#SORRY MONTY YOU CAN’T RUN

[coconut530]

WHAHAHAHHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTT!?!

[daincrediblegg]

Marvel movie quip humor is going to make the class I’m taking on comedy a living hell isn’t it

[moonstruckme]

hi congrats on 10k this is sooo deserved!!!! i was wondering if you could write a blanket fort poly!marauders drabble w the prompt “i didn’t have anywhere else to go”? if you already have an idea in mind for this please write whatever you would like to but if you’re open to having something to go off of i was sort of thinking of pureblood!reader maybe crashing a sleepover at potter manor after deciding to leave home because of a similar situation to what sirius went through

Thank you <3

cw: implied family abuse (both for Sirius and reader, though it's left vague what that entailed), takes place after hogwarts, insanely cheesy narration sorry not sorry

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You don’t actually knock. 

You’re planning to. Or, you think you were planning to. You don’t actually know that you had a plan. You just—you apparated here on panic and adrenaline, but Merlin, what the fuck? You’re a mess. It’s the middle of summer, and you’re shaking, your bones rattling around in the hollowness of your body like coins in a tin cup. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. They won’t want to see you. A crushing loneliness digs its fingers into your gut, and you turn to go, but the door just—opens. 

An older man stands on the threshold with a rubbish bag in his hand. His eyes widen to find you in his path, a warm, familiar brown. He says your name. 

You’re surprised that Monty would remember you. You only met once, and you were a child then, trailing behind James and Sirius down Diagon Alley, trying diligently to keep up with their long-legged pace and rapid-fire jokes. He does, though. Monty says your name with a familiarity you didn’t realize you shared and a warmth that makes your chest ache. It feels like you blink and then you’re inside the Potter’s home with him closing the door behind you. 

You can hear the boys in the next room. It’s that unceasing jabber that seems to accompany the marauders wherever they go, sometimes cut through with a bark of laughter or a shout of mock offense, voices rising and falling and overlapping in a cadence you feel like you know even now, but it sounds distant, like the echo of another life. Still, you move towards it. 

Remus spots you immediately as you come around the corner of the kitchen. James and Sirius are too caught up in whatever they’re making—half of the pantry shoved into a blender, by the look of it—but Remus’ eyes lock on yours, the both of you stilling. Ultimately, it’s his aburpt silence that gets the attention of the other two. Monty’s quiet throat-clearing helps. 

Sirius reacts much the same as Remus. Freezing, like he can’t make sense of you here and he doesn’t trust it. James, though—Godric, he looks just like his father when his eyes flare like that. They’re all older than you left them, more adult, and though you’d known they would be it pangs in a way you hadn’t expected. James breathes your name like it belongs to a ghost. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, taking a step back. Monty has disappeared—it will never feel less strange to you, how much liberty the Potters give their son with his privacy—so there’s nothing between you and the door. You think it’s best if you go back from where you came. 

“What?” Sirius’ brows furrow in a way that wavers between bemusement and upset. “Why are you—what are you doing here?” 

Isn’t that the question of the evening? You don’t know, either. 

You think James sees this on your face, sees that you’re about to run, because he steps around the counter with his hands held out in a pacifying gesture. “We’re just surprised to see you,” he says. 

And, well, that’s fair. You haven’t seen any of them since your parents collected you at Kings’ Cross after your last year. You haven’t seen much of anyone, honestly. And while you were locked up at home, thinking of your friends and fantasizing about leaving, they were off living their own lives. Now, reunion stings. It reminds you that there was a separation in the first place. 

Your voice shatters as you finally answer Sirius’ question. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” 

James’ arms come around you, and you become aware of the rattling again. You’re rattling yourself apart. He holds you together as best he can, though not tightly. It reminds you that this isn’t his first time. You’re not the first wounded stray to come to the Potters’ doorstep, and James knows how to handle you. 

“It’s okay, you’re alright,” he says into the side of your head, letting you grip him so that your fingers bunch in his shirt. “You can always come here.” 

“I’m—I—” Your breaths come harshly. You taste salt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—” 

“Shh. Sweetheart, it’s alright. Why don’t we have some tea, yeah?” 

You’re transferred smoothly into another set of arms. The worn knit of Remus’ jumper wraps around you. He rubs your back and ushers you into a seat. 

Sirius stands over you. He cups your face, that same confusing furrow between his brows. “Are you hurt?” he asks. 

“No.” You want to shrink, but his eyes trap yours. “Not…not in a way that’s…” 

Pain flickers in Sirius’ expression. “Right. Okay, I understand. You’re okay, darling.” 

His touch slips to the back of your head, and it’s all your need to drive you forward, your hands clutching his hips as your face buries itself in his chest. Sirius holds firm as you break down. 

“I know. I know. You’re safe now, baby. We’ve got you.” 

His voice tightens and strains, and you think of the peace you’d stolen from them by coming here. It makes you cry harder, broken apologies stuttering out your lips. 

“Shh, breathe.” Remus rubs between your shoulders. His touch is heavier than the others’, lacking their same awareness of the state of you, but you welcome the ache. “Deep breaths. We want you here. We always want you here.” 

“I just—when I left, I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking—” 

“Hey, didn’t you hear Remus?” There’s a gentle teasing to Sirius’ tone now. “Breathe.” 

You don’t feel like you deserve to, but you try for their sake, forcing air in and out of your nose. Sirius’ shirt smells like laundry detergent. You wonder if James’ mother washed it for him. 

“There we go.” His nails scratch at your scalp rewardingly. “I think we’re all glad that you didn’t think, sweetness. However you ended up here, we’re happy about it. Okay?” 

You sniffle. The clink of porcelain against the table turns your head. James is setting a cup of steaming tea in front of you, diluted with cream to just the color you like. 

“I wasn’t invited,” you croak, just to him. “Your parents…” 

His eyebrows lift. “My dad brought you in, didn’t he?” 

You have no reply to that. 

James smiles. It’s not his happiest, but the sight of it lightens something in you anyway. “You’re always welcome here, sweetheart. Consider it an open invitation, alright?” He nudges the cup toward you. “Have some tea.” 

So you pick up the tea James made for you, with Remus’ hand on your back and Sirius lingering by your side like he plans to stand between you and the outside world. It tastes like coming home.

[athenamikaelson]

A/N- finn is hot- don't try to fight me on this

Klaus Mikaelson X Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Ch. 25

Word Count- 3.2k

Warnings- mentions of STDS, sex, condoms, bananas, THEO, decapitation, Kardashians

“Why are you smiling like that?” I finish applying the lipstick Rebekah sent me as an apology gift for attacking Elena, and glance over to Theo leaning against the doorframe.

“I just had a good dream,” I mumble as I stand up from my desk and grab my jacket.

Theo hums.

“So it has nothing to do with you letting that mutt slobber all over you last night…or his brother coming over right after and spending the night with you… I must say sister, juggling two bitches,” Theo wipes away a fake tear, “I’m so proud of you.”

I whip around and glare at him, “Theodore Monty Y/l/n, watch it!”

Theo smirks at me and raises his hands. 

“All I’m saying is that like 3 weeks ago the only side piece you had on your arm was Elena, and now you’ve got two brothers. Upgrades sister, hell ya!”

Theo throws out his palm for me to high-five. I don’t. Instead, I walk around him and down the hallway to the front door. 

Theo continues to speak.

“Now I know you’ve had zero playtime soooo I think we should chat about this. For example, we should have the talk.”

I freeze. 

“Theo, I will smother you in your sleep if you continue to talk.”

“Y/n, I don’t like children, I don’t want any nieces or nephews running around.”

I glare over my shoulder at him, “They’re vampires, you dimwit. They can’t have kids.”

Theo thinks to himself for a moment before nodding, “Okay. Well, what about STDs? What if there are vampire STDs you could catch? One look at that mutt from last night and I bet he’s got something you can catch other than fleas.”

I feel my face drop as Theo continues to mutter things to himself about vampire sexually transmitted diseases. 

I shake my head, open the front door, and leave the house, hearing Theo call from behind me. 

“Fine run! But don’t think for a second young lady that we won’t be discussing things later! And trust next time I see either one of those fools I will be asking them about Vamp STDs!”

At that exact moment, our 82-year-old neighbor Shelley, exits her house. I’m pretty sure her look of pure shock and horror mirrors mine. 

“Oh hi Mrs. Davenport,” Theo yells happily.

