Undertale Patience Novels & Stories

That if I don’t take advantage of the love he lavishes on my body, our intimate window will close when Tate wakes. Leon does something with his tongue or fingers, I’m unsure, when he blinds me with ecstasy. I moan again, my breath racing. He makes up for his time away from home by seeing that I’m well taken care of first. From the building orgasm to a full day with my sisters while he spends daddy-time with his son. He recognizes I need a break, adult time, so I’m not impatient with him, with today’s reminder that I’m still waiting for a ring on my finger. It’s my flaw, to rush, to want more—a commitment of vows in front of our pack. Patience is a virtue; my mother tells me. Is it really? Sh

Skylar flexed her arms, rolling her shoulders and straightening her legs as she stood straight. I walked closer to her as my patience lessens. “Skylar,” I slowly called her name, raising my hand to touch her but she recoiled. “I don’t have all the time in the world and I particularly don’t have the patience to be dealing with you. I need to know where Elara is so, spill.” Skylar smiled sweetly. “I see,” she replied, looking at me with innocence and pity, making me want to pluck her eyes out. “Since you’re admitting to not being patient, then I guess you have to learn how to be patient.”

Not because I had seen them before. Because of what was in them. The patience. The specific patience of someone who had been working toward a single goal for long enough that the patience was no longer an effort but a quality of being. Four hundred years of patience. Not this person’s age. This person was not four hundred years old. But the patience in their eyes was the patience of knowledge that was that old. Of purpose that had been passed down through generations. Of something that had been waiting through the wound and through the restoration and through everything we had built.

"How long did you know." "Two days." Patience's voice carried nothing — just the flat weight of a woman who had long since run out of things to feel about it. "They tell us when a new subject is arriving. So we stay out of the corridors." "You didn't tell me." "No." Patience's hands moved in her lap — one thumb pressing into the other palm, slow and rhythmic, something she probably didn't know she was doing. Maya watched it and said nothing. She had no right to be angry. Patience had survived three years in this place by making calculations Maya couldn't judge from two days in. She understood that. She held onto it.

For a moment, I stood there, staring at it as something tightened slowly in my chest. I had been careful. Consistent. Faithful to every instruction, every measured dose, every quiet reassurance that it would work—that it only needed time. And still… nothing. My fingers curled slightly at my sides as the silence in the room deepened, pressing in around me, heavy with thoughts I had been trying not to give a voice to. How much time was enough? How long before patience turned into something else entirely? Before hope—quiet, fragile hope—became something heavier… something harder to carry? What if I am never able to have pups?

I look out at the Surrey estate, at the five years of it, at the London skyline visible on clear days from the upper windows, and think about the quality of patience that isn't resignation but accumulation—the patience of someone not waiting for an opportunity but building toward one. Five more years. Ten, if necessary. I've waited longer for lesser things.

“And if she’s there, we’ll find her. You’ve waited this long. A little more patience won’t hurt.” Maxton’s jaw tightened. Patience had been his prison these past months, a slow, torturous wait filled with unanswered questions and unfulfilled longing. “I’m done waiting, Tanner,” he replied. “If she’s alive, I need to see her. I can’t...” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought, as if even acknowledging the possibility of not finding her was too painful to consider. Tanner placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We will find her,” he said firmly. “And whatever happens after that, we’ll deal with it.”

I held it for a moment — felt the paper between my fingers, Carol's cheerful font, the specific weight of a decision that would be easier and worse. Then I put it in the desk drawer and closed it. I picked up the card with its two words and its small postscript and read it one more time, and I thought about patience as a form of power — the kind that didn't announce itself, that built and built beneath the surface until the surface had no choice but to change. We will wait longer, if you need it. They had waited three generations. They could wait four more months. I found a piece of paper and wrote a single sentence, sealed it in a plain envelope, and gave it to Petra to send through the cou

Aria lay quietly with that for a moment. He was right. She had felt it herself, a pull toward urgency as Kael's timeline had settled into her awareness. The sense that the six months were a countdown rather than simply time available to use well. She had been managing it, but she had not named it. "Thank you for saying that," she said. "Someone wise told me once that the things worth building take longer than you expect," he said. "And that patience is not passivity. It is a choice you make actively, every day, to do things the right way even when the wrong way feels faster."

Robert replied in a very calm voice. "Fine I'm not mad anymore, but what I'm trying to say in all is that you should learn patience, learn how to wait without expecting any explanation. I know that patience doesn't really run in our blood but if you really want to be Alicia, you would have to learn it one way or the other. If you really like her, then you should be ready to change and drop some of your beliefs, If you notice, Shirl is gradually but steadily changing Zane and HE knows he is changing but HE doesn't mind. Alicia is a lady and all ladies always need extra time to dress up so be prepared to always wait if you want her to stick around.”