mission, he came home first, not caring if he was all dirty with mud and dirt, even blood. His safe haven was here, with you.

That was the only reason he always came home, no matter how difficult things might be for him. You were what he needed, you were the person who healed all his wounds, and he couldn't be more grateful.

If it had been anyone else, he would have left you by now, but you understood him. You listened to him even if he didn't make any sense, you were still there.

Your love was the remedy for all his problems.

And if he was being honest, it was the reason he woke up every day, the only reason he had a place to call home. You, simply you.

And that night, he found himself on another one of those nights when he couldn't sleep, and there he was, pacing around the house, finding something to occupy his mind.

It had been two weeks since he had returned from his mission in Spain, and he was still terrified by everything that had happened, even though he was safe and sound in the comfort of his own home.

He woke up from a nightmare, yet another one. And in order not to wake you too, he preferred to get out of bed. You were already tired enough to have to deal with him in the wee hours of the morning.

He was so careful with you, even though you had told him several times that it was okay for him to wake you up if he needed to. But he was stubborn enough to say no.

As he made some tea, just to see if it would calm his nerves, he watched the rain falling outside, the gentle drips hitting the window.

In that silence he began to have some sweet memories, it always helped to calm him down a little. One of those memories was when he asked you to marry him, God, he still remembers the nervousness that ran through his whole body. The trembling hands that held the box with the ring, the words that he had rehearsed so much and still came out messy. He was so afraid of being told no, but his heart calmed down when you smiled and threw yourself into his arms, saying yes again and again, making his heart melt each time.

That night he fell even more in love with you, if that were possible.

When you started living together, every time he came home he was greeted with a hug, you welcomed him with love and affection. He felt his cold exterior crumble at the same moment, words couldn't describe how much he liked it. Every little gesture that came from you, no matter what, he always took it to heart and considered it with all his soul.

He still vividly remembered a conversation he had with you as soon as you moved in together. It never failed to crack a smile.

"Darling, did you let something burn?" Leon asks as he feeds himself, looking around the kitchen.

You look at him with a laugh, seeing that he arrived so tired that he didn't even realize he was still in his work clothes. And then you answer, "No, why do you ask?"

"Nothing, it's just that something stinks." He says quietly, focused on finishing his food.

You can't help yourself and a giggle escapes your lips, "You haven't showered yet, sweetheart."

"Oh..." He mumbles, looking down at his state.

He was so entertained that he only noticed a baby crying from one of the bedrooms, it was you guys son.

He didn't hesitate to go into the baby's room, watching the little one whimpering in his crib, even though he was warm and comfortable in his blankets, the little boy was still bothered by something.

Leon imagined that he wasn't hungry, since you had fed him not long ago. Then he thought it might be his diaper that was dirty, which he soon confirmed.

So the baby was in his arms the next second, he put the little boy on the changing table and changed him properly, not forgetting a single detail, from carefully wiping him down with a wet wipe, to the ointment he had to apply to prevent diaper rash.

He checked the diaper to make sure it was fastened properly. Once he'd checked everything, he rocked the baby in his arms until the little one fell asleep again.

He even sang a lullaby, one of the little boy's favorites. He still thought it sounded ridiculous, but he didn't care as long as it soothed the baby.

Every time he looked at the little one's face, he couldn't hold back the loving smile that always appeared on his lips. It was still hard to believe that he had his own little family.

It's still clear in his memory when you announced that you were pregnant, the uncertainty and fear that consumed him. The anguish he felt, the apprehension of being a bad father. As well as the shock he felt when he received the news, since it wasn't something either of you were expecting. Not least because you had just started living together, so it was a lot all at once. But nothing that shook the relationship, quite the opposite.

But every time he saw you laugh, every time you came home with a little baby thing, whether it was clothes, shoes or even a toy. He couldn't contain his joy at the thought that he was going to be a father, that he was going to have a child.

It wasn't long before he started buying lots and lots of things for the baby, rattles, diapers, baby cloths, various types of educational toys, plush toys and everything else.

In a matter of weeks, the spare room in the house was full and ready to receive the baby, even if you weren't that far along in your pregnancy.

Not only did he become even more protective, the kind that wouldn't even let you lift a thing, but he accompanied you throughout your pregnancy. From start to finish. Even though he sometimes had to leave for work, he never failed to call you, even if it was late at night.

He always made video calls to see how you were doing, even talking to the baby in your belly on the phone. Even if they were quick calls, he still made sure they happened.

It was obvious that he wanted to be there for you, and he made it clear whenever he could, because he did everything for you, simply everything. Craves? He'd arrange anything you wanted. Going out late at night to buy a slice of cake in a particular flavor? Well, he was there. He would go to the end of the earth to find whatever you wanted.

When you were uncomfortable he was there, always whispering kind things to you, always trying to calm you down and relax in his embrace, trying to give you all the security you could have. He still remembers when your water broke, you were so calm, and he was about to have a heart attack.

Yet he was with you the whole way, holding your hand as you went into labor.

But all his worry went away as soon as he heard the baby's cry, the little being that had just come out of you. He still remembers the unconditional love he felt as soon as he laid eyes on the little one, as soon as he saw you cradling the boy in your arms, crying with exhaustion and joy. Just as he was crying as much as the baby, he felt so happy that he couldn't imagine being anywhere else but there with you and your bundle of joy.

"What are we going to call him?" Leon asked through tears, wiping away his own with the back of his hand.

"I don't know, sweetheart, we agreed that if it was a boy you'd choose." You say in a whisper, giving him a small smile. Rocking the newborn in your arms.

"No, I'd rather you chose." He says softly, running his fingers through the baby's thin golden strands, which by the way had the same hair as his father.

"Leon-," he doesn't let you finish, giving you a kiss on the lips. Letting his forehead rest on yours, looking at you with tear-filled eyes and a sweet smile.

"You've already given me one of the greatest joys of my life. Nothing could be fairer than for you to choose any name you like." Kind words that made your heart melt, and you just nodded.

At that moment he realized that there was no better place in the world. That there was nowhere else he wanted to be, all he needed was you.

While he was lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice that the little one had already fallen asleep, making cooing noises, his mouth hanging open while he slept peacefully. Even the way he slept was like Leon's, it was funny to see how similar the two of them were.

Then he slowly placed the little one in his crib, tucking him into the covers and making sure he was warm and comfortable for the rest of the night.

He stayed for a few more minutes, humming some more until he was sure the boy wouldn't wake up too soon.

After that he moved into the kitchen, where he found you awake, which was enough to make him wrinkle his eyebrows.

"Love?" He asks softly, moving towards you.

You answer him with a smile, giving him a hug, "You should have called me."

He shakes his head, kissing the top of your head, "I didn't have to."

You pout, giving him a playful pat on the shoulder.

"Here, I've made your tea. I've also put out a slice of cake for you." You murmur with a smile, pointing to the plate on the table.

He chuckles, holding your face and kissing the tip of your nose.

"You're amazing." He whispers before walking over to the table and sitting down, taking a sip of tea and eating the cake, which, by the way, was his favorite flavor.

So you sat next to him, waiting for him to finish eating silently.

"Your food is fucking good." Leon says, taking a bite of his cake and smiling at you.

You couldn't help but giggle, knowing that even if you burned the food, he'd eat it and say it was good.

"No, you're just being nice." You say softly, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He laughed genuinely, entwining his fingers with yours. Then he lifted your hand and kissed the back of it.

You were always amazed by his loving gestures, which he always made towards you. And so the two of you remained until he had finished eating, rubbing his thumb against your hand to give it a gentle caress.

When he had finished, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, looking at you with a smile. But you couldn't help noticing the dark circles under his eyes, just as he still had a few scratches and bruises all over his body. As well as the scars, some new, some old. All a mark of his profession.

"Did you have another nightmare?" you ask, running your fingers along his cheekbones, smiling softly.

He nodded with a tired sigh, leaning into your touch, "No big deal."

You knew that he always hid these things from you, not least because it took time for him to feel comfortable sharing the events of his mission with you.

"You can tell me, smartass." You said smiling, rubbing your nose against his, letting his hand rest on the small of your back.

His lips curved into a small smile, just as his eyes met yours. And that was enough to make you blush slightly, no matter how long you'd been together, he always had that effect on you.

The rain began to fall harder outside, enough to make you both look out of the window. The rain left a comfortable atmosphere in the kitchen, just the two of you sharing the warmth of your bodies, making that cold night a little warmer.

You picked up the dishes and took them to the sink, taking the opportunity to wash them right away. And it wasn't long before you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, just as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his warm breath beating against you.

"I swear to God I love the smell of your lotion." He purrs, rubbing his nose against your neck, hugging you tightly.

You smiled, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. Even if it was late at night, those moments were so precious to you both. A little intimacy was always nice.

But even with all the affection coming from him, you could feel how tense his muscles were, how his breathing wasn't very regulated. Every time he had these nightmares, they took a while to wear off, and he was still scared for a good few hours.

You then turned to him, held his face in your hands and looked at him seriously, "You should have called me."

He knew how this conversation would go. But to be honest, he wasn't paying attention to your speech, only to the way your lips moved as you spoke, your sweet voice entering his ears. Even if it was you scolding him.

All he could do was give you a silly little smile, stroking your cheeks with his thumb. No matter how much you talked, he would forget the next day. He just didn't want to worry you with his work matters.

Gently he put his index finger to your lips, whispering, "Why don't you hush, darling?"

You widened your eyes, preparing to protest, but he interrupted you, giving you a loving kiss. The kiss was full of affection and tenderness, just as he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around your waist once again, gluing your body to his.

Without giving you time to say another word, he carried you in his arms, taking you to your room like a princess, as if you weighed nothing, he did it with the purest ease.

His grip was firm, as if he didn't want to let you go, he wanted to have you there, in his arms.

Your room was dark, lit only by the faint light of the moon, while the rain continued to fall outside. It wasn't long before he laid you down on the mattress, letting you sink into the soft surface.

The door locked, the baby asleep, just the two of you in that room. The perfect moment for what was about to happen.

No matter how many times Leon looked at you, he always lost his breath, his breath caught in his throat.

You were so beautiful, so perfect, he didn't know how he had been so lucky to have found someone like you, and he couldn't thank you enough for that.

His hands began to move slowly up your thigh, callused fingers caressing the soft skin, letting his hand wander over the flesh, touching you with all the passion he had to offer. And he would do this for the rest of your life.

His mouth finding your neck, his hot breath making you gasp, letting him do whatever he wanted with you.

Soon the wet kisses began, leaving his lips hovering over the weak spots that he knew, he knew exactly where to touch, because he knew well that every touch of his made your body shiver with desire.

"You're beautiful." He whispers, giving your thigh a light squeeze, feeling the soft fabric of your nightgown on the back of his hand.

You give a sly smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close.

He soon understands what you want, and he gives it to you right away. A tender, passionate kiss, gently capturing your lips.

You don't know how, but he always manages to show his devotion to you with every kiss, every touch, every night of love. He makes it seem like the first time, always showing you how much he loves you.

His fingers keep tracing your thigh, feeling how warm your body gets from his touch. Your body reacting under his, squirming and shivering, an incentive for him.

When he pulls away from you a little, just to stop the kiss. He nibbles your lip, lifts your leg and grabs the back of your thigh.

Making a point of giving you wet kisses all over your neck, shoulders, collar bone, all to hear the sweet sounds that escaped your lips every time, the way you begged softly for him to continue.

"Oh, fuck Leon..." You whimpered, watching his fingers purposely wrap around the strap of your panties, he was taking his time.

As he always did, because he wanted to make sure he gave you all the affection he could give.

As soon as their trail of kisses went down to your chest, he spared no effort in giving little kisses to your nipples, which were already hard, crying out for any kind of touch and attention.

It was more than enough for you to let out several moans and low squeaks, letting your hands nestle in his golden strands, feeling the softness they contained.

Both his hands slid under your nightgown, and before long his fingers were playing with the waist line of your panties, fingering and stretching, all the while keeping an eye on your every reaction.

The look he had in store for you was yours alone, he had never looked at anyone else like that. Nor would he ever, you were the only one capable of bringing it out of him. The only one.

Just as you never tired of looking into those gentle blue eyes, similar to the color of the sky, or even the ocean. You lost your breath every time.

And there he went, slowly dropping wet kisses over the thin fabric of your nightgown, feeling your body tremble beneath his, just as he made a point of running his fingers over the wet surface of your panties, only to give a smug smile, knowing that he could get you soaking wet for so little.

As soon as he reached your navel, he lifted your nightgown completely, exposing your lower body, which was enough for him to let out a low noise, excited by the image in front of him. Which only fueled his cock to throb even more under his pants.

"I wonder what I did to make you like this." Leon said with a sly, mischievous smile, sliding his index finger down your slit.

Did he know the answer? Of course he did. But it was nicer to hear it from your mouth, your sweet voice echoing through the room.

"You know, you just need to touch me..." You said with a pout, looking at him with piteous eyes, a look he already knew well. And yet it broke his smile every time.

"Because of me?" He purrs, pushing his fingertips against your covered pussy, teasing you as far as he can.

You whimper, spreading your legs as if it were an automatic reaction from your body. Understanding the signal, he pulls you a little closer to the edge of the bed, taking off your panties and sliding them down your legs, soon the garment was lying in a corner of the room.

You were there, completely exposed to him, legs dangling from his shoulders, clit throbbing and begging him to do something.

It felt like magic, every time he touched you he was able to drive you crazy with the smallest things. You often got wet just watching him, seeing the way the muscles in his arms flexed every time he held your legs tighter.