—

“Hey Bonnie, how are you?”

The phone line is silent for a moment as I hear Bonnie closing a door.

“I’m fine…I guess. My mom’s going to finish her transition,” Bonnie’s sad voice makes me frown as I stare at the red light in front of me. 

“I’m sorry, Bonnie,” I think back to last night and try to shake away the image of Esther’s decapitated head from my head, “If I would’ve known your mother…”

“Don’t apoligize, Y/n. It’s not your fault. And ya… it sucks she has to become a vampire but…it beats losing you or Elena. And I swear, Y/n, as soon as Damon told me that if the originals died, you would die with them, I tried stopping the spell. I would have never done it in the first place if I knew you’d die too.”

Bonnie’s earnest voice makes me smile, “I trust you, Bon. And thank you.”

I hear someone say something to Bonnie and she sighs, “I’ve got to go.”

“It’s ok, Bonnie. We’ll talk soon. Give yourself some time with your mother before coming back to this mess over here. You deserve it.”

“Okay, thank you. And when I get back we’ll find a way to get you out of that soul bond mess and away from the Mikaelsons.”

“Uh, ya, ok. Bye, Bonnie.”

I end the call and pull into the Grill’s parking lot. As I step out of my car, cross the street, and enter the grill, one thought won’t leave my head.

“What if I don’t want to break the bond?”

—

“Y/n?”

I stop walking and smile when my eyes meet Finn’s brown ones.

“Hey, Finn,” I slide into the seat in the booth across from him and can’t help but smile at the obvious discomfort he has plastered on his face.

“You look…”

“Uncomfortable…yes I know. A lot of things have changed since I was last part of civilization,” Finn fiddles with the ring on his middle finger and it reminds me of the anxious tic I do quite often. 

“We could’ve met somewhere else. I know that being in big crowds like this unsettles me too,” I smile softly at him. 

Finn eyes a group of passersby wearily but still shakes his head, “No…I’m alright. If I’m going to be a part of this world I’ve got to learn to live with these things.”

I nod, “Okay. So, why exactly did you have Rebekah call me to meet you here?” Finn turns his attention away from a drunk woman who seems to be having the time of her life, “You said you’d help me find my Rose.”

Oh…ya I did. 

I cringe slightly, “So here’s the thing Finn,” I’m about to tell Finn that there is no way in hell Bonnie would agree to bring another old ass vampire to Mystic Falls after what just went down, but as I look at the helpless expression on Finn’s face and the loneliness in his eyes, something in my breaks, “My witch is currently out of town for a family thing,” Finn’s shoulders sag and his face drops, “But, she said she’d be happy to help as soon as she gets back.”

Finn eyes me for a moment before a soft smile on his face appears, “I’ve waited 900 years for her…a little longer will be fine. Thank you for helping me, Y/n, I know you don’t have to but…”

“Finn we’re friends, that’s what friends do,” I say simply and Finn frowns. 

“Friends?”

The way he says the word aloud is as if he’s never heard it before.

“I mean you don’t have to be my friend, I was just-”

“I would like it,” Finn interrupts me, “It’s just that I’ve never really…had one before.”

His words bring back memories of me crying in my room, wondering why no one ever wanted to be around me and it makes me realize just how much me and this 1,000-year-old man have in common. 

“Well, I just got my first friend like 3 months ago, so I’m pretty new to this whole friend thing too.”

Finn frowns, “I don’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to be friends with you.”

I shrug, “I’m peculiar, remember?”

Finn’s upper lip twitches, “That we are.”

—

“Wait… so Kim is the oldest?”

I groan at Finn’s words, “Finnias, no! We’ve been over this Kourtney is the oldest! Kim is the one dating Kanye.”

Finn nods thoughtfully, “And we don’t like Kanye?”

I shake my head, “No because he was mean to Taylor Swift.”

I watch as the wheels turn in Finn’s head as he continues to piece together all the information on pop culture I’ve given him in the past hour. 

“Alright, I think I’m understanding. Actually…remind me again who Hannah Montana is?”

“Well, don’t you two look comfy together!”

I roll my eyes as I turn to see Demon Salvawhore smirking down at Finnias and I.

“What do you want, Demon?”

“I thought his name was Damon,” Finn questions me with a confused look.

“It is, but I still haven’t seen him and Lucifer in the same place at once so I call him Demon.”

Finn nods but looks down at his hands with a confused look.

“I just saw you two here chatting it up so I thought I might come say hi.”

“Well, we’re kind of in the middle of something here. So feel free to take your leave,” I glare at him.

“It’s alright, Y/n,” Finn says and I turn to see him getting out of the booth, “I should probably get back to make sure my siblings are still alright. But…thank you, for today and helping me.”

I smile up at Finn, “Anytime, Finnieas. And I’ll talk to Klaus about buying you that phone so I can show you how to text.”

Finn nods his head, smiling, and then walks away.

My smile falls as I glance back to Demon.

“What do you want?” “Why are you avoiding me?”

I blink slowly at him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Damon gives me an “Are you serious” look.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Pukey. I’ve tried calling you all night last night and all this morning. Only to find you here with yet another original.”

I stand up and glare at him, “Finn is my friend.”

“Ya? Just like Elijah and Klaus are right?”

This bitch.

“I’m not doing this with you right now, Damon. Leave me alone.”

I turn and walk away but Damon’s hand grabs my upper arm.

“Y/n, stop.”

“Is there a problem here, Y/n?”

I turn to my right to find Rebekah at my side, glaring at Damon.

“No, Rebekah. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Rebekah smiles at me but doesn’t move. 

Damon drops my arm but doesn’t leave, “Why are you mad at me?”

It’s my turn to give him an “Are you serious” look, “Really Damon?! You almost killed the Mikaelson yesterday, which almost killed me, and then you actually did kill Bonnie’s mom who is now turning into a vampire?!”

Damon rolls his eyes and I fight the urge to slap him.

“Bonnie’s mom needed to die,” He says simply and I glare at him.

“And why was that?”

Damon doesn’t blink, “Because it came down to you or her,” His voice comes out strong, “And I’d pretty much kill everyone in this town if it meant my best friend stayed alive.”

Oh, Jesus Christ, I’m going to cry.

“Oh…”

Damon tilts his head, annoyed,  “That’s all you have to say. Oh?”

The next thing I know I’m throwing my arms around him. 

Damon doesn’t move for a moment, but after a few seconds his arms wrap around me and he pats my head awkwardly, “Ya, okay, Pukey. Love you too.”

I let go of Damon and fight back tears in my eyes. Damon rolls his eyes and fies his jacket trying to act tough. 

“You’re too emotional,” He says nonchalantly.

I punch him in the arm, “You just called me your best friend. Not takebacks, Demon.”

Damon rolls his eyes dramatically, “Ya whatever, Pukey.”

He reaches out a hand and messes up my hair before turning around and walking away, not before I spot the small smile on his face.

“You guys are odd.”

Rebekah’s British accent makes me remember she’s standing beside me. 

“Ya, kind of.”

Rebekah rolls her blue eyes and a wave of jealousy flows through me. How is it that someone can be this pretty?! 

“So…Elijah didn’t come back until early this morning,” Rebekah’s lips morph into a smirk, “Do you know anything about that?”

I feel my face heat up, “Um…nope.”

Rebekah raises an eyebrow, “Are you sure? Because the smile that was plastered on his face all this morning says otherwise.”

I furrow my brows, “What does him smiling have to do with me?”

Rebekah gives me an “Are you serious” look, guess it’s common today, “Maybe because the only time my older brother smiles is when he’s around you…And he was really smiling this morning.” 

At her tone I freeze, “Wait…do you think that we…” I move my hands around, “Y’know…”

Rebekah raises an eyebrow at me, “Well, didn’t you?”

I shake my head viciously, “No! All we did was kiss and then he watched Coraline with me until I went to sleep!”

Rebekah’s face falls, “Seriously? You’ve got my older brother all giddy after one kiss.”

I shrug, “I doubt he was “giddy”.

Rebekah nods her head, “Oh trust me, he was practically singing when he was making his morning coffee. 

I snort out a laugh at her words and try to imagine Elijah singing. 

“I like seeing him that way…happy. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any of my siblings like that.”

At her solemn voice, I frown, “How are you doing? After everything…”

Rebekah shrugs, “I’m fine. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be.”