Or the way he always looked at you throughout the process, as he positioned his face close to your center, biting and licking your inner thigh, making sure to leave soft marks all over the area. He loved looking at the love bites the next day, not least because you looked beautiful with each one.

"You're all mine, aren't you?" He asked in a whisper, which sounded more like a question to himself. Especially because he didn't even need to hear the answer.

You were about to answer, but your mind turned to crumbs as soon as he started planting wet, caressing kisses in your folds, letting his tongue linger in certain spots.

His wet muscle slid into your wet pussy, making you arch your body and tremble under him. The tip of his tongue brushed against your clit, swirling around your sensitive part, enough for you to roll your eyes and moan a little louder.

"That's so good, so good..." You mumble, biting your lower lip to hold back your moans.

Every time he eat you out, he didn't hold back with the noises he made, he didn't even care about the slurping noises he made, or the way he did it in a completely sloppy way.

Not least because he never wasted any time, it wasn't long before he was fucking you with his tongue. Moving in and out, hitting all your sweet spots.

It didn't take long for you to be a mess, moaning and whimpering, your sounds echoing around the room. Your hands nestled in his hair, pushing his head against you, letting him get buried in your thighs.

Despite this, you couldn't help but crave his cock, a need to have it inside you, you needed him fucking you.

"Leon..." You called out, rolling your hips against his mouth, you could already feel your orgasm approaching.

He smiled sideways, kissing all over your intimate area, making a point of running his tongue over it in the process. The way he did this so masterfully left no doubt that he knew exactly what to do to bring you to the edge, he knew exactly.

As soon as he started tongue-fucking you one more time, it was enough for you to come apart in his mouth, gushing out all your climax. You could feel your body hot and bothered, your mind confused and without any other thoughts. It was surreal the way your orgasms with him were always that intense.

Just as he spared no expense in giving you sloppy, wet kisses on your wet folds, as if he were smoothing the area, taking the opportunity to clean up the mess that was between your legs. Even though he was about to make another one.

"It tastes fucking good, love." He purrs, licking his lips and lifting his head.

Having the beautiful image of you, with your legs spread, sweaty body, chest rising and falling. The way your eyelids were closed and your lips were open was more than enough to send a wave of electricity to his cock. Which, by the way, was already leaking pre-cum, the wet spot on his sweatpants was already clearly visible.

He wasted no time in removing his pants and underwear, letting his cock pop out. Which was a divine sign for you, seeing every inch of his shapely body, the way he was hard as a rock.

His cock resting in his palm, as he gave it a few small pumps, watching the precum drip down a little. Despite this, his eyes were focused on you, the way you bit your lip and stared at him.

"Please?" You ask in a whisper, spreading your legs even wider for him.

In response, he gives you a puffy smile, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, his sticky liquid pooling with your own juices.

You whimper and pout to get him in at once. As if on command, he obeyed, lifting your legs over his shoulder and fitting himself into you. Hissing once he was all the way in, the way your walls clenched around him was enough to elicit a grunt from him.

"So fucking eager..." He whispers in your ear, taking the opportunity to nibble on it. Making you gasp easily.

"Oh-Oh, so deep!" You moan, your nails sinking into the muscles of his back, a reaction he loved every time.

You can't say how, but he thrust into you in such a sensual way, his hips rolling with a dexterity you couldn't even describe in words. It was calm, sexy, who knows how you could describe it.

His eyes never left yours, he could reach all your weak points, all the places where he made you roll your eyes and curl your toes.

At that point, he didn't even try to understand you. Not least because you could only mumble half-words, whimpers or moans, and he couldn't have been prouder to leave you in that state. Your mind so foolish as he fucked you numb.

"Are you going to come already, love?" He asks softly, kissing your cheeks and pulling you even closer.

"Mhmhm." You hum and nod, feeling your walls tighten around him. Just like the feeling of butterflies in your stomach that you were beginning to feel.

He chuckled, speeding up his thrusts, making an even louder sound of skin hitting skin. He wouldn't be long either, he'd probably come right after you.

And there you went the moment he started making circles with his thumb on your clit, you're sure you went to heaven at the same moment.

Your lips parted only for you to let out a silent scream, a noise that came from deep in your throat. He was quick to pull you into a hot, thirsty kiss, moving at a much faster speed than before.

He wanted to get there now.

In and out he went, feeling his cock throb with each jerk of his hips. On the last thrust he came, thrusting deep, spilling all his seed into you, as deep as he could.

He let out a grunt through your lips, holding your sides tightly.

By the end you were panting, covered in a thin layer of sweat. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead on yours, giving a silly, tired smile.

"Sore?" He murmurs under his breath, trailing kisses down your cheek.

"Maybe a little." You whisper, closing your eyes and sinking into the mattress.

He then gets off you and places you properly on the bed, rolling you under the covers, and then doing the same. He hugs you from behind and cuddles you, giving you massages in the places he knew would be sore. He loved worshiping your body, and you couldn't complain.

"I love you." He says, full of love and tenderness.

"I love you too." You return, kissing his hand.

You fell asleep a few minutes later, and he watched you sleep as always, giving you kisses and caresses from time to time.

He loved you so much he couldn't explain it, you were his comfort. Everything he needed most. You and your son were his adored little family.

And the way he loved you, he knew that you would be the death of him.

Oh God, how he loves you.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon x y/n #leon x you #leon resident evil #leon kennedy smut #re leon #resident evil leon #leon scott kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon smut #leon re4

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unseenbuthere · 19 days ago

Text

Torn by two Worlds

Solivan Brugmansia x Fem! Reader

Part 1 :https://www.tumblr.com/unseenbuthere/777430582863020032/the-price-of-trust-solivan-brugmansia-x-fem?source=share

Content Warning (CW):

Yandere themes, Mentions of physical violence, Possessiveness, Emotional manipulation, Abusive dynamics, Mild blood and injury descriptions, Emotional distress

MINORS DNI/DNR 🔞

Summary:

MC stands at the apartment door, torn between Solivan’s possessive grip and Crowe’s desperate plea. As Crowe calls from inside, injured and seeking help, Solivan warns of the consequences if MC chooses him. Now, MC must decide whether to return to Crowe or stay with Solivan.

Word Count: 720 words

Reading Time: 5 minutes(slow reader)

3 minutes(fast reader)

The world felt like it was spinning when you finally woke up. The oppressive silence of the room around you made your senses feel like they were drowning in a thick, suffocating fog. You tried to push yourself up, but your body was weighed down by an invisible force. Your limbs were sluggish, refusing to obey you, the drug still clouding your mind.

The room was still dimly lit, and the faint smell of food lingered in the air. You tried to focus, but your eyes fell on the figure sitting at the edge of your bed, his profile silhouetted against the soft glow from the window.

Solivan.

You tried to speak, but your mouth felt too dry to form words. The moment your gaze met his, his lips curled into a quiet smile, one that held too many secrets you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice smooth like velvet. His red eyes gleamed, watching you closely, studying you as if you were some delicate object he was carefully inspecting.

You tried again, the strength returning to your voice, though it was weak. “What did you do… to Crowe?”

His smile didn’t falter, but something darker flickered in his eyes. “Crowe?” He laughed softly, almost condescendingly. “He’s just fine. Still unconscious...”

The memory of Crowe’s voice, calling your name, suddenly resurfaced. He had been worried—hadn’t he?

The thought made you sick.

Solivan reached out and gently cupped your cheek, his touch far too tender considering the circumstances. “You shouldn’t worry about him. You’re not going to need him anymore.” His thumb stroked your skin slowly. “I’m all you need now.”

Your heart raced as your mind screamed for an escape, but your body couldn’t react. The drug had you paralyzed, forcing you to lie there, vulnerable and at his mercy.

Solivan leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. I’m the only one who truly understands you.”

The cold fear started to creep back into your chest.

“You’re mine now, MC,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “And I’ll never let anyone take you from me.”

A small shudder ran through you, but you couldn’t pull away. You were trapped—both physically and emotionally, caught in the tangled web of his obsession.

The room seemed to close in on you, the walls feeling smaller and smaller with each passing moment. His words echoed in your head like a constant reminder of the prison you had become.

“You don’t have to worry about anything anymore,” Solivan whispered, almost tenderly. “You’re safe here. With me.”

But deep down, you knew the truth. You were never safe. Not from him.

---

Your heart raced in your chest, every fiber of your being screaming at you to break free. The drug still clung to your mind, its fog not fully lifting, but you could feel the faintest spark of clarity, a small ember in the vast darkness. You couldn’t let him keep you here.

Solivan’s hand on your cheek, though gentle, felt like an iron chain. His words were honeyed, but they only made your stomach churn. He had been so careful, so patient, but you refused to let him own you.

There’s a way out. There has to be.

You swallowed, your throat painfully dry, but you forced your voice out, barely above a whisper. “I won’t… I won’t stay here.”

He smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You don’t get to decide that, MC. I’ve already made my choice.”

His grip on your cheek tightened, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flash across his face—a flicker of anger beneath the calm. That’s what you needed. You needed him to slip, just for a second.

With every ounce of willpower, you shifted your body, twisting beneath his hand, trying to break free. Your limbs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, but you managed to inch your leg toward the edge of the bed, trying to push yourself up, but Solivan’s sharp eyes never left you.

Before you could even fully rise, his grip was at your wrist, pulling you back down with effortless strength. “Not so fast.”

You gasped as he leaned over you, pressing you back into the bed. His breath was hot against your neck. “You really think you can escape?” His voice was low, amused. “You’re not getting away. Not from me.”

Desperation surged through you. I need to get up. I need to get out.

With a frantic burst of energy, you managed to twist your body away from him, sending a knee into his side. He grunted, but his grip on your wrist tightened in retaliation. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

But the words only fueled your defiance. You were suffocating in this apartment, trapped by his presence. There was no room for hesitation anymore. Your survival instinct kicked in, and you fought back harder, using whatever strength you could muster to break free.

“You can’t keep me here!” you shouted, your voice hoarse but filled with raw determination.

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened, the flicker of annoyance now fully visible. “You really think you have a choice?”

His hand shot out to grab your arm, but this time, your knee landed in his stomach. His breath whooshed out, and for a split second, you had the upper hand. You shoved him off you with all the strength you had left, scrambling to get away from the bed.

You barely made it to the edge before he was back on his feet, his eyes blazing with fury. “You’re being stubborn, MC,” he growled. “But I’ll make you see reason.”

Your mind raced. You had to get out of the apartment. You couldn’t let him keep you here, under his control. You reached for the door, your hand fumbling for the handle, but Solivan was faster. He caught your wrist again, pulling you away from the door with brutal force.

“You really think you can leave?” he sneered, his grip tightening. “Where will you go, huh? Out there? To people who don’t care about you?”

You twisted, fighting against him. “I don’t need anyone else. Just get off me!”

Solivan’s expression darkened, and for a moment, the mask of tenderness slipped. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “You’ll never leave me, MC. You’re mine. Only mine.”

You felt a surge of panic. His words rang through your head, a constant reminder of the trap you were caught in. And yet, something inside you refused to submit.

With a sudden, sharp movement, you elbowed him in the ribs, your last-ditch effort. Solivan staggered back, momentarily off balance. This time, you didn’t hesitate. You rushed for the door, throwing it open in a desperate bid for freedom.

But as soon as you crossed the threshold, you were met with the harsh reality that you weren’t in the clear yet. The hallway outside was dark, silent—empty. Where were you going to run?

You turned to look back at the door, only to find Solivan already there, standing in the doorway with a slow, dangerous smile curling at his lips.

“You can run,” he said, his voice a low threat, “but you can’t hide from me.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you backed away, heart pounding in your chest. The fear was suffocating, but the desire for freedom was stronger.

Solivan took one step forward. Then another. “You’ll learn, MC. You’ll learn to accept what I’m giving you.”

And in that moment, you knew: No matter how hard you fought, there was no escaping him. Not now.

---

You didn’t know how long you’d been in the hallway, backed into a corner with Solivan closing the distance. The fear you’d felt just moments ago was still there, but now something else was beginning to creep in—a quiet, gnawing sense of confusion.

Solivan wasn’t letting you escape. You could feel the weight of his presence, his every move like a magnetic force pulling you back to him. Your chest tightened, your thoughts jumbled, torn between the urge to run and the strange, undeniable draw toward him.

Solivan stood only a few feet away now, his gaze never wavering, as if he could see right through your resistance. “You think you can run from me, MC?” he murmured, voice thick with something darker than before, something more possessive. “You can’t escape what we are. What you are.”

You should have felt anger, or at least fear. You should have fought harder, run faster, but instead, something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at you, began to stir a strange warmth deep inside. His voice wasn’t just a command anymore—it was almost comforting, as though it promised safety in a world that had become overwhelming.

“No one will take you from me,” he continued, stepping closer. His hand reached out, fingers brushing your arm in a way that felt almost tender. “I can give you everything. All the love, all the attention you’ve ever wanted. You’ll never have to worry again.”

His words, the way he said them with such conviction, planted a seed in your mind. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe he was right.

You felt your walls crumble, piece by piece. Why fight him? Why run? The warmth in his voice, the careful attention to your every movement, seemed like something you’d never had before. Something… intimate.

“Solivan…” you whispered, the name tasting different on your tongue, unfamiliar but oddly comforting. “Why are you doing this?”

He paused, his red eyes softening. “Because I love you, MC. Because no one else will ever love you the way I do.”