Her dismissal has me frowning deeper, “Bekah, you’re mother died. I know that she tried to kill you but it doesn’t change the fact that she was still your mother.”

Rebekah looks at me but her face doesn’t betray how she’s really feeling, “I’m fine, Y/n. Finn was the mummy’s boy. I don’t give a damn about that woman.”

I nod but still don’t believe her, “Well if you ever do need to talk to someone. You can always call me.”

Rebekah eyes me for a moment skeptically, then nods, “I won’t need to but…thanks. I guess,” Her attention strays for a moment, “There is someone I need to go talk to. Goodbye, Y/n.”

“Bye, Rebekah.”

—

I pull into my driveway but feel a frown come over my face as I notice an unfamiliar expensive-looking black car in my usual parking spot.

I park beside it and hurry into the house, worrying about Theo.

“Theo! Are you okay-”

“So, both of you have your bananas, and these right here are condoms,” I turn the corner and my jaw drops as I see Theo holding up a banana and a Trojan condom. An unfamiliar sound comes out of my mouth when I look at the two figures sitting on the couch before him with bananas in their hands and annoyed looks on their faces. Klaus and Elijah. 

“Theo what the hell are you doing?!?”

My yell of utter horror catches the three men’s attention.

“Oh, goody! Sister, I’m glad you’re here,” Theo drops his banana on the coffee table before Klaus and Elijah, a table that is covered in condoms and STD pamphlets, “After our little talk this morning I got to thinking and decided that if you and I aren’t going to talk about the elephants in the room, I’d just call up your boyfriends and have that chat with them myself.”

I stare wide-eyed at Elijah and Klaus, “And you both agreed to this?!?”

Elijah releases a deep sigh and Klaus glares at my little brother, “Your infant here called us and said we had to get over here because you were in danger.”

Theo raises his hands, “YES! In danger of catching a vampire STD.”

“Theo! Those don’t exist,” I screech at him.

“That’s exactly what we’ve tried to explain to him for the past 30 minutes, Elskan. For some reason, it isn’t sticking,” Elijah raises his head and shoots a dirty look at my brother. 

“Thirty minutes!? You’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes letting my 16-year-old brother have the sex talk with you!?”

“Well, 15 of those minutes were filled with threats,” Klaus mutters.

I glare at him, “I thought I told you to stop threatening my brother.”

Klaus turns his glare onto me and raises his hands in exhaustion, “The threats were from him, Love! And they were quite imaginative.”

“Thank you, I’ve been working on them for a while now,” Theo smirks at Klaus, and the hybrid growls at him. 

“Niklaus, please,” Elijah sighs.

Theo turns his attention back onto me, “Well now that you’re here,” He drags me over to a chair and pushes me down into, “I can finally give you the talk.”

“What talk,” Elijah asks confused.

Theo looks at him like he’s stupid, “The sex talk, dumbass. Since you,” He points to Elijah, “Like to spend the night in my sister’s bed without asking me permission. And you,” He points to Klaus, “Like to slobber all over her like the dog you are. I thought it would be a good idea to have this discussion before things move further. Now gentleman pick your bananas back up.”

“Theo! NO!”

Theo ignores me and smiles at Klaus and Elijah, who haven’t moved.

“One more dog joke out of you, Theodora and I swear I’ll-”

“Niklaus!”

Elijah and Klaus eye each other and Theo just stands there tapping his shoe on the hardwood floor. 

“Theo go to your room, right now,” I stand up and glare at him, “We are not having this discussion right now…or ever!”

“But the vampire STDS!”

“Theodore there are no such things as vampire STDS! GO TO YOUR ROOM!”

My yelling has all three men looking at me wearily. 

Theo raises his hands in surrender, “Ok, fine. Just trying to help.”

“And leave the condom here!”

Theo halts and turns back to the table and Klaus, Elijah, and I watch as Theo empties maybe 30 condoms from his jeans. 

“Bloody hell,” Klaus mutters.

I glare at Theo as he skips out of the living room and down the hall to his room. As soon as I hear his door close I run a hand over my face.

“Elskan-”

I raise a hand stopping Elijah before he can continue. 

“Nope. Whatever you’re going to say…just nope.” 

“Well, I’m never going to look at a banana the same way,” Klaus’ says sarcastically and I’m silent for a moment before a loud laugh escapes my mouth.  

I move my hands from my face and find Klaus smirking at me, and Elijah smiling softly at me with a bright look in his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you both just leave,” I asked incredulously, “You two are the strongest and oldest creatures alive, and yet you stayed to have a teenage boy teach you how condoms work?!”

Klaus and Elijah side-eye each other. 

Elijah stands from his seat and fixes his suit jacket, “When we heard that you were in danger we hurried over here as fast as we could…but when we came inside and found this,” He gestures to the table of condoms and bananas, “We were going to leave.”

“And then Theodora locked the door behind us and told us that if we didn’t sit down and shut up he’d never give us his approval. And then said that we can bet our asses that if we don’t have his approval, you’d never speak to us again. I of course told him to go to hell but my brother here sat down like the good boy he is,” Klaus says and rolls his eyes.

“And yet you’re still here,” Elijah mutters. 

“So let me get this straight,” I look to both of them, “You endured Theo’s company for 30 minutes, just because you want his approval?!”

“If his approval means you accepting us…then of course we did.”

Klaus mutters something about Theo and daggers, but I ignore him. 

“You really care that much?”

Klaus and Elijah both give me “Are you serious” looks. 

“Love, I thought we made our thoughts about you quite known,” Klaus says as he stands, “We want you. Even if that means you come with a less than exceptional little brother as baggage.”

I snort at Klaus’ words and Elijah walks across the table and over to me, “There is nothing in this world I desire more than your company and happiness, Y/n. Please believe me when I say that.”

I feel my face heat up at the attention of the two men and I nod.

“I believe you.”

“Great,” Klaus says then pauses, “Also…I was just wondering what exactly was discussed by you and Theodora to warrant all of this,” He gestures to the table with a smirk. 

Oh fuck.

[meganwritesfanfics]

Numb (Dr. Robby x Reader)

Dr Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

Word Count:3707 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: TALKS OF SUICIDE, SUICIDAL TENDENCIES, TALKS OF INFERTILITY. THIS IS A DARK FANFIC, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE IN A BAD SPACE MENTALLY.

“This place will break your heart,” Y/N stood on the edge of the group as she stared at her wonderful husband, struggling to get through his speech to the team. But as she looked around taking in the scene before her, her husbands words faded away replaced by the loud ringing she was all to accustomed to. 

The day had been one of the worst she could remember. It had started with a fight with Robby about him going into work, on a day he was supposed to have off. 

“You never work today, why are you going in?” She sighed as she watched him getting dressed. 

“I just…” He paused running his hands over his face. “They are short staffed today, I can’t leave them stranded.” 

“And what about me,” She snapped pulling her hair up into a messy bun. “What about the doctor’s appointment.” 

“Shit.” Robby sighed. “Baby, I’m sorry I forgot I…” 

“Michael,” Y/N said tears building up. “I know today is hard for you, but burying yourself in work isn’t going to help. Have you thought any more about talking to that therapist Jack suggested.” 

“Jesus Y/N, I’m fine.” Robby snapped. “We are down staff, you know that, that’s why I’m going in, no other fucking reason.” 

“You sure sound fine.” Y/N snapped back before she took a breath. “Baby, why won’t you talk to me. I understand what you are going through I miss Adam… 

“You don’t understand shit!” 

Y/N froze. Her heart shattering. 

“Right.” She said as she stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door. As she stared into the mirror she could barely hear the sound of Robby knocking on the door as the ringing began. But she did her best to shove her anxiety down, she wouldn’t break, not now. Not in the middle of a fight with Robby. So instead that anxiety turned into anger.

“Y/N I’m sorry, I…” Robby started when Y/N ripped the door open. 

“No Michael, you’re right I don’t understand how you are feeling. It’s not like I was there, it’s not like I wasn’t going through everything with you. It’s not like I didn’t come running, and I mean running, when you called me on that day. It’s not like I wasn’t also distraught when he died because I cared about Monty to!” Y/N screamed.

Robby reached out, but Y/N pulled back as she cleared her throat. 

“I won’t plan on waiting up for you for dinner tonight. I’ll leave you leftovers in the fridge.” 

“Y/N…” 

“Have a good day at work.” 

“Will you let me know when you get to the hospital for your appointment, I will see if I can swing up.” He said trying to fix the situation. 

“We both know you won’t be able to get away.” Y/N sighed as she wiped the tears from her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Robby said his voice quiet and broken. Y/N wanted to forgive him, she wanted to pull him into her arms and comfort him, but her chest felt heavy and she could feel the numbness creeping up. She wasn’t in a headspace to take care of him. 

“I’m going on a run.” She said as she turned away from him and headed out of their apartment into the crisp air. 

“What is the fucking point anymore,” The voice in her head nagged. “You are not going to be able to help him. He doesn’t trust you anymore.” 

Y/N clenched her jaw. This negative thoughts had been building for months at that point, and they were getting worse, darker. But however much she tried to convince her husband that talking to someone would help him, she wasn’t the type to take her own advice. 

The day had just gotten worse from there. In the past, after a fight, Robby would have sent her a text or some sort of acknowledgement that he still cared, and that he wanted them to repair the damaged that had happened. But she got nothing. No text, no voice memo, no inappropriate gif that Robby didn’t fully understand what it meant. Just silence. 

“He doesn’t care anymore. He’s going to leave you.” The voices continued as she sat in the lobby waiting for her doctors appointment. 

To distract herself, she pulled out her phone and texted Jack. 

“You want to get dinner/breakfast when you wake up?” 

“Not today. Wasn’t a good shift.” He texted back. 

Y/N heart broke. Her brother tried to act tough and grumpy, but she knew that at his core he cared so deeply about every person who rolled through the ER. He always took any death hard. 

“You want to talk about it?” 

“Nah, just want to be alone.” 

Y/N sighed. While Jack had gotten better ever since he started going to therapy, she couldn’t help but worried about him constantly. While Jack was older than her, she had always felt like she was responsible for him. Especially after his injury. She had never been more scared in her life then when she thought she was going to lose him. And ever since then she promised to be his rock, to be the one who was there for him through anything. 

But that was just who Y/N was, she was everyones rock. She took on all of their pain, their sadness, their anger, and she made sure that everyone knew how loved and cared for they were. She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone being in pain or being alone. However, in her quest to heal everyone else, she never said no, she never acknowledged her own pain, her own struggles. Instead she would just stuff them down. She was very much like her husband in this way. 

And for the most part, she handled everything. That was until her and Robby started trying for a baby. 

They had talked about it for years, but with both their schedules, Robby being an ER doctor and Y/N being a cardiothoracic surgeon, they hadn’t had time to fully talk about a game plan. 

But one morning, on a rare Sunday when they both had off, Robby and Y/N were walking around Allegheny Commons Park, and Robby saw some parents playing with their toddler. 

“Y/N,” He said his gripped tight in hers. “I think we should try for a baby.” 

“I mean I’m pretty sure what we did this morning would catagorize as trying for a baby.” She teased. 

Robby blushed. “Y/N I’m serious. I know we have talked about it, but I really want to do this. I mean hell I’m already going to be in a nursing home by the time the kid is 18, but you want this, and I want this. And you are going to make one hell of a mother.” 

Y/N turned to face her husband. Her face beaming. “Really?” 

“Yes really now come on.” He laughed as he started to walk them back to their apartment. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Well if we are going to start trying I want to start now.” Robby said and he fought the urge to throw Y/N over his shoulder and carry her all the way back. 

But it never happened. They tried everything. But after months of being heartbroken everytime Y/N took a test just for it to come back negative, they knew they had to go talk to a professional to figure out what was wrong. 

Robby’s test had come back fine, his “swimmer’s were firing on all cylindars” the doctor had explained crudely. So now it was Y/N’s turn. That was the appointment Robby had forgotten about. 

“Mrs. Abbot-Robinavitch.” The nurse called and Y/N smiled. In any other circumstance she would correct them by saying she was doctor, not Mrs, but she didn’t recognize the nurse so she decided to cut her some slack. 

The walk back to the room felt like an eternity. Y/N knew she should have called Robby, she should have let him know she was heading in for the appointment. But she knew the odds of him being able to check him phone were slim to none, and she didn’t want to get hurt again hoping. 

The appointment blurred by, the doctor talked to her trying to explain everything that was happening, but all Y/N heard was one sentence, “I’m sorry but your uterus is an inhospitable environement and it is unlikely that you will be able to conceive a child.” After that the ringing in her head took over and nothing else mattered. Y/N knew that the doctor was trying to explain to her other options, and other ways her and Robby could have children, but it didn’t matter. That numb sensation was back, and Y/N just went through the motions. She nodded along to what the doctor was saying but she wasn’t actually listening. 

“You are a failure. Robby wants to have a baby and you can’t give it to him.” Her thoughts screamed. 

“Are you alright? Do you want me to call your husband for you?” The doctor said a look of concern in her eyes. 

“No, I’m… I’m ok. He’s busy at work I don’t want to disturb him.” 

The doctor handed Y/N some pamphlets on adoption and surrogacy, all of which Y/N dumped in the trash as soon as she was back in the lobby. 

“Nothing matters anymore.” The voices persisted. 

Y/N had almost made it out to her car, when she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. Pulling it out, she saw it was Jack calling. 

“Did you change your mind about taking me up on breakfast?” She said trying to muster up as much emotion as she could to make it sound like she wasn’t as dead inside as she felt. 

“There is an active shooter at Pittfest, can you come in?” He said and Y/N’s heart fell into her stomach. Jake was at Pittfest. With how long Y/N and Robby had been together, Jake was such a major part in her life. He was basically like a son to her, just as much as he was to Robby. The fear overwhelmed her, but she knew at this time she couldn’t let it consume her, she needed to be ready to go. Robby would need her in more ways that one. 

“Yeah I’m in the hospital now, let me grab some scrubs and I will head down.” 

“I’m almost there. I got a head start to hopefully beat any traffic.” He said. “Let Robby know, I’m on my way.” 

“Will do.” She said hanging up the phone, as she ran to find herself some scrubs. 

When she made it down to the pitt, she eyes scanned the chaos looking for Robby. 

“Y/N.” A voice called and she turned to see him behind her. Their eyes locked and she watched as his shoulders dropped, and instantly she knew, today had been hell, and it was about to get a whole lot worse. 

“Come here.” she said as she grabbed his hand and pulled him into an empty room. 

“I’m so fucking glad you are here.” He sighed as he pulled her into his arms. 

They held onto each other for a moment. Just drinking up each other’s presences. 

“I love you so much, I’m so sorry about this morning.” Robby whispered as he kissed the side of her head. 

“I love you too.” Y/N said her mind drifting back to the doctor’s appointment she just came from. Now was not the time to tell Robby though, that would wait until they were home. “Jack is on his way.” 

“Oh thank god.” Robby sighed and Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Robby and Jack’s friendship made her so incredibly happy. 

They had been in the thick of it for over an hour. And what they had seen in that amount of time, was enough for Y/N to think she never wanted to come back. But she had gotten good at dissasociating, and in order to keep helping people, she knew that was the only way she was going to make it through. That was until she heard her husband’s voice over the noise. 

“Jake, you can’t stay with her.” 

Y/N’s head snapped over to where she heard him talk and she could see Jake limping beside a gurney, and Leah, Jake’s girlfriend unconscious. Both of them covered in blood. 

She felt torn, she knew she still had a patient she needed to work on, but she needed to get to Jake. 

“I’ve got this.” Langdon said taking over for her. 

The minute he said that she bolted over. 

“Jake!” She called as she rushed up to him. 

“Y/N, Leah… she… there was so much blood.” 

“Robby’s got her, he’s going to do all he can. Are you hurt?” 

“My leg. I think I got hit.” 

“Ok let me take a look.” 

After making sure Jake was patched up and situated, Y/N made her way over to Robby who was doing compression on Leah. Jack’s eyes immediately locked onto hers, and he just shook his head sadly. 

“No,” Y/N thought looking at the poor girl on the gurney. “She’s so young. She had her whole life ahead of her.” 

“Robby.” She said as she got closer. “Baby, she’s gone.” 

Robby sighed. “Ok we are done.” 

“Time of death…” Dana started. 

Y/N stared down at the poor girl, her eyes welling up with tears. And for however sad she was for Leah and her family, Y/N couldn’t help thinking how it could’ve been Jake. 

“Do you want me to come with you to talk to Jake.” Y/N whimpered her voice sounding so small. 