You wanted to pull away, to tell him he was wrong, that you were just a prisoner in his twisted game, but the words wouldn’t come. They stuck in your throat, caught by something you couldn’t explain.

His hand cupped your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek gently. “You can fight it all you want, but you’ll see. In time, you’ll understand. I’m the only one who truly cares about you.”

There was something strangely soothing about his touch now. A sense of security in the way he held you, as if he could protect you from everything. The tension in your chest eased, just a little, and the idea of being cared for, truly cared for, began to replace the fear with something else—something warm, almost tender.

“Let me take care of you, MC,” Solivan whispered, his lips grazing your forehead as he held you close. “I’ll make everything better. I’ll make you happy.”

You should have pushed him away, you knew you should. But there was a quiet, unsettling truth growing inside you. It felt right, his arms around you, his words in your ear.

You leaned into him, just slightly, your eyes closing. The fear was still there, buried deep beneath the surface, but it was no longer as suffocating. Instead, it was replaced by a strange, growing warmth. A warmth that came from knowing you were his.

For the first time, you didn’t resist. Instead, you felt a hesitant flicker of affection in return. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to know what you needed before you did. Maybe it was the way he could calm the chaos in your mind with just a word. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because you were beginning to realize that you needed him, too.

Solivan pulled away slightly, his fingers under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Do you trust me?”

You hesitated for a moment, but the answer that came out of your mouth was softer than you’d intended. “Yes.”

He smiled then, a small, satisfied curl of his lips. “Good. We’re going to be so happy together, MC.”

And somehow, in that moment, you believed him.

---

You both stood outside the apartment door, the events of the past hour fresh in your mind. But now, as you leaned against the wall, a nagging feeling tugged at you. It was wrong. You knew it deep down, but the confusion of the night before had left you unable to process everything clearly.

Suddenly, you heard movement inside the apartment. It was faint at first, but unmistakable—the sound of shuffling footsteps, then a groan.

“MC?” Crowe’s voice came through the door, strained but filled with unmistakable concern. “MC, where are you?”

The familiar tone of his voice sent a shock through your chest. You couldn’t help it. The sound of his concern, his desperation—it stirred something deep inside you. Crowe had always been there for you, even when things were difficult. His care for you was genuine, without all the... darkness that Solivan brought.

You hesitated, unsure of what to do next. The door in front of you seemed like the only barrier between the two worlds you were being pulled between—Crowe, the person who had been there for you, who had never hurt you, and Solivan, whose possessive love felt so much more dangerous but also strangely... comforting.

You pressed your palm against the door, eyes closed for a moment, as Crowe’s voice echoed again. “MC? Please… I don’t know what happened. But you need to let me in. I need to make sure you’re okay.” His voice cracked at the last word, filled with pain and worry.

Your heart sank. The memory of Crowe, bruised and battered, his cheek cut, wrists marked from where Solivan had restrained him, flashed in your mind. He’d come to help you, to protect you, and Solivan had hurt him. He’d knocked him out, left him unconscious on the floor, but Crowe had still made his way back to you, just to make sure you were safe.

A surge of guilt washed over you. You had let Solivan keep you here, trapped in his world, and now Crowe was on the other side of that door, hurting, confused, and just wanting to be there for you.

You took a step back, heart racing as your thoughts swirled. I can’t just ignore him. You turned toward the door, your hand gripping the handle. But before you could pull it open, Solivan’s voice sounded, cold and firm, right behind you.

“Don’t.”

You froze, feeling his presence like an iron weight pressing down on you. Solivan’s tone was commanding, dangerous. “You know what will happen if you open that door, MC.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Solivan stood there, eyes flashing with something darker than before, his hand resting casually on the doorframe, as though he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“If you open that door, you’ll be stepping back into his world,” Solivan continued, voice soft but laced with a threatening undercurrent. “He doesn’t care about you the way I do. He’ll hurt you again, and I won’t let you go through that. Not again.”

You could feel his grip on your wrist tightening, the warmth of his hand burning against your skin. It was suffocating, his possessiveness crawling under your skin, but the thought of Crowe on the other side of the door, injured and vulnerable, made your heart race.

You knew what Crowe was asking of you. You knew that if you opened the door, you could go back to him, to the life you had before all of this madness. But Solivan’s words haunted you. He wasn’t wrong. Crowe had hurt you in the past, even if it was unintentional. And Solivan—his love was dark, twisted, suffocating, but it felt like it was all you had left.

The door shook slightly under Crowe’s weight as he knocked again. “Please, MC. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what happened. I never should’ve let you get caught up with them. But I’m here now.”

The sincerity in his voice made your stomach twist. He wasn’t giving up. Not on you.

Solivan’s grip tightened, his voice a low warning. “You belong with me, MC. Don’t let him take you away. Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

You could hear Crowe’s voice crack again, full of raw emotion. “Please, just let me help you.”

A tear escaped your eye, rolling down your cheek as the reality of the situation hit you. You were so torn. Solivan had pulled you into his world, promised you safety, but at what cost? What was left of you, of your own will? And Crowe—he was on the other side of the door, still caring for you, still willing to fight for you, even after everything that had happened.

Your hand hovered over the door handle once more.

Could you walk away from Solivan’s suffocating love? Could you break free and choose Crowe, the person who had always cared for you, even when it was hard?

It felt like an impossible choice. But in the end, the decision would have to be made.

--------

No part 3:)

#solivan brugmansia #tkatb sol #tkatb #tkatb mc #the kid at the back sol #tkatb fanart #yandere vn #tkatb vn #katb vn #tkatb crowe #jericho crowe ichabod #the kid at the back crowe #tkatb oc #tkatb x reader

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szariahwroteit · 3 months ago

Text

Doll House: A Jude Bellingham + Original Character Erotic Series

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 5

Tori allowed a day to slip by following the night of the party. Although her mind was tethered to Jude, the reason for her journey to Dubai, she needed a moment to gather her thoughts and find some clarity amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. The vibrant city stretched out around her, but she felt the need to pause, breathe, and reflect.

However, the next morning, Jude woke up with a newfound determination. There was only one day left of the year, and while he didn’t care for resolutions or using the start of the calendar year to try and implement change, he refused to go into the new year existing in such an awkward space with Tori. They were so new that Jude wouldn’t call what they were amid growing pains, but he knew it was a hurdle they had to get over together if they wanted to be in each other’s lives.

He understood how daunting his life may have seemed and how sought after he was by women, but he also needed Tori to understand that it was her he wanted.

As one of the most heavily documented footballers of the current generation with a star power that only seemed to be going from strength

to strength, women came in droves, but having options didn't mean much when there was already someone in his line of sight.

Slipping on his sneakers, Jude stood from his seat on the edge of his plush hotel bed, grabbing his phone and wallet before stepping out of his suite.

Letting out a breath he'd been holding, Jude made his way towards Tori’s room, his palms clammy despite the coolness of the hotel corridor.

She'd texted him around an hour prior letting Jude know she was awake, but that had been their first interaction since the night of the party in his teammate's hotel suite.

She’d spent the day before ignoring every call and message he sent her, only reading them before closing out of the chat.

Although it wasn't in Jude’s intentions to hurt her, he was man enough to acknowledge how careless he'd been and as possessive and ego-driven as it may have sounded, it wasn't until he saw Tpri with Alex that he fully realized the error of his actions.

To even see her standing beside another man made Jude’s skin crawl and adding insult to injury Alex had an arrogance about him that Jude didn't care for at all.

With each step towards Tori's room, Jude's heart raced. The sound of his footsteps echoed softly in the quiet corridor, mirroring the internal chaos brewing within him. He thought back to the moment he recognized his feelings for her—how genuine her laughter was, how her eyes sparkled with excitement, and how she brought a sense of warmth into his otherwise chaotic life.

Reaching her door, he paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He wanted to be honest, to lay everything out on the table, but he also didn't want to come off as desperate or overbearing. He had to strike a balance between vulnerability and strength.

Before he could second-guess himself, he knocked gently. A few moments passed, and just as he was about to knock again, the door swung open, revealing Tori. She looked beautiful, her hair tousled messy bun and her eyes slightly puffy from sleep. There was a hint of surprise etched on her face, but it quickly faded into an unreadable expression.

“Hey,” Jude said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Can we talk?”

Tori hesitated but then stepped aside to let him in. The air was thick with unspoken words as he entered the room. She stood a few feet away, her arms crossed defensively over her chest as if shielding herself from whatever was about to transpire.

“I should have been more considerate of your feelings, I should have been more attentive and the last thing I want is for you to feel as if I’m just dragging you along for the ride.” Jude took a deep breath, searching for the right words to convey the depth of his emotions.

“I know I messed up. But I also can't ignore the fact that I feel like you're holding back or anticipating me fucking up,” he continued.

“I’m not waiting for you to fuck up, Jude I have no idea what I’m doing,” Tori attempted to explain.

Jude took a step closer, his desire to bridge the gap between them almost palpable. “Then help me understand,” he urged, his voice softer now. “Because I want to be around you.”

Tori looked into Jude’s eyes, searching for answers, for reassurance, for something to break the tension that clung to the room like a thick fog. His sincerity was evident, yet doubt still clouded her thoughts. “The world is yours to do as you please with, the other night made me realize that and it's unfair of me to expect you to change anything about your world because I'm uncomfortable.”

They’d only known each other a few short weeks, but those weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions and unpredictability. Everything that had happened between them thus far has stemmed from impulse and raw attraction to one another, but eventually, they had to be real with themselves and for Tori; this was that.

“I get that, Tori,” Jude replied, his voice steady despite internally trying to keep his frustration at bay. “But just because I can do something doesn't mean I will, I have self-control.”

“I never said you didn't,” Tori shot back, a flicker of defiance in her eyes.

“That’s what it feels like you're getting at.” Jude leaned in slightly, trying to gauge her reaction. “You’re implying that my lifestyle somehow dictates what I should want, or who I should be. But that's not the case, not with you. I need you to see that.”

The charged atmosphere hung between them, heavy with expectation. Tori took a deep breath, the fight in her eyes softening momentarily as she considered his words. “I just don’t want to end up being another woman in your life, Jude. I want to matter to you—not just because I’m a different kind of distraction.”

Jude shook his head firmly, his expression earnest. “You already do matter to me. You’re not a distraction. Being with you feels real, and that’s what terrifies me and excites me all at once. I want to make this work, but I need you to meet me halfway.”

Tori dropped her arms, the defensiveness slowly peeling away. The vulnerability in Jude's eyes tugged at her heart. She could feel the sincerity of his desire, how he was trying to carve out a space for both of them amidst a storm of external pressures.

“Halfway…” she murmured, the thought lingering in the air.

“Yes,” he urged. “Let’s be honest with each other. I won’t pretend that it’s easy for either of us, especially with my world. But if you’re willing to try then I'm here.”

Tori felt a knot in her stomach loosen just a bit with Jude's words. They felt genuine, the kind of honesty that could either lead to something beautiful—or something painful. But she wanted to lay down her fears, to strip away the layers of uncertainty that had built up between them. “I want to try too,” she said finally, her voice steadying. “But I need you to understand where I’m coming from. I can’t just dive in without knowing if we’re on the same page.”

Jude nodded, his expression softening. “Tell me what you need to know.”

Taking a deep breath, Tori plunged into vulnerability, the words tumbling out. “I just need you to see with me. I'm not asking for constant reassurance, I just want to know that we’re exploring this together, to understand what we both want.”

Jude took a moment to process her words, his heart swelling with the weight of her honesty. “Tori, I want you,” he said firmly.

“If by chance that changes, please just—” Before Tori could complete her thought, Jude swiftly moved forward, enveloping her in his embrace. His arms wrapped securely around her, pulling her close as his lips crashed against hers, the intensity of the kiss catching her off guard. It was a fierce, passionate connection, igniting a spark that surged between them.

Tori felt herself melt into Jude, losing track of the worries that had weighed so heavily on her mind just moments before. The kiss was all-consuming, filling the room with a warmth that pushed away all thoughts of uncertainty. She could taste the determination in his kiss, the promise of sincerity that lingered in the air around them.

As they pulled apart slightly, she could feel Jude's heart beating against her chest, a rhythm that matched the unrest of emotions swirling within her. He looked down at her, his eyes dark and intense, searching her expression for any sign of hesitation.

“I won't change my world, Tori,” he said quietly, his voice just above a whisper, “but I want to invite you into it. I need you to trust me.”

Tori nodded slowly, grappling with the flood of emotions rushing through her. Fear, exhilaration, longing—it was all entangled within her, but she found solace in Jude's presence. “I want to trust you, Jude,” she admitted, looking up at him, “I just need to know that you see me.”

He stepped back slightly but kept his hands on her arms, grounding her. “I see you,” he insisted, his voice sincere.

“Then can you kiss me again?” Jude's lips curled into a smirk, a playful glint sparking in his eyes at her request. He took a step closer again, his grip on her arms tightening just a fraction before he gently tilted her chin up. The air between them felt electric, charged with an undeniable chemistry that had been simmering since they first met.

“Are you sure?” he teased, though the sincerity in his tone was evident. He wanted to ensure that she was ready for whatever this connection could bring—because he certainly was.

With a soft breath, Tori nodded, her heart racing in anticipation. The nervousness in her stomach began to dissipate, replaced with an exhilarating rush that accompanied Jude’s every movement. He leaned closer, his breath warming her skin, and then his lips met hers once more in a slow, deliberate kiss.