“No I got it.” Robby said and Y/N could hear how broken he sounded. 

“Do you think he will be ok.” Jack said coming up behind her. 

“Honestly Jack, I don’t know.” 

“And are you ok?” 

“Are any of us ok?” She snapped back. 

“Good point.” 

And now they all stood after surviving the shift from Hell, listening to Robby give an moving speech but all Y/N could think about was how nothing mattered. She was spiraling as everything from that day hit her so hard at once it was like being hit by a train.  

“Nothing you do matters, no matter how many lives you save, there will always be some asshole ready to kill hundreds. The world is going to shit. It’s a good thing you can’t have a baby. You wouldn’t want to bring a child into this fucked up world anyway.” Y/N could feel her whole body start to shake as her thoughts screamed at her. “Give up now, there is no point anymore.” 

As she stared out at her brother and her husband the numbness she had been feeling all day was replaced by utter despair. 

“End it” The voices screamed, and could feel the tears start streaming down her face. She quickly took off up the stairs heading to the roof. 

“Everyone will be better off without you.” 

“Stop it!” Y/N screamed as she made it to the roof. 

It didn’t take her long to make it across to the railing and she climbed over. It wasn’t the first time she had been up there. This spot was one of her brothers favorites to descrompress after a long day. 

“What will Jack do if you are gone.” 

“He will move on with his life without having to worry about you anymore.” 

“And Robby?” 

“Oh Micheal,” Y/N sighed as she sat down on the edge of the roof her legs dangling over the edge. 

“You can’t give him the baby he wants” The voice taunted as Y/N gripped the edge of the roof and leaned forward slightly. “Free him” 

“Have you seen seen Y/N?” Robby asked Jack as he gathered up all of his stuff at the end of his shift. 

“Not since you gave your speech,” Jack said. “I have an idea of where she would have gone.” 

The two made their way onto the roof expecting to find Y/N in their usual spot. But when they opened the door they were shocked with what they found. 

“Y/N!” Robby gasped as he started to run towards her. 

“Don’t come any closer,” She screamed. 

“Y/N/N, what are you doing?” Jack asked as he slowly inched forward. 

“I said don’t come any closer.” 

“Y/N baby, don’t do this.” Robby begged. 

“I can’t do it anymore Michael,” Y/N sobbed. “I just… I don’t see a point.” 

“Y/N what is going on, where is this coming from?” Jack asked still moving slowly towards her. 

“Nothing we do makes any difference, for ever 5 people we save another 10 will die, and every year it seems people are doing more and more things to hurt each other. How are we supposed to handle all that death.” She sobbed leaning a little further forward. “It’s a good thing I can’t get pregnant because I don’t think I could survive bringing a child into this fucked up world!” 

“What?” Robby gasped and it caused Y/N to sob even harder. 

“That is what the doctor told me today. It’s my fault we can’t have children, my uterus isn’t a hospitable environment.” She laughed dryly. “Even my own fucking body does want to create life, so what is the point in living it.” 

Robby was full on panicking, he had never seen his wife like this, he had no idea how to handle this situation. Sure he talked Abbot off the ledge a few times, but he never seriously thought he would jump. This was different he knew that at any moment he could lose the love of his life. 

“And it’s not fair to you Michael it’s not fair, you want a baby so badly, you have been so excited about trying. You deserve to be with someone who can give that to you.” 

“Y/N, I don’t want anyone else, I want you. I need you. Please.” He said and he started to make his way closer following Jack’s lead. 

“I just am so tired of feeling like this, it feels like I’’m drowning and everytime I  get my head up just slightly for air I get shoved even harder and further down.” 

“Why haven’t you talked to any of us about this.” Jack asked finally reaching the railing. On the outside he was playing it cool, but inside he was contemplating if he could move fast enough to grab his sisters arm and yank her off the edge before she had time to fall. 

“I didn’t want to be a burden. Everyone elses problems are so much bigger than mine. Plus I need to be ok for everyone so I can take care of them.” Her sobbing had started to slow and her eyes were focused more and more on the ground below. 

“Y/N I love you so much, and I am so sorry for not realizing that you were hurting. But you cannot do this, we all need you.” Robby said.

“Please just come back from the edge and we can talk more.” Jack said calmly climbing over the railing. 

Y/N just hummed as she shook her head leaning forward again. 

“I feel like I’m failing everyone all the time.” Robby suddenly said and both Jack and Y/N looked over at him. 

“What?” Y/N gasped. 

“I failed Adamson, I failed Leah, and I’m worried I have failed at being your husband.” He said as he came and sat next to her on the edge of the ledge. 

“Micheal no you haven’t failed I…” 

“I feel like I am a liability to the staff because I take the death of patients too hard.” Jack said as he also came and sat next to her on the edge. “I am one bad day from being a power keg and losing my shit on everyone.” 

“But Jack you have made so much progress. You talking with that therapist has helped…” Y/N started. 

“I know, but I wouldn’t have seen them, without you Y/N/N. You have saved me so many times without even realizing it, just by being you. I need you Y/N.” Jack said reaching over to grab her hand. 

“You are my sunshine, baby.” Micheal continued. “You have been there for me through everything, My life is so much better with you in it. And I can’t imagine life without you. I am so sorry I wasn’t with you for the appointment. And we will figure out how to have a child, this isn’t the end. There are plenty of kids who need good homes who would love to have you as their mom. But I need you by my side Y/N. You keep me going.” 

“I… I just…” Y/N broke down again. “I’m sorry. Everything just seemed so hopeless.” 

“I know, but we are going to get you help.” Robby said. “It’s my turn to take care of you.” He smiled as he kissed the side of her head. “Let’s get up away from the edge.” 

Y/N nodded as she took Robby’s hands as he helped her up and over the edge of the railing. The minute her feet were both on the ground, Robby pulled her in for a long hug, one hand on the back of her head holding her as tightly as he could as the tears started to fall. 

“You can’t do that to me again, I can’t lose you baby.” He sobbed. And he watched as Jack leaned down his head on the railing taking deep breaths finally losing his cool. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Y/N kept repeating over and over again.

“I love you so much.” Robby said holding her tighter than her ever thought possible. And he knew in that moment that he would do everything in his power to make sure he never let her go. 

[madeforgyu]

18+ only. minors, do not interact!

cw. d/s dynamics with daddy!gyu (who woulda thought) and super subby reader who loves being praised, a bit of ass play (sorry not sorry), free use, cnc (though im not sure if this counts... but i'll put it here anyway), hole inspections <3 possessive & pussy obsessed daddy ;c, idk i might have missed some other stuff…, barely proofread hehe author’s note. found this buried in my notes. it was halfway done. fueled by a shitty latte i bought at uni and reaching 400 followers, decided to finish it ! ^_^

happy 400 followers!

can’t get my mind off of hole inspections with mingyu :’)

him picking you up or bending you over at random points of the day, you don’t even bother wearing underwear around him anymore because he does it so often.

cuddling in bed with him and he’s suddenly pushing you onto your back without warning, big hand riding up your tummy to push his shirt that you’re wearing out of the way as his other hand cups over your sex— and as if on instinct, you’re parting your legs for him with a soft, almost pleased puff.

he parts your thighs and pushes them to your chest (and you like pretending to fight against him because you love when he’s rough on you— but he knows). whining in ‘protest’ with your cheeks all warm and flushed because it’s embarrassing just as much as it turns you on.

him shushing you as he holds your thighs open with ease because he’s just so much bigger and stronger than you, “jus’ wanna see, princess.”

his fingers running along your slit, getting slicker with each stoke, gaze fixed on your cunt that’s starting to drool more and more as he continues to run his fingers along your entrance.

“daddy—” you whine despite the way your pussy gushes as he gives a light kiss to your clit. “it’s embarrassing.”

“embarrassing?” he echoes questioningly, voice teasing, as he thumbs at your clit and kisses over your puckered hole this time, lips brushing over it as he speaks. “s’normal, baby. don’t be embarrassed.”

him smirking when he pulls back and watches the way your cunt clenches around nothing— he knows you’re craving to be filled. then his thumb is prodding at your asshole, threatening to dip in, and all you can do is bury your face in your arms and whimper.

“daddy—” you whine, dragging out the a.