It started gentle, a tentative exploration, a soft brush of lips that spoke of longing. But as the kiss deepened, it morphed into something more urgent and impassioned. Jude’s hands found their way to her waist, lifting her so he could carry her over to the bed.

Tori couldn't help but giggle as Jude positioned himself above her, his strong hands framing her face. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin, and gently captured the delicate curve of her neck between his teeth, sending a shiver down her spine. The playful intimacy of the moment filled the air with a charged tension that made her heart race.

“All I want is to make you smile,” Jude murmured against her skin, his right hand moving from beside her head to grip her hip holding her in place.

“I think you do a good job most of the time,” Tori smirked, reaching up to run her fingers through Jude’s coils as she looked into his eyes.

“Most of the time?” he repeated in mock offence.

“Most of the time,” Tori confirmed. “For example when you're at parties receiving lap dances, I'm not too hot on you,” she said, making Jude frown playfully before pushing his face back into the crease of her neck.

“Okay, I deserve that one,” Jude admitted, his voice muffled against her skin. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling in the intimate space between them. “But, can I make you moan?” he asked, a playful challenge dancing in his eyes.

Tori's breath hitched, her heart racing at the sudden turn of the conversation. The boldness in his question sent heat pooling in her stomach, igniting an undeniable desire within her. She met his gaze, searching for sincerity among the playful banter, and found it. Jude wasn’t just teasing; he genuinely wanted to know.

“Depends on how you plan to do it,” she shot back, teasingly raising an eyebrow, her confidence blossoming in the aftermath of their heightened emotions.

“I want to taste you,” Jude whispered hotly into her ear.

“Is that so?” she replied, her voice sultry, laced with intrigue as she arched an eyebrow, daring him to make his move.

“Absolutely,” Jude affirmed, his confidence unwavering. He shifted his weight ever so slightly, his body pressing closer to hers. “Let me show you how I plan to make you moan.”

With that, he trailed his lips down the side of her neck, savouring the taste of her skin as his hand reached between them to pull apart her robe, cupping her breast. Tori gasped, every nerve in her body igniting under his caress. The sensation was rousing, the promise of what was to come sending spirals of desire coursing through her.

“Jude,” she breathed the warmth of his mouth on her skin, sending a tingle down her spine.

“Relax,” he breathed out, his lips and tongue continuing their exploration, trailing lower, sending waves of pleasure shooting through her. His fingers danced over her soft skin, igniting a fire that made her pulse quicken.

“Just let me enjoy you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her as he settled between her legs, raising her left leg to come and rest over her shoulder so she lay completely exposed to him, the space around them fading into a blur of colour and sound, leaving only the two of them.

Tori let out a breathless moan as Jude pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her pussy, groaning as he got his first taste of her on his tongue.

The sensation rocked through Tori like a bolt of lightning, her body instinctively responding to the warmth and pressure of his mouth. She gasped as he explored her with slow, deliberate movements, his tongue dancing over her sensitive folds, teasing her in a way that made her forget everything else around them.

Jude’s eyes flicked up to meet with hers as she felt his lips spread into a smile against her before he went to work on her.

Tori’s hand reached up to cover her mouth as a means of silencing her moans as Jude feasted on her pussy, his skin slippery against hers from a combination of his saliva and her arousal.

The sounds that came from his ministrations were lewd, he sucked and slurped on Tori as her back arched from the bed completely intoxicated by her.

Her senses were overwhelmed, the way Jude's mouth moved with expert preciseness sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. The air was electric with tension, the intensity of their connection radiating like a wildfire, each gasp she stifled only fueling the fire within. As her breath hitched, her fingers tightened in his hair, guiding him closer, craving more of the intoxicating sensations he created. Every flick of his tongue sent her spiralling deeper into ecstasy, and at that moment, nothing else mattered but the connection they shared, lost in a world of indulgent pleasure.

“You have such a pretty pussy,” Jude groaned, leaning back a little to make room so he could use his thumbs to spread her open, gathering saliva on the end of his tongue before allowing it to drip from his mouth onto her.

Tori gasped softly at the improper compliment, a rush of heat flooding her cheeks and spreading lower, intensifying the throbbing ache between her thighs.

"Take it," she managed to murmur, her voice breathy and laced with desire.

As if to emphasize her point, Tori's hips tilted upward, offering herself to him more fully. The cool air kissed her damp folds, a stark contrast to the burning heat of Jude's gaze as he took in the sight of her splayed out before him.

"Please," she whimpered, the word escaping her lips before she could stop it. Her fingers tightened in his hair, not quite demanding, but urging him to continue.

At that moment, Tori felt wild, uninhibited, and completely surrendered to the sensations coursing through her body as she watched Jude stand from the bed to remove his clothes before grabbing his wallet and retrieving a condom from it.

“I want you inside of me,” Tori's eyes fluttered open, meeting Jude's gaze with an intensity that stole his breath away. "Please Jude," she whispered, her voice rough with need. "I want to feel you inside me."

She reached for him, her fingers trailing down his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You’re so beautiful," she murmured, her voice slightly deepening with desire.

Tori's hips lifted off the bed, a silent invitation, an offering of her body and soul. Her legs spread wider, a clear display of her readiness, her need for him.

"Take me," she breathed, the words both a plea and a command. "Make me yours."

In that moment, Tori was lost to everything except the fire burning within her, the aching void that only Jude could fill. She needed him with an intensity that consumed her, obliterating any remnants of doubt or hesitation.

Crawling on top of her petite and slender, yet dangerously curvaceous body Jude led with his tongue as parted her lips so she could taste herself.

As Jude's tongue parted Tori's lips, she moaned softly, the taste of her own arousal mingling with the unique flavour of Jude. It was a heady combination, one that sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through her body.

Tori's arms wrapped around Jude's neck, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss. Her tongue danced with his, exploring every inch of his mouth with a fervour that matched the intensity of their earlier passion.

Lost in the heat of the moment, Tori arched her back, pressing her body flush against Jude's. She could feel every contour of his muscular frame, the hard planes of his chest rubbing against the soft swells of her breasts.

The friction of their bodies moving together stoked the fire within Tori, her skin tingling with anticipation. She needed more, craved the feel of Jude's hands on her body, his touch igniting a trail of sparks wherever he caressed her.

Their bodies undulated together, a sensual dance fueled by primal need. Tori's hands explored Jude's back, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles, marvelling at the strength that lay beneath his skin.

Jude groaned against her lips, the sound muffled by their kiss. His hands roamed her body, skimming over the dip of her waist, and the flare of her hips, before coming to rest on the soft curves of her ass.

With a firm squeeze, Jude lifted Tori's hips, angling them so that he could slide into her with one smooth thrust. The sensation was indescribable, a perfect reunion of flesh on flesh that left them both gasping for breath.

“Tori, you feel fucking perfect,” Jude groaned into the crease of her neck, his hand slipping from her to wrap around her thighs and pin her to the bed beneath him.

Jude had never considered himself a man with sadistic tendencies, but where sex with Tori was concerned; she possessed an innocence he wanted to ruin and protect all at once.

She was so submissive to pleasure, both giving and receiving and all he wanted to do was explore that—explore her.

Tori's body arched into Jude's touch, a soft gasp escaping her lips as he filled her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, bordering on painful in its intensity, yet Tori welcomed it, craving more.

"Ah!" Tori let out a throaty cry as Jude slammed deep into her, the sudden fullness stealing her breath. "God, yes! Fuck me harder, Jude!"

Tori's nails raked down Jude's back, her fingers digging into his skin as she urged him on. Her hips bucked against his, meeting each of his thrusts with equal fervour, driving them both closer to the brink of ecstasy.

"You're so fucking tight," Jude grunted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "So good, baby." Tori's head fell back against the pillows, her dark hair fanning out around her like a halo.

“Get on top, I want to watch your beautiful little body while you ride me,” Jude continued, raising his head so he could look into her eyes.

Tori hesitated, her eyes widening slightly at his request for a change in position. She wasn't used to taking the lead in the bedroom, preferring to let him guide her.

But there was something about Jude's command, the way he looked at her with such raw desire, that made her want to please him, to give him exactly what he wanted.

Slowly, carefully, Tori manoeuvred herself into a straddling position, her knees on either side of Jude's hips. She could feel the heat of his body, the hard length of him pressing against her core, and it sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

As Tori lowered herself onto Jude's cock, she couldn't help but moan softly at the sensation of being filled, stretched, and consumed by him. Her walls clenched around him as if trying to keep him inside her, never to let him go.

Tori’s mouth fell open in a silent cry, her eyes locking with Jude’s as he raised his hips beneath her, the head of his cock kissing firmly against her cervix.

A rush of sensations flooded Tori’s body, the fullness igniting every nerve ending as she gasped at the invasive, yet welcomed pressure. Jude’s intense gaze held hers captive, the heat of his desire reflecting back at her like flames in a hearth.

“Fuck, you feel unbelievable,” he rasped, thrusting gently as he pushed deeper, each subtle movement sending electric jolts of pleasure cascading through her. Tori arched her back, her hard nipples brushing against his chest, intuitively wanting more of him, more of this exquisite connection.

“More,” she urged, her voice barely a whisper, heavy with longing. “Please, Jude... I need it.”

A predacious grin spread across his face, and without a moment’s hesitation, he complied. Placing a hand on the back of her neck and the other on the small of her back, pulling her body flush against his.

With a powerful roll of his hips, Jude drove deeper, claiming her in a way that turned her breath into a string of frantic gasps. The rhythmic motion filled the space between them with an intoxicating harmony that made her pulse race. Tori’s body melted against his, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that rippled through her, echoing with each thrust.

“Jude, you're so deep,” she moaned, her voice weak with desire as the sensation overwhelmed her. It felt as if he were reaching into her very soul, each movement igniting a fire that blazed hotter with every stroke.

“Look at me,” he growled his words lacking in diction as his hand on the back of her neck came to wrap around her throat, easing her body to sit up some so he could look into her eyes as he rounded his hips into Tori, fucking her incredibly deep.

Tori’s heart raced, the combination of his grip and his commanding gaze sending shivers of exhilaration down her spine. She loved this side of him, the way he took charge, the way his need matched her own. The space around them faded, leaving only the two of them tangled in a whirlwind of heat and desire.

“Jude…” she breathed, her voice trembling as she leaned into his touch, craving both his possession and his passion. The intensity of his stare felt almost tangible, wrapping around her and binding them in this moment of unadulterated pleasure.

“Tell me how it feels,” he urged, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins.

It took Tori a moment to gather her thoughts, to articulate the overwhelming sensations crashing through her. “It’s... so much,” she managed, her breath hitching as he ground deeper inside her, every thrust perfectly timed to lift her closer to the edge. “It’s everything, Jude. Just—just don’t stop.”

His eyes burned with a mix of ownership and satisfaction, and he revelled in her response as if her words were his own personal high. He adjusted his angle, hitting a spot that sent a wave of pleasure washing over her, causing her to arch into him.

“Don’t ever second guess how fucking perfect you are,” Jude growled, his voice deep and resonant, filled with raw need. He intensified his pace, each thrust resonating through her as he delved deeper, pushing her closer to the brink. The heat between them crackled, an electric current that sparked at every point of contact, igniting every sense.

Tori’s breath quickened, each inhaling a desperate gasp for air as if the sheer force of their connection threatened to overwhelm her lungs.

“Oh god, Jude… yes,” she cried, her back arching further, urging him on. It was as if his every touch had created a symphony within her—a melody of pleasure that coursed through her veins, building to a crescendo that she could almost taste.

“Feel how much I want you,” Jude painted, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice as he quickened the rhythm. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve, every contour, as though he wanted to memorize her completely.

Finally settling his hands on her hips as he bit down on his bottom lip, Jude’s brow furrowed as his gaze fixed on Tori's glossy brown eyes as she gave herself to him.

The connection between them deepened with every thrust, a magnetic pull that transcended the physical realm. Tori felt exhilarated and vulnerable all at once, ensnared in a dance of ecstasy that made her skin tingle and her heart race. Jude’s gaze burned into her, the depth of his desire setting her aflame from within.

“You’re everything I want,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear as he quickened his rhythm, driving them both higher.

As Tori’s eyelids heavy with lust slid shut, she felt a singular tear of unadulterated pleasure roll down her cheek, a physical testament to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body. Every thrust from Jude felt like a promise, each powerful movement igniting more than just her body; it deepened their bond, drawing them closer together as though they were the only two souls in existence.

“Jude,” she gasped, opening her eyes to meet him once more, searching for some kind of guidance. Her body was his, even if only for the moment.

“Let go,” he urged, his voice a heated whisper as he captured her gaze, anchoring her in the depth of their connection. Tori felt as if he was unravelling her from the inside out, his words wrapping around her heart like a warm embrace. The trust between them intensified the experience, elevating every sensation beyond the physical.

“Just you and me,” he said, his breath heavy with need. “Nothing else matters right now.” With those words, he thrust deeper, asserting that claim within her, pushing her to places she had never dreamed of reaching.

Tori managed a nod, her voice lost in the tumult of pleasure. She surrendered completely to the moment, allowing the waves of ecstasy to wash over her. The rhythm between them grew urgent, a fierce manifestation of their shared longing, building in intensity with every tide.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Jude groaned, his hands tightening possessively around her hips as he lost himself in her. The pressure building within her was electric, every pulse of pleasure drawing her closer to that swirling vortex of release.

“Jude, I—I can’t hold on much longer,” she warned, her words whisper-soft amidst the gasps and moans echoing through the room.