“shush,” he tuts. “be good. these are daddy’s, remember?”

so you do just that because you’re mingyu’s good girl and crave praise at all times.

you never really know what to expect when he does his inspections because sometimes it leads to him fingering you and eating you out until you’re spent and maybe a little overstimulated, and other times he just gives you a little kiss, a little praise, and he’s done. gathers you back up in his arms, cuddles and kisses you so sweetly and tenderly, nevermind the ache between your thighs, until you forget he was even playing with your holes in the first place.

sometimes, though, it leads to him sinking his big cock into you and filling you up real good. so good that once he’s done, you’re filled up all the way to the brim and you’re leaking with his warm, sticky cum.

and when that happens? sometimes he tsks and pushes three fingers past your sticky folds to push his cum back into you. sometimes he eats it out of you— which is really just his excuse to go down on you and overstimulate you to hell. but sometimes he just likes to watch it spill out and even takes videos of it on his phone to save for later, him teasing you “y’so messy, baby. hm? my messy little girl.”

it really just depends on his mood for the day— which makes it even more exciting because it’s like playing the monty hall puzzle except behind all of the doors are prizes, no punishments. because one of the perks of being the love of mingyu’s life is him spoiling you rotten in all the ways he can.

[anjellaufeyson]

Hate with attraction - Bellamy Blake

I hated Bellamy and despised him since the beginning. He always had to counter my arguments and disagree with me on every move I made. Every step I took–he criticized. The feeling of hatred was mutual, I never failed to return the remarks he made.

           Bellamy brushed past as if I weren't there, yet he still managed to whisper, “You're falling behind.” 

           I picked up my pace as we walked through the forest. The whole hunting group was filled with all my friends–besides Bellamy. I shoved him almost into a tree, “Catch up soldier boy.” 

My best friend, Octavia turned around while walking, and Bellamy glared at me. “I get Bellamy is an ass but why can't you guys just get along?”

I could feel his stare on me, “Your brother started it on day 1 of coming back to earth. The power must’ve gone to his hollow head, can’t say more than that–” My words were cut off at the sound of arrows flying past us. 

“Grounders,” Bellamy yelled. 

Clarke and Monty spread out of their spot because that’s where most of the fire was, “Guys we have to split up! We all have intercoms so once it’s safe we’ll come back together.” 

Octavia reached for my hand but missed me by a couple of inches, an arrow grazed my palm and cut me, “Just go,” I yelled. She ran away but was hesitant. I was about to reach for my gun before a hand stopped me–Bellamy. 

“We have time to run, don’t waste your bullets.”

I crouched down with him so no one gets hurt again, “If you keep ordering me around, I’m about to waste one.” 

He groaned as he grabbed me and we both made a run for it, “Keep this shit up and maybe I’ll throw you to the grounders.” 

I pushed him off me as we walked into a tiny cave for cover, “I’d rather be with them than you,” I mumbled. 

“What was that princess,” he asked knowing he heard every word I said. His anger was pissing me off. He ripped a part of his shirt off and began wrapping it around my cut.

“I hate when you call me that.” He only called me that because my father is Kane and he won’t let go that I’m “privileged” just like Clarke. “I didn’t make the rules on the ship, It’s not my fault that–”

He pulled hard on the tie he was making causing me to wince in pain, “Don’t finish that sentence.” Bellamy glanced up at me then annoyingly back at my cut as he wrapped it to perfection–I hated how good he was at helping when I needed it. “I know it’s not your fault but your father and every privileged person on that ship let her die for what reason? Because she had one more kid?” 

“You know the rules,” I spoke lowly. It was a sensitive topic and even though I hated his guts and wouldn’t mind if he got floated, I did sympathize. I never liked what happened and the fact no one could have siblings. “The more space taken by more kids would’ve left us overpopulated Bell–” I paused when talking, his nickname Octavia slipped out so easily. 

He looked up at me whilst still holding my hand even though the t-shirt bandage was as good as it was going to get. “I’m sorry she was floated, but it was the rules. And you know the Ark was already overpopulated enough. That’s why they sent us down here in the first place, the stupid 100 who had to risk their criminalistic lives for the others.” This topic always got me upset, not sad but mad. My father, Jaha, and Clarke's mom, Abby, were all willing to risk our lives as if we were all test subjects. 

“We mean nothing to them, that’s why I was so hell-bent on making sure all of the 100 could survive.”

I rolled my eyes remembering this wasn’t a friend I was talking to, “No, Bellamy you wanted all of us to remove our locators so that you could make sure they didn’t come down here because your reckless ass shot Jaha. I understand it was for Octavia but don’t act as if you’re some hero.” 

He pressed down on my wound before dropping his hand, “I never said I was. You always think you’re better than me.” 

I went to punch Bellamy but he moved out of the way, I was always good at hand-to-hand, my father got me a trainer, one of the guards. I knew how to fight, shoot, plant, etc. I was built to survive as if he’s been planning this forever. I smiled as I ducked the attack he threw at me, “You can only stand your ground because of the training you and Lincoln did together.” I went to kick him but he caught my leg, kicks were the one thing I couldn’t get the hang of. 

“Learn to be faster, princess,” he had a tiny grin on his face as he twisted my leg so I was hopping. 

I’d never give him the satisfaction of beating me, I kicked my leg again and got out of his grip. I elbowed him and punched him. His lip began to bleed, he had a smile on his face as his finger touched his lip. “Better,” he whispered. 

I went to hit him again but he blocked it and turned me around and kicked behind my leg causing me to fall onto one knee. He grabbed my hair, not too rough to hurt me but enough to move my head so I’d look up at him. “Train more and maybe you’ll beat me.” 

Slowly I rose and hit him at his throat causing him to back up. Not hard enough to hurt him but enough so he’d fuck off. I regained enough strength to cause him to lose his balance, then I got him to hit his back onto the ground. I kept my knee on his chest as I looked down at him, “You’ll never beat me, Bellamy. And I don’t think I’m better than you–” Our breaths filled the cave, “I know I am.” 

I stayed with my knee on his chest until he gave me a look that I couldn’t comprehend. His lips parted and he moved in to kiss me. I don’t know why but I didn’t back away, I took my knee off of his chest slowly. His fingers slipped into my hair and he pulled me deeper in. He kissed me roughly and I could taste the hate he held for me. Then he pushed me with a betrayal of a smile, “Never let your guard down, princess.” 

I made myself look hurt, he stepped closer and I pulled him in for a kiss. He seemed hesitant but easily fell into it. I bit down on his lip causing him to wince in pain. He dragged his tongue along his bottom lip, blood was dripping more than before. 

I pushed him away from me, I hated him now more than before. But God, I’d kiss him again with hate once more if given the chance. “Never let your guard down, Bell.” 

Suddenly Octavia ran into the cave looking frantic, “Jesus, did the grounders attack you guys?” 

Bellamy and I shared a glance, I turned back to Octavia and smiled as if I wasn’t in pain. “No, no we made it out. Well not without one price to pay,” I said as I held my hand up. 

Octavia looked shocked, she now realized our words were no longer threats, they were promises. “Bellamy,” she said in confusion but also her annoyance was beginning to focus on both of us for being stupid enough to fight each other. “O,” he said while walking past her. I stopped walking so I could talk with Octavia. He turned to me and whispered, “Next time you won’t get off that easily.” I paused, next time?

[sthilarions]

Haven’t thought this one through I’m just spitballing here but. AU that’s sorta White Collar by way of RIPD?

Charles got recruited (more or less against his will) to Afterlife Enforcement on the spot when he tried to throw a punch at Death in the attic. He works under Niko/The Principal, and trades snipes with the Night Nurse when they happen to get stuck in the same elevator.

He’s been married to Crystal for several years, having met her after she died in a murder-by-ghost case that he ended up assigned to.

And then there’s Edwin.

Edwin’s been on the run from Afterlife Enforcement for decades. Escaped Hell, and Hell escapees are pretty much the top of the list of Charles’s priorities, officially (and there aren’t very many of them), so Charles has more or less dedicated his afterlife to catching Edwin for the aforementioned decades, as far as the higher-ups know.

But the thing is, he realized pretty quickly that Edwin wasn’t like the other runners. Didn’t seem evil. Didn’t seem violent, even. Seemed… more scared, than anything. And Charles realized a couple years in that Edwin was also kind.

He had the chance to catch Edwin and was about to rush in but Edwin was in the process of trying to protect a child from their father at the time and Charles just… stopped. Couldn’t help, because of the laws of AE; no meddling with mortal affairs. But… he didn’t interfere. He just stood there, rune-bound cuffs dangling from his hands.

And he knows Edwin saw him (and chose to keep helping, to save the kid, instead of running and saving himself) because Edwin started sending him cards, after. And little gifts. Sassy things with barbed little insults in them but Charles saves them.

And Charles doesn’t try nearly as hard as he could, to catch Edwin, in the decades after. So many times they meet and they talk while Edwin hovers a hand over his portal-activation runes, and Charles sometimes even predicts where Edwin’s going to be and leaves cards and gifts for him (it only seems fair, when Charles has multiple drawers-full at this point; Crystal’s suggested getting him a chest just for the stuff he’s gotten from Edwin).

Edwin gets into more active spectral crime over time instead of just running - it’s kind of hard not to, when you’re on the top of AE’s list, and you need to make connections and trade favors to keep ahead of the hounds - but it’s still never violent, never evil, really.

It’s forged soul-vessels sold to sorcerers who shouldn’t have had the real thing in their hands anyway, artifacts snatched without a trace from supernatural bank vaults that were supposed to be ghost-proof, ancient Atlantean scrolls sold for millions. (Atlantis does not, and Charles cannot emphasize this enough, exist, and never has. That one Charles puts in the category of “objectively funny crime that you kinda deserved for being that stupid”.)

But, one day… Edwin’s lover, that Charles spent years knowing only as the Crow, betrays him, and Edwin makes himself so easy to catch that Charles can’t find an excuse not to anymore. (He does try.)

Charles kneels beside Edwin on concrete that doesn’t scrape up either of their knees, and tells Edwin he’s sorry about Monty, and puts on the cuffs, and makes sure they’re not tight enough to hurt.

And tries not to think about Edwin, in Hell, running, about Edwin’s elegant voice and delicate hands turned to screaming and scrabbling.

And then, four years later, Niko gives him the two-finger point, and when he goes into her office she tells him that Edwin’s asked to talk to him.

It’s not hard to sell Edwin’s suggested deal to Niko. Edwin genuinely has the potential to be the best informant AE’s ever had, best asset, even, and Niko likes him almost as much as Charles does, anyway.

And it’s kind of amazing how quickly they fall into a rhythm, together, like they were meant to be at each other’s sides all along - although Charles does quickly find he seems to spend most of his time trying to get Edwin out of trouble.

(Edwin’s very-criminal friend, the Cat King, doesn’t help, on that front, although Charles does have to admit he comes in handy sometimes.)

And for some reason Crystal keeps on inviting Edwin over to their house…

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Jealous of Joe | Juraj Slafkovský

wc. 1.9k

Juraj's jealous when he sees you with another certain athlete

(sorry for the bad google translate throughout)

You jog down the steps of Nationwide Arena until you're face to face with a wall of glass blocking you from the players on the ice. Your eyes roam the red and white jerseys, finding purchase when they land on the familiar number 20. You look over his figure, studying the way he skates down the ice with ease. He looks like he’s floating, stick down, looking for the puck, focused, perfect. 

You and Juraj Slafkovský have been friends since the minute he was drafted by the Montreal Canadiens. As one of many social media managers, you became best friends with the whole team, finding safe spaces in Cole, Nick, Kirby, Kaiden, Monty, and most importantly, Juraj. 

The first thing you ever bonded over was your mutual knowledge of the Finnish language. The two of you could converse for hours in Finnish and not even realize until another one of the boys finally gains the courage to ask about what you two have been saying. They even tried to use it to their advantage, asking if you understood what he would say in Slovak but you were no use in that department. 

You try to snap yourself out of the trance you were in, looking around the rink to see what kind of media you could create before the game. You’re in the middle of thinking up a new question or tiktok challenge when you feel a presence next to you. 

“They look good,” the stranger says from next to you and you don’t look over as you respond, somewhat hoping the person leaves. 

“Hopefully they keep it up during the game tonight,” you respond, knowing the Hab's tendency for third period strikeouts. 

“You think Caufield will score?” the boy next to you asks and you shrug. 

“It’ll make my job easier if he does,” you joke and the laugh that sounds from next to you is so melodic it has curiosity leading you to turn your head. 

To say you’re shocked by the man standing next to you is an understatement. After working in this league it takes a lot for you to get star struck by an athlete but you’re speechless, jaw dropped open looking at Joe Burrow standing next to you. 

“Holy shit,” you blurt out and the older boy turns to look at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“I’m Joe,” he says, holding a hand out for you to shake and you can’t help the shiver that runs down your back when his hand slides perfectly into yours. 

“(y/n),” you say, still not quite sure that you’re not totally dreaming. “No offense, but what are you doing here?” 

His laugh has you smiling right along with him and you find yourself wanting to hear more of it. 

“I’ve been meaning to come out and see a game for a while, meet the players and so on. I figured since I’m injured,” he takes the moment to lift up a carefully wrapped wrist in front of your eyes. “I would come and check it out.” 

“Well if you’re expecting your fellow Ohioans to win, I apologize in advance,” you say and Joe throws his head back in laughter.

“Oh really?” 

The two of you continue talking, trading jokes and reveling in each other's laughter. You were beyond enjoying the conversation with Joe and you almost forgot about the ongoing practice and job you should be doing. 

Juraj certainly didn’t forget. During practice, a game, in the arena, out of the arena, no matter what Juraj always has an eye on you. The minute you stepped up to the glass during his practice his eye was on you, watching what you were doing, but more importantly, who you ended up talking to. Juraj’s furious and jealous gaze roams your figure, hating the way your head is thrown back in laughter, pink rising to your cheeks at his words, the slight, shy movements he knew all too well. 

At some point his brain must have shut off because suddenly his body is barreling down the ice without a second thought. You’re mid sentence to Joe when a loud bang sounds in front of you and you both jump back in fear. You look up to see Juraj standing there, a sheepish smile on his lips but something different in his eyes. You shoot him a look that conveys the sentence “are you serious right now???” and Juraj waves awkwardly before backing off and skating away. 

“Your boyfriend?” Joe asks and you jump at his voice, forgetting he was there for a moment. 

“No, no,” you say, glancing at him before reverting back to following Juraj’s movements. “Just friends.” 

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I asked you out then?” Joe asks and your body fully turns towards him at the question. 

“I can pick you up before the game tonight? I have an empty seat next to me,” he offers and you grin. 

“I’d love to.” 

Juraj spends the rest of practice pissed and all the boys can tell. They’re even playing a game, seeing who can mess with him the most before he truly snaps. 

Nick takes pity on him, the captain skating over to the young player. He follows Juraj’s gaze to where you are and watches as his eyes flame in anger when you smile at Joe. 

“What's up?” Nick asks, vague enough that Juraj can tell him what’s actually going on or he can brush it off. 

“He can fight?” Juraj asks and Nick fully turns to him in shock.

“What?” 

“I’m gonna fight him if he goes out with her,” Juraj says, determination so deep in his eyes that Nick knows he’s not a force to be reckoned with. 

Normally, before games you’re nervous for other reasons. Making sure you have enough content, tweets are loaded and ready to go, photos are edited and stats are ready to be posted. This time, your coworker is taking on those nerves while yours belong to the date you were about to go on. 

You looked over your outfit for what feels like the millionth time and smooth out the canadiens jersey that falls over your body. You were showing up with Joe but still had Juraj’s last name on your back; the irony. Joe knocks on your hotel room door right at 7 and you let out a breath before making your way to the front door. 

You were no stranger to Joe’s pregame outfits but you were shocked out how he could still look so incredibly good even in a simple t-shirt and jeans. His smile is blinding and while you know you should be swooning at the sight, you can only think about Juraj’s crooked smile, the way he looks down, not wanting anyone else to see the beauty. 

You and Joe head to the arena, a short drive in his luxury car and he’s nothing but a gentleman the entire time. Your heart flutters from time to time but you’re not sure if it’s because of Joe, or because you're nervous to see Juraj. 

You two take your time getting to your seats, stopping to grab drinks before heading down as the players are finishing warm ups. Juraj thinks he’s safe, that he won’t have to control a temper for the rest of the game but it all falls flat when he sees Joe with an arm slung around your shoulders in the front row. 

“Leave it be,” Nick warns the younger player and he shakes his head, praying his focus turns towards the game. 