“Good,” he encouraged with a primal growl, his eyes darkened with lust. “Let it go, Tori. I want to feel you cum on me.”

With each powerful thrust, he pushed her closer to that edge, his rhythm relentless, a beautiful pinnacle that made everything else fade into oblivion. Tori’s body responded instinctively, tightening around him as if seeking to pull him even deeper.

“Jude!” she cried out, feeling the pleasure tighten into a coil, ready to unravel. He pressed on, relentless in his pursuit, his voice a seductive growl that wrapped around her heart.

“Just let it happen, Tori. Feel all of me,” he coached his hands firmly gripping her hips as he tilted his hips into her, making sure she felt every last pulsing inch.

The intensity of their connection reached a fever pitch, each thrust adding fuel to the fires that roared within her. Tori could feel the overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing over her, a tsunami she couldn’t hope to hold back any longer. Every nerve in her body tingled with need, each pulse syncopated with Jude’s movement, forging a bond between them.

“Just like that!” she gasped, her words melting into moans, expressing the bliss that swelled within her. Every inch of her became attuned to his rhythm, and she relished the dance of their bodies—the slick sliding sensation that came with each thrust, their shared breaths mingling in the charged air.

Tori’s fingers tangled in his hair as she leaned forward, wanting to feel every part of him pressing against her. “I’m so close,” she confessed, her voice breathless and laced with desperation. The heat radiating from his body set her ablaze, igniting a fire that refused to be quenched.

“Cum for me,” he commanded, his voice raw with desire, pushing her to the brink. His hands gripped her tighter, anchoring her as he thrust deep, each movement driving her closer to the edge she was so desperately in pursuit of.

Tori's body quaked above him, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. She could barely string words together, lost in the depths of her pleasure. “Jude, I can’t… I—”

“Give it to me,” he urged, his strained as he felt his end nearing. “Please, Tori.” The desperation in his voice pushed her over the edge, that insistent tone igniting the last spark of her restraint.

With one final thrust, Jude buried himself deep inside her, and Tori felt the world swirl around her. The coil of pleasure snapped, sending shockwaves coursing through her body as her orgasm shattered every thought, every worry, leaving only raw ecstasy in its wake. Waves of pleasure rippled through her, overwhelming her senses, and she forgot everything except the intoxicating rhythm of their bodies entwined.

“Jude!” She cried out, her voice hoarse as she let herself fall into that abyss of pleasure, riding the crest of the wave as it crashed over her. Every muscle in her body tightened, and she felt herself pulsing around him, tightening and pulsing in the throes of her release.

“That’s it, baby,” he grunted, his own body responding instinctively to the feel of her climax. With each tightening clench of her walls around him, Jude lost himself completely, the warmth of her body drawing him into a well of bliss.

He felt his release building, the intensity of her orgasm pushing him over the edge. “I’m right there with you,” he groaned, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Tori locked her gaze on his, their breaths mingling as they rode the waves together. The connection between them deepened with each pulse, each beat of their hearts echoing in time.

“Jude!” she gasped, as another wave washed over her, pulling him along in its wake, and then, as if their bodies were synchronized, he delved deep into her, stilling as he poured himself into the condom he wore.

“Fuck, Tori!” he cried out, the sensation of her wrapping around him perfectly driving him over the edge as his cock filled her completely.

As the remains of their orgasms gradually faded, Tori collapsed against Jude, panting against his chest, both of them lost in a cocoon of warmth and satisfaction. Her heart raced, still thumping with remnants of pleasure as she felt Jude’s arms wrap around her, holding her close.

After a few moments of blissful silence, Tori began to regain consciousness of her surroundings, the warm afterglow of their passion enveloping her like a cozy blanket. The city outside was bustling with life, but inside the room, time felt suspended, a private moment shared between just the two of them. Tori would have been content to lie there forever, nestled against him, but a sudden wave of apprehension washed over her.

Jude, sensing her shift in mood, tightened his grip around her. "What are you thinking?" he asked softly, his voice low as he stroked her hair, pulling her even closer.

“Not much,” she mumbled, nestling deeper against the warmth of his chest. The contentment surrounding them was intoxicating, even as a flicker of reality started to seep back in.

“I was thinking about taking you shopping today,” Jude suggested, a teasing lilt in his voice, his fingers gently grazing back and forth over the small of her back. “I want to spoil you a little.”

“Spoil me?” she asked teasingly, tilting her head to look up at him.

“Yes,” he replied, a charming grin spreading across his face. “So you can get dressed up for me tonight while we bring in the New Year.”

Not only was it a chance to spoil her and in turn feed his ego, but there was also something about the act, the quality time spent that seemed rather intimate to him.

“What would you like to see me in?” Tori asked with a smirk as she sat up, her breast round and perky as she straddled Jude’s lap.

Jude's gaze darkened with desire as he took in the sight of her sitting on him, her body radiating confidence and allure. “Honestly? I like you in absolutely nothing, but a dress would be more fitting considering our plans for tonight,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly.

Tori felt her cheeks flush at his words, the compliment igniting a warmth within her. “What are our plans for tonight?” she asked, her breath deepening as Jude’s hands came to rest on her hips.

“Dinner and then a New Year's Eve party at the marina,” he explained, his dark eyes locking onto hers, filled with anticipation. “And you have my word no lap dances will be taking place,” he smirked, earning a laugh and playful punch to the bicep from Tori.

When they finally pulled themselves from the bed, Tori made her way into the bathroom to get ready as Jude went to leave her hotel room and head back to his own.

As he pulled open the door of Tori’s room, he noticed Alex walking towards him, dressed in a suit similar to the one he wore the night of the party when he comforted Tori.

Instead of saying anything, Jude offered Alex a knowing smirk, his body still humming for the passionate encounter he just had with Victoria.

Making his way back to his room, Jude changed clothes and alerted his security guard of his plans to leave the hotel with Tori.

As he dressed, Jude felt a sense of anticipation bubbling within him. The thought of taking Tori shopping, of sharing the day with her, filled him with excitement. He couldn't wait to see her in something stunning for the New Year’s Eve party, something that would make her stand out and remind everyone—especially Alex—who she belonged to.

Once he was ready, Jude stepped out of his suite and made his way down the corridor to Tori's room. He knocked, his heart racing again at the thought of seeing her. The door swung open, and Tori stood there, looking radiant despite the casual outfit she wore. A fitted black top hugged her frame, paired with high-waisted jeans that accentuated her curves perfectly.

“Tori,” Jude spoke up, his voice laced with genuine admiration. “You look incredible.”

Tori smiled shyly, a light blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Thanks. I figured I’d keep it simple for shopping,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Simple? You look anything but,” Jude replied, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “Come here,” he instructed.

Tori’s heart fluttered at the command in his voice, and she took a small step toward him, curiosity lighting up her eyes. Jude reached out, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

Tori’s breath hitched in her throat as Jude pressed a kiss against her plump lips, his hands slipping down to caress her backside as he walked her backwards into the nearest wall.

His mouth moved against hers with a hot intensity, igniting a fire within Tori that she couldn’t ignore. She thawed into him, her body responding instinctively as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the warmth of her mouth.

“We need to leave or I'm going to end up fucking the shit out of you in this entryway,” Jude groaned against her lips, a teasing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Tori couldn't help but laugh softly, the tension of the previous days melting away in this moment of intimacy.

“Then we should hurry,” she replied, her voice playful, yet filled with a thrill of excitement. She stepped back, breaking the embrace just enough to catch her breath and regain her composure. Looking into Jude's eyes, she felt an undeniable connection, one that made her heart race and her stomach flutter.

Jude gave her a lopsided grin, clearly enjoying her reaction. “Shopping first, party later.”

Tori grinned, her excitement bubbling to the surface as she took Jude's hand, guiding him toward the door. “Lead the way then,” she said, her voice playful.

#jude bellingham smut #fanfic #jude bellingham #chick lit #jude bellingham imagine #real madrid #jude bellingham fanfic #jude victor willliam bellingham #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham one shot #jobe bellingham

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imagine-darksiders · 4 months ago

Text

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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dropsnectar · 6 months ago

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Pollen and Potions: Bee-men x Afab!reader

PART FOUR

So I know I said this part would have smut but it would just mess with the pacing, so the whole next section is where you will find your spice. This part is a little shorter for that reason. Anyway, I hope you like!

When you woke up, you felt incredibly warm. Your legs were tangled up with… someone elses? You would say it was someone else but human skin didn’t feel like this. It was firm and a bit fuzzy, but not like hair. Your nose was being tickled by… fur? Whatever it was smelled amazing.

You recognized this scent. You opened your eyes to Lyith’s round, sleeping face. His impossibly big eyes were closed, revealing his long blonde lashes. His expression was serene, and a bit of drool had escaped his half open mouth. Your sleep-addled brain vibrated with excitement. He was so cute you could just kiss him…

Nope! Awake brain was working now, bringing some clarity to your head. Lyith and Rena had made a habit of covering your face in kisses but it had all been platonic. Excessive affection was a Bee-men trait. Probably? You thought back to yesterday, when he had kissed you and you had kissed him… was that truly platonic?

There was a heat in your stomach, butterflies whenever he would hang off of you or tease… A part of you wanted to face these feelings but you weren’t ready yet. After all, how could a bee-men be with a human? You had heard of monster-human relations being something that could happen, but was their species even compatible with you? Was there a future there?

“You're thinking awfully hard for 8 in the morning.” Lyith breathed next to you.

Your awareness returned to you, and you were very cognizant of the fact that he had been holding you in his sleep. You pulled yourself back a bit so you couldn’t feel his breath on your face. He narrowed his eyes and his lip jutted out. A childish but cute pattern of his.

“W-What are you doing in my house?”

His mouth twitched. “You are a sick person. You should have someone to look after you. I’m glad though, you only slept for a day this time.”

You looked at him, eyes squinting, “Are you okay though? Don’t you need to be at the hive for your… bee duties?”

Lyith sputtered at you, his body rocking with laughter. “And tell me, what are “bee duties”, Little witch?”

Your cheeks heated and you sat up, crossing arms over your chest.

“I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be in trouble, is all. What exactly is your duty in the hive anyway?”

Lyith stared up at you under his long lashes. “I am a forager. A scholar. An ambassador who goes to human town to get our supplies. Actually..”

He brought himself up and stretched out his wings. They seemed sturdy enough not to get too bothered by him laying on them all night.

“.. I used to know your grandmother. She used to let me forager her garden. Of course, she was a lot more sparing with her magic, so it was nothing like what you do.” He gave you a pointed look, “But she taught me how to speak human. An interesting person, your grandmother. We used to buy seeds for flower monsters off her. She must have had quite a life.”

You stared at him in surprise. Your grandmother had always been somewhat of a stereotypical grandmother. She’d spoil you and laugh at your jokes, leave little candies in your pocket when you weren’t looking. You had never imagined her to be the type of person to deal with Flower Monsters of all things. It also explained why Lyith seemed so trusting of you, off the bat.

“Hey Lyith?” You breathed out, trying not to think about how your legs were still touching.

“Yes?”

“Do you want some breakfast?”

***

After that, you saw Lyith almost everyday. He made a point of stopping to talk to you every time he visited your garden. Once a week he would take you to see Rena and you would work more magic over the plants. As the spring progressed into summer, the flowers changed. You learned that your magic, while creating magical nectar, only stayed within the plant and not the soil. You were right in your worry that a different approach was needed.

You met a lot more of the hive, as on their days off, some Bee-men would come and watch you work on the flowers. Not all of them were able to speak human, but they communicated their gratitude through sharing their emotions. As you experienced this more and more, you started to pick up on what could even be counted as them asking you questions. You’d try to answer in kind, putting a hand on their arm or shoulder and trying to push images or feelings at them. This worked only half the time, but when it did, the Be-men would look so pleased they would dance.

Rena, had always seemed a bit jealous by this.

“Why don’t you speak to us like that? We speak human for your convenience you know. Aren’t I closer to you then some random creature?”

“Don’t call your hive mates ' creature’, that's rude.”

Rena would get up in your face, throwing her arms around your shoulders and touch her nose to yours. In your mind you would feel her jealousy. A possessiveness that you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy about. You tried to straighten out your feelings, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Then, you’d try to project some calm, warm energy at her. She just looked at you, sighing.

“You humans are a lot more dense than I thought.”

Then she’d buzz off to deliver her nectar to the hive, leaving you behind in the company of her Hive mates. Lyith and Rena had been giving you more space lately when it came to your magic. You’d take more breaks, and often were given time to socialize. The Bee-mens youngest hive mate, Haven had grown especially fond of your company recently. He was your friend in gossip.

Rena and Lyith had a habit of glossing over the issues of the hive, but Haven was very different. He would answer any question you could think of. You had learned that Rena and Lyith were actually pretty high up there in the social hierarchy, as they were both scholars who taught the rest of the hive in their free time.

He was also very honest about the struggles of the hive.

“It's been about two decades since the last Queen died. We were having some issues with ambassadors from hives from the northern hive when a squirmish broke out. A lot of Bee-men died that day. Several of the Queen's favorite drones passed on and upon hearing the news her heart gave out.”

“Immediately? She wasn’t sick?”

“Do humans get sick before they die of heartbreak? For us it is impossible. Our bonds are our happiness. Without each other, our home isn’t a home, but an empty structure…” Haven trailed off, his expression wistful.

“But what was the squirmish about? I thought Bee-men were a friendly species.”

“You see, the two Queens had been sisters. The Northern Queen never liked our late matriarch and had been up to some mischief. She had convinced the Bunny Hybrids and the werewolves to move out of our territory. Eventually, the flower monsters left as well, and all the magic in the area just… disappeared. And Queens usually travel and make their own hives, or pick up abandoned ones. We’ve been waiting for so long!”

“Thats got to be hard. I mean, your guyses population can’t grow right?”

Haven looked at you weird.

“It’s more than that! Our Queens Pheromones give our magic structure! Without a Queen our magic grows weak and it's harder to communicate! Even making our honey properly becomes difficult because our grasp of our magic slips. We are so lucky we found you, little witch! Your magic is so easy to convert. I told you, you are a blessing!”

“But if you guys haven't been able to make honey properly for a while, how have you survived?”

“We haven’t. It's like your mana sickness. Sometimes our magic just eats us up.” You stared at Haven, your stomach turning. Haven looked at you sadly. “You should know this. Your Lyith and Rena have been sheltering you way too much. You're basically part of the hive at this point.”

You reached forward and hugged Haven. He trilled happily.

“Honestly it could be so much worse!”

You spent the rest of the day in silence. You had known they were starving, but you hadn’t realized how badly. Something else didn’t sit right with you either. The fact that the monster races had left their territory had been something that had been bothering you. That had to be the reason why the soil wasn’t absorbing magic, right? That was the only thing that had changed?

Then it hit you. What was soil? It was broken down waste. No Monsters. No decay. No shit. And how did the Bee-men manage their own waste anyway? Could you do something with this? Could it really be that simple?

You got so excited to tell Rena about it that it surprised you when you saw her at your door. Rena never made the trek to your house, saying that human civilization had a terrible smell to it. When you saw her face, she was crying.

“You have to come with me. Now.”

“Rena whats wrong, are you--”

“It's Lyith.”

All you could hear for a moment was the large thudding of your heart. Without another word you jumped into Rena’s arms and she held you, giving you a huge squeeze before buzzing off into the forest.

Part Five (Beware NSFW)

#monster fucker #monster lover #monster #monster x reader #terat0philliac #teratophillia #bee hybrid #bee hybrids #bee hybrid × reader #bee hybrids x reader #monster romance #fantasy romance

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madridfangirl · 8 months ago

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A Weekend in Ibiza - Part 3

(Jude Bellingham blurb)

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4)

4k words. Jude*female reader. Smut & suggestive language.

A/n - When we don't get Jude holiday content, we make shit up

..................................................................................................

Jude stared at the blank screen after she hung up on him. In utter disbelief.

He really thought he was in. The wine & note was such a master stroke. A public message but one only she would understand. That, coupled with the song, was absolute pants-dropping stuff. Proof that he could do more than just think with his dick.

He had been quite proud of himself for coming up with it. And, unless his radar was completely broken, he had sensed a change in her tone & voice too.

But poof. The pat on the back was clearly premature.

Fuck this shit.

Determined to go back to how smooth & satisfying this vacation was going till this morning, Jude returned to the club. And to the set of women he was holding off when he thought he was gonna be otherwise occupied.

His mates could see he was off the rails tonight. Grinding & grabbing freely. Caution out of the window. High on loads of tequila and some other emotion he wasn’t in the mood to share, not even with them. They let him be, only intervening when he was gonna end up with someone in the club’s loo, and sending them back to the villa.

As a gorgeous & supremely enthusiastic woman bounced on him that night, throwing her head back in pleasure, screaming his name, Jude laid back and shut his eyes, imagining those sounds in another voice. Later, he crashed on the living room couch, face down, drifting to a restless sleep.

You woke up the next day, still undecided, but glad that you had held off last night. And not jumped into something without thinking it through.

Kicking yourself for avoiding outdoors all day yesterday, you booked a long snorkelling & island hopping trip, soaking in the sun and the glorious water. And kept your phone on airplane mode. Afterall, this was meant to be a relaxing holiday in your dream location. Ibiza wasn’t going to be just about him. Heck, you didn’t even know he existed till yesterday morning. Peaceful times.

Amidst the fun & frolic, though, his thoughts kept creeping up. You couldn’t shut him out, much to your surprise & dismay. This was strange & unusual, but you fought the feeling.

Till you got back to your room that afternoon and succumbed to checking his Insta. The real meaning of the phrase ‘dropping to one’s knees’ became all too clear in that split second.

He had uploaded a set of rigorous workout photos. In a sleeveless black vest and the tightest pair of training shorts you had even seen. Sweaty thirst traps, basically. The comment section had exploded, as did your ovaries.

You had meant what you told him yesterday - casual sex had never appealed to you. Hook-ups were not your cup of tea. You had been in two relationships previously and sex had happened only after an emotional connection. It had been a while since then but you had never felt such a NEED before.

This guy though - the pull you felt towards him, the way your body responded to just his thoughts, the desperation you felt to get his hands on you (& yours on him) - it was an unearthly feeling. Like all the forces in the universe had aligned to bring you two together.

His persistent attention was flattering, you couldn’t deny. For some unfathomable reason, he really wanted you.

It was high time to admit, that, you wanted him too.

And what better place to get this anomaly out of your system than this faraway exotic land, where no one recognised you. What happened in Ibiza could literally just stay in Ibiza.

This realisation gave you new found clarity, and courage. Still not enough courage to call him though - you opted for texts.

‘9 pm tonight? My room?’

You’d rather die than go to his villa, that much you were set on. God knows what all would have happened there.

He saw the message after a few mins, around 6 pm.

‘Why wait till then?’

You took in a few deep breaths. Shit was getting real.

‘Ok. Room 209.’

‘Will be there in 20.’

20 mins. He was gonna be here in 20 mins. Million dollar question - what to wear? But but, this wasn’t a date. So it didn’t matter that you hadn’t packed anything worthy of a date night with someone like him. It was just gonna be a night with him. And for that you knew exactly what to wear. After all, you didn’t believe in half measures.

The bell rang, and there he was. Dressed in a tucked in sheer blue shirt and tight white pants.

Tall, handsome, and so big. Towering over you.

You let him in & shut the door, leaning your back against it.

While Jude leant against a nearby desk, facing you. Blatantly checking you out, surveying your skimpily clad body. Trademark cocksure smirk & posture, like he always knew it was only a matter of time before you’d fold. And he’d get his prize.

You almost wanted to shoo him out right away, just to see the expression on his face.

But, he looked SO SO DELICIOUS right now that your throat felt dry and you started to wonder why he wasn’t all over you already.

‘So, how do you wanna do this?’

You shrugged and said abruptly, wanting him to get on with it.

He chuckled loudly, lips curving into a gorgeous smile. Plump, lush, pink lips claimed all your attention as he sauntered over to you, placing his hands on the door, caging you in between.

You turned your face and crossed your legs as his hot breath hit your cheeks, overwhelmed by his proximity. Soft lips pecked your neck as he moved to whisper in your ear.

‘Wanna get you nice & ready for me. Yeah?’

You nodded eagerly, and he smiled against your cheek, moving to your ear again.

‘Say the word and I’ll stop.’

Before you could respond, he gripped the hem of your kaftan and lifted it over your head. Your arms moving up involuntarily to do his bidding.

Leaving you in your new turquoise blue bikini set. The one you had bought on a whim but never did have the guts to wear. Until now.

He hummed appreciatively and his eyes turned a shade darker as they raked your form.

Jude kissed the pulse point on your neck and licked down in a straight line, shoving his tongue in your belly button.

You mewled embarrassingly, trying to pull him up to your boobs, needing his touch there. But he just shushed you and smiled against your skin as he kneeled down. THE BASTARD.

Deft fingers removed your bikini bottoms, leaving your core bare to him. Cool air & warm breath hit you there, making you shiver in anticipation.

It was killing him to not just take you then & there, but he could tell you were too tense. He wanted you pliant & needy, for what he had in mind tonight. This seemed like the best way to get there quickly.

His head nudged between your legs, spreading them apart. His mouth found your clit, sucking & licking softly. You flinched, trying to close your legs instinctively but his hands grabbed your thighs, hooking one leg over his shoulder to give him better access. Grabbing his hair with one hand and the door knob with the other, you held on for dear life as his tongue slid down your folds.

This was not an activity he did often, or at all. But what he lacked in experience & skill, he made up with eagerness and effort. Your helpless moans massaged his ego, providing extra motivation to elicit more such sounds. Your trembling thighs cocooning his head perfectly. Your wetness tasting bitterly sweet on his tongue. Your fingers digging into his scalp, trying to push him into the right spots & angles that drove you wild.

And wild you were. Moaning with such abandon, right on the door - half the rooms in the corridor would have heard you by now.

His mouth was heavenly, but his eyes were another story altogether. Shimmering with hunger and pride - for reducing you into a mewling mess. His mouth fucked your core but his eyes were fucking your whole being, reaching the depths of your soul.

But then, he slowed down. Not stopping fully but not going nearly as fast as you needed. Keeping you on the edge.

‘Tell me.’

He rasped from between your legs, voice muffled.

‘That fucker - you didn’t go with him, right? Say you didn’t let him touch you. SAY IT.’

You wanted to choke him with your legs for choosing this moment of peak vulnerability to make you admit this. CONNIVING BASTARD.

‘I’ll keep you like this all night if I have to, baby girl.’

His silky, smooth voice was filled with promise. His slow strokes accentuated your agony.

‘I HATE YOU.’

You groaned, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right.

‘Tell that to you body.’

‘FINE. HE DIDN’T TOUCH ME. HAPPY NOW?’

Jude paused completely. Forcing you to look into his eyes. When you did, a strong hand spanked your butt, on the leg that was hooked over his shoulder. You gasped for air, the shock and sting and pleasure making you nearly double over.

He resumed his work with renewed vigour, each stroke a power move now. His hands gripped your ass, keeping you in place, the force sure to leave marks, which was probably the point of it.

You cried out as his relentless moves forced your body to reach its peak, faster than usual. The familiar sensation built in the pit of your stomach, travelling through your lower body and releasing through your core. Into his waiting mouth.

He lapped you up, but didn’t stop, applying more pressure than earlier to your most sensitive spot, as if testing the limits of your body. You struggled against his grip, in vain, and the overstimulation made you climax again, quickly.

‘P-please…wait…’

Your choked voice got his attention. Unhooking your leg slowly, he stood up, wiping his face with the back of his hand, letting you rest against him. Your drained body falling into his warm, worked up, still fully clothed one. His fingers clearing sweaty strands of hair from your face.

Time stood still for a minute, as he swayed you a little in his hold.

Then, the sharp sting on your butt made its presence known. The fog lifted from your head as you remembered how he basically played you. Manipulated you into admitting something you never would have otherwise. Was that his plan all along?

But he made you feel so good.

Fuck that. He made you lose a point in this battle of wits and you hated losing. It was time to regain control.

Jude felt a soft but firm hand push at his chest. He stepped away, blinking in confusion.

‘I need a shower.’

You said curtly. And the insufferable boy smirked again, cocking his head.

‘I’ll join yo..’

‘NO.’

You cut him off swiftly, enjoying his mouth opening & closing like a buffoon as you sneaked out of his hold & walked to the washroom. Only to be stopped by a strong grip at your elbow.

‘Be back in 10. Or I am coming in.’

‘No you’re not. Also, FYI, if you are expecting me to return this favour at some point tonight, that’s not gonna happen. I don’t do that…stuff.’

You marched to the washroom, locking the door behind for good measure. It took quite a few splashes of cold water to counter how hot you were still feeling, especially between your legs.

You stared at your dishevelled reflection in the mirror, closing your eyes and reliving his touch. Very aware that you hadn’t felt pleasure like that before. And he hadn’t even properly taken you yet.

Somehow, by satisfying you, he made you even hungrier for him. You wanted more, so much more. His mouth, his hands, his body, at all your sensitive spots. And you wanted to touch him too, so so badly.

The need for him overtook all your senses & you marched back out. Stopping at the door with the near pornographic site in front.

Jude had stripped to his briefs, glorious hard muscles on full display. And was gulping down a bottle of juice from the mini bar. Little droplets escaping from the corner of his mouth, sliding clumsily down his chin, on to the pool of soft hair on his chest.

He stopped when your eyes met, intrigued by your feverish expression.

Time to drop all pretenses.

Taking off the only garment you had on, your bikini, you swiftly walked to him, as his eyes widened, glued to your chest.

You pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed and climbed into his lap, guiding his large palms to your boobs, moaning as they squeezed you firmly.

His mouth was still slightly agape, forming a delicate O, making his glossy lips all the more edible to you. Then, he gazed into your eyes, his hands still groping you thoroughly.

‘Who are you, and what did you do to the girl I met yesterday?’

Great question, you couldn’t believe yourself either.

‘You killed her, with all your naked hotness. I WANT YOU.’

He just moved his hips so his crotch brushed against you, demonstrating with HARD evidence how much he wanted you too. His fingers pinched your hardening nubs, as you fell into the crook of his long neck.

‘Juude.’

His whole body jerked, having waited so long to hear his name from you.

‘Touch me, please.’

He followed through, like his life depended on it. His warm, strong hands roaming your bare back and his wet sultry mouth tending to your front. You gripped and pulled and bit at whatever of him you could find access to, as your nails dug into his rippling back muscles. He left his fair share of marks as well, paying special attention to your neck and chest. Your lips crashed into each others, FINALLY, as your tongues clashed for dominance, his winning eventually as he left you breathless & dizzy. Your indelicate movements in his lap driving him nuts throughout. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, groaning into your ear.

‘Need you…right now.’

‘Umm-hmm.’

Jude grabbed your face, lust dancing in his eyes.

‘You ready to take me, yeah? Like a good girl?’

You nodded & braced yourself for what was coming. He wasn’t gonna go easy, not after you made him wait so long. The thought both excited & unnerved you.

Next second, he tossed you from his lap on to the bed, his large frame looming over you. Your hands moved to grip the sheets but he flipped you again, to your hands and knees.

‘But…’

‘Shhhhh.’

You wanted him face to face, so you could feel him close, so his eyes could fuck the depths of your soul again. But his need was more primal right now.

His finger prodded at your core, checking your readiness. Finding you dripping wet but still too tight for his liking. He added another one to stretch you further, burying them in till his knuckles.

Jude leaned over your back, stroking your boobs with his free hand, kissing your shoulders, whispering in your ear.

‘Breathe. Relax for me, doll.’

You would have given him the world at that moment if he had asked like that. He should have been a hostage negotiator, with that honeyed charming convincing voice.

He felt your walls unclench in real time, cooing appreciatively in your ear.

‘Such a good girl.’

That felt like a bigger validation than graduating top 1% of your class in uni or landing a high flying consulting job. Both of which were your biggest achievements. Till that point.

A minute later, he was running his covered tip up and down the edge of your folds. But his own need didn’t allow him to tease for long, and he entered half way in with a single thrust, pausing to let you adjust.

Your hands and knees gave away at the intrusion as you fell face down into the pillow. It had been a while and his size didn’t help either. He placed a pillow under your lower waist to lift your ass up, giving him the angle he needed. Then pulled out & thrusted again, going three quarters in this time.

You already felt so full, biting the pillow to curb your moans.

‘Just a bit more, yeah? You’re doing so good. So good for me.’

Enchanting you with that silky sweet voice, he thrusted in again, entering fully. So deep, you could almost feel him in your throat. He stayed still, letting you get used to him. You desperately reached behind with your hand, looking for some contact, and he held it firmly, giving it reassuring squeezes.

Jude felt like his head would explode any moment with arousal. The shifts in her demeanour, from sweet & coy one moment to this wildfire he had met today, were giving him sexual whiplashes. He was worried he’d burst too soon, given how painfully hard he already was, & embarrass himself.

Unable to wait any longer, he started moving inside you. Slow, deep, rhythmic strokes, driving you mad. One hand balancing your ass, while other moved underneath to find your clit. Doubling your sensations to ease his path. As you moaned his name like a chant, the sounds making him harder.

Chasing his release like a mad man, his hips picked up pace soon, as did his hand. You cried into the pillow, feeling hot all over, as he played your body like a fiddle, for the second time tonight. Your head started to spin, as he pounded you mercilessly into the mattress. Your legs started to shake & your walls started to clench around him.

‘Not yet.’

He commanded hoarsely, denying you the friction of his hand anymore. You whined, and tried reaching down with your own hand, but he grabbed it mid-way.

‘I said, NOT YET.’

You mumbled some gibberish into the pillow, which he didn’t bother to register. Too far gone by this point.

Suddenly, you felt his weight on your back, crushing you further into the mattress. His voice in your ear wasn’t silky soft this time, it was downright menacing.

‘What did you call me yesterday, a little boy fresh out of his teens, huh?’

You desperately shook your head, having no memory of it. But he remembered. Every. Single. Word.

The force of his next thrust made your voice choke in your throat. Burning your insides. The pain unlocking a different layer of pleasure. He was all-consuming. All around you. Deep inside you. Your existence was anchored on him, everything else blurred into the background.

‘Still think so?’

You had lost the ability to think or feel anything, other than the sensations he was giving you.

‘I…I don’t. Please Jude, let me….I can’t….pls…’

The helplessness in your choked voice gave him the final nudge he needed. His strokes became sloppier, deeper.

‘Now, doll. Let go now. Cum for me.’

Right on cue, you let yourself go. Almost embarrassed at the timed precision with his command. The delicious squeeze of your walls & your cries tipped him over the edge too. He continued to stroke lazily, letting all the pent up need release. Then crashed on top of you, panting into the side of your face, still buried to the hilt inside.

‘H-heavy.’

You struggled underneath, with whatever minuscule energy you had left. He caught it, pulled out slowly and rolled off you, smiling contently, tracing lazy patterns on your sweaty back.

While he dispensed off the condom, cleaned himself & put on his briefs, you stayed out like a light. Only coming to life when you felt a wet towel between your legs, kicking it away instinctively given how sore you were. Faintly hearing a light chuckle somewhere.

Jude let you be for a few minutes. But when you still didn’t move, he wrapped an arm around your waist, slowly turning you to face him. You groaned at the light hitting your face.

‘Heyy, you’re ok?’

You hummed and snuggled into his warm, broad, inviting chest, shielding yourself from the light.

‘Let’s get some food into you, yeah?’

Food arrived 30 mins later, by which time you had recovered enough to realise he couldn’t answer the door. Couldn’t be seen in your room. While he argued you looked too fucked out to get in front of the waiter right now.

You won the argument, shooed him into the washroom (as he tied the bathrobe tightly around you), and collected the food-table at the door itself. The room was too much of a mess for anyone to see.

Both ate in peace, falling into a comfortable silence. You, in particular, were shocked at yourself, at how easy you felt around him. Given you had no experience of such arrangements while he, well, his was a different story altogether.

You wondered at what point he’d wanna leave, and how come he hadn’t done that already. But he was showing no signs of wanting to leave. It was 10 pm, and they ended up putting on a random movie on Netflix, snuggled together in bed. The movie ended at 12, and he still didn’t make a move.

‘You could leave if you want to. It’s fine.’

He looked at you curiously. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was hurt.

‘Do you want me to leave?’

No. Not at all.

‘Isn’t that what you’d normally do?’

He shrugged, and you didn’t push it further. Falling asleep into his comfy arms. While he stayed awake for a bit, gazing at you & questioning his unusual behaviour tonight. Finally drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

You were awoken way too early the next morning, with his kisses on your shoulder.

‘It’s 6 am. Let me sleep.’

‘Are you still sore?’

Of course. He wanted another tumble. Is that why he stayed? You tried to be mad but your voice betrayed your excitement.

‘Just a little. Not much.’

He smiled that gorgeous smile, drawing one from you too. And got on top of you, granting you your wish of being face to face with him.

Your bodies moved in sync, as if already in tune with each other. Unlike the rush of adrenaline last night, this time was slow & soft. Him being mindful of the residual ache in your limbs. His pace & force never exceeding a certain threshold. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, as you pulled him down for a kiss, gazed into his beautiful eyes and shut out the world. If this was gonna be the last you ever see of him, then you wanted to commit every inch of his handsome face to memory.

‘How long are you here for?’

He asked suddenly, pulling you out of your trance, while still moving inside you.

‘Till tomorrow morning.’

‘What are you doing today?’

You had booked a day long tour today, filled with activities.

‘Nothing.’

His eyes twinkled happily, turning you into mush.

‘Good. Let me just sort out a few things & I’ll be back in a couple of hours, yeah?’

His mouth reached your breasts, sucking & nibbling in tune with his thrusts, making you work extra hard to string words together.

‘W-we can’t go outside.’

‘It’s fine, we’ll stay here.’

‘You don’t hv other plans?’

He very much did. Infact, the plans were heavily dependant on him, & he’d have to go sort it out soon.

‘Nope.’

‘Okay then.’

You closed your eyes, as he rocked you to ecstasy.

..........................................................................

I died a few times while writing this.

And I still have plans for the last day / final chapter. Someone kill me.

Would absolutely love to hear your thoughts here / in inbox. Thank you for the feedback and interest in this story - it kept me motivated to turn it around soon.

#jude bellingham #bellingham #jude #real madrid #jb5 #jb #jude fanfic #bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham imagine #Jude bellingham blurb

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radawaycunt · 8 months ago

Text

Tender

Also on AO3

Pairing: Duncan Vizla x Fem!Reader

WC: 4.2k words

Summary: based on this blurb of Duncan saving you after your car crashed near his cabin during a snowstorm. He nurses you back to health and you wait out the storm with him, growing closer with each passing day.

Warnings: angst (light), a little instance of whump (car accident, sickness), fluff, mutual pining, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v (dont do it at home), aaand honestly i think thats it! But lmk if anything else!

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

Everything had been a blur at first. The dark, winding roads that your high beams could barely break through. The unforgiving flurries of snow that enveloped your car, almost turning it into a glistening white tomb. The fear, the sobbing, and the pleas for your stupidity to be forgiven.

Ironically, it was the crash that saved you. Nothing deadly, of course, given how slow you were driving. But it was still enough to give you whiplash, your sense of survival numbing you to anything else.

The chill seeped to your very bones as you pulled yourself out, looking around at your dark, unfamiliar surroundings. A sea of nothing… and then there was another beacon of light, off in the distance. You could weep with joy if you’d been able to.

Stumbling there had seemed eternal, perhaps punishment for putting yourself in that situation in the first place. You fell once or twice, still disoriented, but you didn’t rest until you reached your destination — an old cabin, with only one of the porch lights on. It had to be fate.

You barely remembered actually getting there, much less knocking on the door. But suddenly there was a tall, rugged man in the doorway, disheveled in a way that indicated he’d just woken up. The sight of you gave him a momentary pause, but then he ushered you inside.

He sat you before the fire and brewed tea for you, worried at your lack of speech. He’d tried asking questions without much luck, and in the end, all you could give him was your name. Warmth returned to you slowly after that, reaching your extremities last. Clarity was still far from your mind, though, especially as the warmth turned into a fever.

He nursed you all through the night, driven by a sudden protective streak. Truthfully, the whole thing had been a whirlwind, leaving him with more questions than answers. Still, even if you were a stranger that he couldn’t yet absolve from suspicion, he couldn’t just leave you as you were.

He’d tucked you into his bed, adding an extra blanket on top, and sat on a pillow beside it. He kept a cold compress on your forehead, trying to keep the fever from worsening. It had been strange at first, taking care of someone other than himself. The sight of you, with a feverish pallor and shuddering so hard your teeth clacked, was piteous.

Many times in the past, whether or not someone lived had been a decision he had to make, but this wasn’t the case. Nothing had ever made him feel more helpless, not knowing what else he could do to keep you going. It made his heart squeeze with anxiety, strangely enough.

You murmured things in your sleep he couldn’t quite understand, restlessly tossing and turning. That reassured him that at least you weren’t slipping away. A part of him couldn’t help but find it fascinating.

He had been living alone out there for a long time, not having much of a chance for this sort of human interaction. And when he did have a chance to interact with others, well… It wasn’t exactly to be a tender caregiver.

By the time morning came and a thin, watery light filtered in through the windows, he had fallen asleep slumped against the bed. His head was resting near one of your hands, and when you woke up, you noticed your fingers were woven through his graying locks.

You blinked, trying to comprehend the sight. Without moving, your eyes darted around as you tried to gather your bearings. A piercing headache made you wince, but still, some memories of the previous evening floated back to you.

You hadn’t gotten a proper chance to take a look at your savior before, but from what you could tell he was strong and muscular under his winter clothes. He had a thick mustache and salt-and-pepper stubble, but you couldn’t see all of his features very well from that angle.

Slowly, so as not to disturb him, your hand retreated from his hair. Still, he woke up immediately, lifting his head. Your eyes met as you two froze, unsure of how to proceed.

“U-um… Hi,” you said, your voice raspy and weak.

“Hello,” he said, clearing his throat. “How… How are you feeling?”

“Alive, but just barely. Kinda loopy… like I’m still in a dream.”

He stood up, both wanting to put some distance between you and wanting to be helpful. He clenched and unclenched his fists nervously.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Maybe some water, please, um…” you stared at him, prompting.

“Duncan,” he said, realizing he hadn’t had the chance to tell you.

“Duncan,” you repeated. “Um, well this is an interesting situation. I’m really sorry about, you know, almost dying at your doorstep.”

He huffed in amusement, one of the corners of his full lips pulling up in a faint, relieved grin. He was very handsome, you decided, taking in his dark eyes, slightly crooked nose, and chiseled jaw. A little weathered perhaps, but that only added to his look.

You hoped that, in contrast, you didn’t look just as horrible as you felt. But that had to be the least of your worries at that moment. First thing on the list was making sure you recovered and were able to continue on your way after.

“It’s all good, I’m just glad you didn’t actually die,” he said. “I’ll try to make sure it stays that way.”

You nodded gratefully. He went over to the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. You painstakingly sat up on the bed and downed it all in one go, not having realized you were absolutely parched. He got you another one, but this time he tried to get you to drink it slowly.

“Any better?” He asked, brows slightly furrowed. “I could make you some food, too, if you’re hungry.”

“I want to help,” you said, starting to push the covers off of yourself.

Your aching muscles made you wince, grimacing, and he set a tentative hand on your shoulder to stop you. Then, realizing his actions, his hand quickly retreated.

“It’s, er, no trouble. Probably better for you to conserve energy. Do you like oatmeal?”

You nodded, still unsure. “Are you sure? I have troubled you so much already…”

“It’s okay, really,” he insisted. “I did just tell you I’d make sure to keep you alive, didn’t I?”

His attempt to lighten the mood was punctuated with a small, awkward grin, which you found incredibly charming. You relaxed a little at that, smiling sheepishly in return.

“Alright, but as soon as I’m better, you can’t stop me from helping.”

——————————

In the next couple of days, your health began to improve. Your fever finally abated on the third night, and by the next morning, you were up and about. You kept your promise about helping around the place, and there truly was nothing Duncan could do to stop you.

He’d thrown your clothes in the washer while you showered, so you had to wear one of his large flannel shirts. It reached past your knees, and you had to fold the sleeves back a few times, but it was very comfortable otherwise.

You shooed him away while you made breakfast, insisting it was your turn to treat him. It was the least you could do after everything.

He sat in his armchair, the book on his lap forgotten as he covertly watched you move around the small kitchen. He was fascinated by the domestic image, never having thought he could attain it. Already you breathed life into the cabin, smiling and humming softly to yourself, feeling better than you had felt in a long time.

You’d grown closer in those past days, talking whenever you were awake. He had already ruled out any suspicion and was willing to be more open with you. He didn’t speak much about his job, though, and he’d deeply appreciated you not pushing the subject.

You had your own secrets to keep, after all, and you understood the importance of one’s personal privacy. You were still strangers, even if you owed him your life. Beyond that though, you felt comfortable with him, safe. Despite his tough seeming exterior, he was a softie underneath, and not to mention a gentleman.

You couldn’t help being drawn to him, and it seemed he couldn’t help but be drawn to you in return. He was a little better at being subtle about it, though, especially since he didn’t really know what to do about what he was feeling.

“How do you like your eggs?” You asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He cleared his throat, shaking his head a little to snap himself out of his thoughts.

“Er, scrambled or fried, whatever you prefer,” he said, picking his book back up only to read the same sentence over and over again.

You chuckled softly, noticing the tips of his ears had gone red. When you finished cooking, you served him at the small dining table and sat across from him. You heard the distant howl of wind outside the window, but the storm didn’t seem to be nearly as bad anymore.

“Think it should die down in a couple more days, right?” You said.

Duncan glanced out of the window and thought for a moment. “Yes, I think so. Winter’s been harsher this year.”

“It’s what we get for living so far up north, I guess,” you sighed. “I live in Triple Oak proper. Small apartments don’t really have the best heating. I have a lot of blankets, though, so that helps some.”

“You live by yourself?” He asked before he could think about it.

You nodded, moving your food around your plate nervously. “Yeah, kind of recent, but it was a long time coming.”

He grunted in response, turning back to his food. He would always return the courtesy of not pressing, and you were infinitely thankful for that too.

The two of you ate in silence for a moment, and you snuck a glance at him. There were no signs in the cabin that anyone else had lived there for a while, but you could never be too sure.

“I don’t want to presume but… you’re not exactly waiting for more company either, are you?” You tried to sound as casual as possible despite the embarrassment of asking in the first place.

“No,” was all he said, and again you left it at that.

“Do you ever get scared a bear might get you out here?” You asked instead, changing the subject.

He chuckled. “No, but I have seen some around a few times. We mostly stay out of each other’s ways.”

You blinked. “Mostly?”

“Well, I can’t just let them rummage through my trash cans.”

You could be a bear yourself, the size that you are. The thought came into your mind unbidden, and you felt your face heat up. It would be a lie to say you hadn’t checked him out more than once. Or thought of his strong arms enveloping you, your fingers running through his hair…

You took a shaky sip of coffee, trying to remain composed. To your luck, he didn’t seem to notice.

“It has definitely been nice having some company,” he said softly, not looking at you.

“Yeah, I think so too,” you said with a small smile. “Crazy as it was… It was really good to meet you, Duncan.”

He smiled in return, glancing up. There was something between you, some sort of energy, that felt inevitable. It was all just a matter of when, and based on the fact that you couldn’t really leave the cabin, well… The clock was ticking.

When you finished eating, you cleaned up as he went to build a fire in the hearth. You insisted on helping with some other chores, like cleaning up the mess that the cabin had become in just a couple of days.

You wished you could open the windows and let some fresh air in, but that would have to wait until the storm had subsided. The two of you worked in different sections of the cabin for the next few hours, getting a lot more done in a lot less time.

Once you were finally done, you slumped down before the fire. Duncan sat next to you, leaving a respectable distance between you. You wanted to tell him you wouldn’t bite if he sat any closer, but you weren’t brave enough to be that forward yet.

“We kinda make a good team, don’t we?” You said, leaning back and stretching your legs in front of the hearth.

He nodded, glancing at you sideways. His eyes were drawn down to the smooth expanse of your bare legs, the orange light of the flames flickering over them. He swallowed hard and looked away, willing himself to keep it together.

You inched closer to his side until your hands were barely touching. He tensed a little at the contact, but didn’t move away. His heart started pounding in his chest.

“It really is pretty cozy in here,” you said, sighing contentedly. “I’m definitely going to miss it when I go back home.”

“You may stay as long as you need,” he said, internally dreading the moment of your parting.

“That’s very sweet of you, but I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome… I kind of feel like I already am.”

“Not at all,” he said resolutely, frowning slightly. “But even so, you may also visit whenever, my door will always be open to you.”

“Bonded for life, huh?” you teased, playfully bumping his arm with yours.

He huffed in amusement. “Something like that.”

You glanced down at your hands and ever-so-slowly, you hooked your pinky over his. Your entire face felt warm, and for a moment you thought he might pull his hand away… but he didn’t.

“I’ll definitely take you up on it,” you murmured, grinning wryly. “You’ll get sick of me coming around so much.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I could.”

In a moment of supreme boldness, he decided to wrap his arm around your shoulders. He brought you closer to his side, making your breathing hitch. He was warm and smelled faintly of pine needles and cigarette smoke. You leaned your head against him.

“It’ll be pretty quiet around here without you, that’s for sure,” he added, resting his chin on the top of your head.

Your heart hurt for him then. You wanted to help him not feel so lonely, to show him the same tenderness and care he had shown you – which you both so desperately needed. You pulled back slightly to look at him, your faces inches apart. You searched each other’s eyes for something – perhaps confirmation – and it was yours that flicked to his lips first.

“U-um…” you breathed, not entirely sure of what to say.

Turns out, you didn’t need to say anything. He leaned in, gently cupping your face with his free hand, and his lips met yours. It was just an experimental peck first, but when your mouth sought his again, it became a proper kiss. You melted against him, clinging onto his sweater as your lips parted to give his tongue access.

You kissed for what seemed like an eternity, unrushed, just enjoying the feeling of one another. He pulled you onto his lap and you wrapped your arms around his neck. His large hands had settled on your hips, inches away from the bare skin of your legs.

Then you pulled back, dazed and panting, leaning your forehead against his. Your heart was beating fast, thumping against his chest. You tucked some hair away from his face and gazed at him for a moment.

“Sorry if I took you by surprise,” you whispered with a sheepish grin. “I just… really wanted to do that.”

“Not as much as I did,” he joked, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, but you were just waiting for me to make a move first, weren’t you?”

“Maybe…”

The two of you laughed, and there was a giddy feeling in your chest. The look on his face was earnest and hopeful, but there was something there that told you he still couldn’t believe it was happening. You cupped his face, gently stroking his cheeks with your thumbs.

You bit your lip to contain a grin. “Do you want to do it again?”

“You don’t even need to ask,” he said, seconds before he pulled you back in.

—-----------------------

Later that night, as you were starting to settle in for bed, you watched as Duncan grabbed stuff to sleep on the couch once again. You were internally debating whether or not to say something, but your desire for more overrode your doubts.

“Um, Duncan…” you said, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket nervously. “Do you want to maybe… share the bed tonight? I feel so bad about forcing you to sleep uncomfortably.”

He stopped mid motion and looked over at you. “Are you sure? I don’t mind at all.”

You nodded all too eagerly. “Yes, of course. Plus, it gets pretty cold when the fire dies out, and I wouldn’t mind sharing some heat…”

He was visibly affected by that, his spine straightening. Once more he swallowed hard, mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the right words.

“Y-yes, you’re right. I-I wouldn’t want you to freeze,” he said, nodding.

He carried his stuff over to the bed, sitting on the mattress hesitantly. You slipped inside the covers, lying on your back. Your eyes were beguiling as he glanced back at you, desire glittering in them. He slipped in beside you slowly, painstakingly making sure there was a little space between you.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do, many different instincts warring within him. He didn’t want to seem like he was pressuring you to do more. Kissing was all you had done earlier, despite the fact that your hands had wandered some over each other’s clothed bodies.

In the end, he shut the lights off, leaving the room only faintly illuminated by the fire in the hearth. You pressed closer to him and he wrapped an arm around you as you rested your head on his chest. Your warmth against him was intoxication, and he had the urge to curl his body around yours.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

“Goodnight,” you replied, wrapping an arm around his midsection.

But in the still, quiet darkness, neither of you went to sleep. You lied there, expectant, hyper aware of his nearness and his smell and the comforting heat emanating from him. He was in the same position, tormented by it. Your fingers involuntarily traced lazy circles on his chest, and in response, one of his hands traced up and down your spine.

You let out a pleased hum, thoroughly enjoying his touch. His body shifted, and when you couldn’t take it anymore, you lifted your head so you could look at each other. And then you kissed him, slowly once again to start.

But soon enough, the kiss grew needier, more ferocious. Teeth and tongues and lips clashing together, intent on devouring. With a shaky hand, you began to undo the buttons of the flannel shirt he had given you, and soon his hands touched skin instead of fabric. He groaned into your mouth then, already far too gone.

“Can I?” he husked, wanting to see more of you.

You nodded and he pushed it off of you, an agonized look on his face as he took in your form next to him. His hands didn’t know where to go next, but his eyes lingered on your heaving chest – or, more specifically, the swell of your breasts. Gently, you took his wrist and guided them there.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, kissing you once more.

You could feel something insistently pressing against your hip, and you realized he was hard. A whimper escaped your throat and you arched against him as his hands continued their exploration. One of them ghosted past your ribcage and lingered in your abdomen, the tips of his fingers maddeningly close to the hem of your underwear.

“Duncan…” you sighed as he pulled away to kiss your jaw and down the column of your throat.

“Do you want me to take care of you?” he asked against your skin, making you shudder.

“Yes,” you pleaded. “Yes, but I want to touch you, too.”

“Touch me wherever you like.”

His hand continued its slow trail south, and you lifted your hips to let him take your panties off. Your legs spread for him eagerly, and you brought your hand down to palm his erection over his briefs. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, hips bucking against your touch.

He let out a tortured sound as his fingers finally found purchase, finding you soaked already. His fingers slid through your folds with ease, but his touch was gentle and exploratory. You gasped, mewling desperately. You continued to touch him in turn, both excited and intimidated by the size and girth of him. You slipped your hand beneath the hem, wanting to touch the velvety skin of it.

“Take these off,” you murmured, tugging at the hem.

He pulled them off his hips and kicked them the rest of the way off. Your fingers curled around the shaft, pumping slowly. His lips found yours again sloppily, a moan low in his throat. His fingers circled your clit, making you jerk against him. Once he found a rhythm that you seemed to really like, he held you to him as you bucked and writhed, nearing your orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” you choked out, muscles taut as a bowstring.

And in a matter of seconds, you shattered under his expert ministrations. A flint sparked low in your belly, spreading outward in waves of pleasure. You clung to him with a cry, lest you became unmoored.

“Just like that,” he encouraged, kissing the corner of your lips. “Let go for me.”

His movements did not stop until you gripped his wrist from overstimulation. Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest in the aftermath. You gave him a piteous, agonized look, begging him for more.

“I need you inside me,” you whimpered. “I-I can’t take it anymore. I need you close.”

He didn’t need any more convincing, adjusting your bodies and sliding over you. Your knees drew up beside his hips and he spat down on his cock, spreading it by pumping it in his fist. The head of it teased through your folds, coating itself in your arousal, and then he was slowly pushing inside of you.

You reached up and clung to the corner of the pillow under your head with one hand, mouth slack with all the sensations the stretch brought. Your name slipped past his lips deliriously as he fucked into you shallowly, letting you get used to him. More of his weight leaned on you, and you trembled under him like a doe pinned by the jaws of a mountain lion.

“F-fuck… You’re b-big,” you panted. “Feels s-so fucking good.”

He moaned near your ear, the cant of his hips becoming longer, his length slowly drawing back before sliding back into the hilt. Your wanton moans ascending in a rhythmic spiral were like music to his ears. He was hypnotized by the way your breasts bounced with each thrust, and the way you were clenching around him so sweetly, sucking him back in… It was all rapidly leading him to the edge.

“You feel like heaven,” he husked, his voice soft and dreamlike.

You lost yourselves in each other’s bodies, making it last as long as possible. He reached down between you and slicked his thumb over your clit in time with his thrusts. Pleasure mounted once more, to the point where you were practically yowling like a wildcat. You couldn’t even form a sentence, your mind clouded over in a haze of ecstasy.

Your knees pressed against his sides as you came even harder than before. He came soon after with a rough groan, leaning his forehead against yours. He remained fully sheathed inside of you, not wanting to separate for even a moment, despite your sweat slicked skins sticking together.

You let out a winded chuckle, awash in endorphins, and he smiled beatifically. He tucked your hair away from your face and took a long look at you, as if committing you to memory. He had never seen anyone so beautiful before, and not to mention sweet as honey. Maybe it had been fate that you ended up there, fitting so perfectly in his arms.

“Would you… Maybe consider staying a little longer?” He murmured, touching the tip of his nose against yours.

You nodded, your smile taking on a playful edge. “I think that can be arranged… As long as you’ll have me.”

At that moment, if it were up to him, then he would have you stay for good. But for now, he was content with taking it one day at a time.

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