The game against the blue jackets is physical, to say the least. The boys are playing like it’s a revenge tour and the game is tied for most of the time. Third period begins and Juraj is firing on all cylinders at this point. He’s finishing his checks, he’s rushing down the ice, he’s doing anything and everything to forget about you and Joe. 

You watch as Juraj digs for the puck, a battle between him and one of the blue jackets players trying to gain possession of the puck. It sails down towards Nick and Juraj lets up, words clearly exchanged between him and the opposer. 

“Careful before I take your girl out next,” the player sneers at Juraj and he’s officially seeing red. 

You watch in slight horror as Juraj slams the player into the boards and fists go flying. The fight must last a quick 20 seconds but feels like a lifetime. You’re on your feet and pressed against the glass as Juraj gets up, a fresh cut on his cheekbone and his hair disheveled and hanging over his now dark eyes. 

 “Holy fuck,” you breathe out, watching as Juraj is escorted down the tunnel and some of the boys are casting glances in your direction. 

“(y/n)?” you’re snapped out of your trance at Joe’s voice and turn to find him with worry and understanding in his gaze. 

“I have to go check on him,” you say and Joe nods. 

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek that explains all of his thoughts and feelings. You smile, a bit of sadness laced in the look, before parting and heading straight for the locker room. 

You race down, surprisingly not getting lost as you run and you flash your access badge like your life depends on it. You finally come face to face with the locker room door and you take a deep breath before flinging it open, unable to stay away from Juraj any longer. 

“Kto si, do pekla, myslí, že je? Sedí tam s ním a užíva si každú sekundu!! A ten sráč, ktorý-” Your brain flies a million miles an hour trying desperately to grasp the little Slovak language you know but to no avail. 

“Juraj?” you call and the 6 foot 2 hockey player halts all movements before turning towards you. 

“What are you doing here?” he grinds out, chest heaving trying to catch his breath. 

“I wanted to check on you.” 

“jebať ma,” he mutters angrily. “Go back to your new boyfriend.” 

Juraj was torn clean in half between two sides. One desperately wanting you here, wanting you to stay and talk to him, to explain that Joe meant nothing to you. The other half of him is infuriated, feeling disrespected that you would show up now after flaunting Joe in front of him. 

“What the fuck is your issue?” you snap, taking several steps till you're inches from Juraj’s face. 

“Ježiš Kristus.”

That’s the last thing you hear before Juraj leans down and slams his lips against yours, the kiss lighting you end to end in a fiery passion. His hands wrap around your waist and pull you up onto your tip toes and press your chest against his padded one. Your body takes a minute to catch up and when you do, your hands tangle deep into Juraj’s damp strands pulling him close and begging him to never let go. 

Unfortunately, humans need air and the two of you separate, panting heavily for a moment after. You fall back onto your heels and Juraj’s eyes search yours for a moment before speaking again. 

“You’re my issue,” he says and before you can retort he shushes you. “I love you. You walked into my game with my name on your back but your hand holding his.” 

Your eyes stare deep into his, your heart cracking at the idea that Juraj could ever be hurt by your actions. However, it’s filled back up when you remember him admitting that he loves you. 

“Oh minun rakkauteni,” you murmur, pulling him into you again and reveling in the feeling of his lips on yours. 

“It’s you baby. It always has been and it always will be,” you promise. 

Juraj grins against you, the moment fleeting but lasting forever. 

[heartstringsbloom]

“What’s the last thing your mother said to you?”

The microphone is shoved under his face and McQueen starts. That’s. . .not the question he had been expecting.

“I’m—sorry, what does—?“

“Do you regret not visiting more often?”

“Hold on—“

“Monty.” Mom is there now, hanging behind the reporter like a shadow. His own eyes stare back at him so lovingly he might be sick. “I want you to follow your dream.”

“Mom. . .”

He feels her hand on his face. She’s closer suddenly. Her voice echoes around him, drowning out the reporters, the cheering fans. His panicked breathing.

“It’s gonna be okay. Your sister and I are gonna be keeping an eye on you.”

Lightn—Monty forces himself to swallow. The cameras are blinding. He shuts his eyes against the flashing but he still sees her. “How can you? I’m so far away. Mom, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“Mr. McQueen! How selfish can you be to leave your family behind for the track? MR. MCQUEEN!“

“STOP!” He crashes to the ground, doesn’t feel the impact. He- he might throw up. “I don’t know! Stop asking me!”

He sobs, hard. His eyes are squeezed shut yet somehow he still sees her beside him. He can’t escape her—his—her eyes, or her voice. A soothing haunt to his ears.

“Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“No I’m not.” Monty hugs his knees to his chest. Everything keeps fading in and out but her presence is steady. Too real. Not real enough.

“Mom,” he sobs.

“I’m so proud of you,” she soothes in his hair. Her hugs are just as warm as he thinks he remembers. But he still can’t feel her.

“You—you shouldn’t be.”

“You oughtta call your sister, sundrop.”

“I can’t, mom.” Monty sniffles. He feels smaller than ever. Nothing exists beyond her feather-light embrace. “She probably hates me.”

He closes his eyes and, finally, everything fades with that. Mom rocks them both, humming something about needing to run to the store for glue to finish Maisie’s costume for the play.

“Into The Woods?” They had both performed in that one. They had performed in a lot of plays together. The last one was when they were 15.

“You know your songs, baby?”

He snuggles in just like he used to. “Yeah, mama.”

She kisses his temple. Monty’s too tired to open his eyes, as if they’re glued shut. Mama squeezes him tight, still rocking back and forth. The last time he let her hold him like that was when he was 12.

“Love you, sunshine,” she whispers. He wants to say ‘don’t go,’ but his body is heavy.

His eyes open to window of Doc’s guest room.

It’s a bit cold, and he can see the sky is barely awake. He pulls the blankets tighter around himself. It’s half a comfort.

The room is a low grey. It’s early-early. Doc’s gonna get him up for training in a couple of hours. Mont—Lightning can barely stomach the idea, but he pushes out of bed anyway. He can at least get a shower and food.

The dream sits untouched in the back of his mind. He can’t help but to. . .well, he doesn’t recall much of it at all, but he can’t shake it. He doesn’t really want to.

His hands feel loose as he reaches for the shower curtain. It rests there, unmoving, unwilling. He just doesn’t have it in him. Lightning pulls away and slides to the floor, lashes sticky on his cheeks.

People always told him he had his mother’s face. For some reason they never said it to Maisie, though it could have been for her brown eyes. It hurt to look at her sometimes, as if he were missing out on something he never knew, but at the same time they were incredible. A treasure only she held. Maisie never liked her eyes. Monty appreciated them, though he’d never admitted it (he should have told her).

Same lips. Same jaw. Same piercing eyes, different colors. Maisie got mistaken for him, and he got mistaken for mom, even though Maisie had mom’s honey-to-gold blonde hair. Monty’s was strawberry blonde, almost rosy (rosy like his and Maisie’s cheeks).

He jolts awake when someone knocks at the bathroom door.

“Lightning?” Doc calls. “You about ready?”

Light. . .ning blinks himself awake (“pay attention, McQueen.” His sister would say during rehearsals, snapping her fingers in his face. They shared the same last name). He pushes up from the floor, eyes thick with sleep he doesn’t know if he wants. His legs are weak. He slips down with a sigh.

“Monty?”

(“Monty,” mom says softly when he won’t get out of bed. “You’ll be late for school.”)

The door creaks open. He feels Doc press a hand to his forehead.

“What’s goin’ on, kid?” Doc sounds worried, actually.

“Jus’ tired,” Lightning slurs. His lips barely move. “Tried to get a shower, couldn’t keep myself up.”

Doc’s beside him now. He brushes some hair from Lightning’s eyes. “You feelin’ sick?”

“Nah.” Maybe?

It’s quiet for a moment. He can hear Doc thinking.

“I think we can skip practice today. Go back to bed.” Doc stands, helps Lightning up. “I’ll bring you some food in a bit. Should have some water, too.”

Yeah. His lips do feel dry.

(“You need some lip balm,” his sister tells him through the mirror one night as she does her makeup. He’s still trying to get the stupid wig to look right. “And water.”)

Shut up, Maisie.

“Hey, you don’t have to like it,” Doc hums, as if Light spoke aloud. Maybe he did. “It’s what’s best for now.”

“You always say that,” Lightning whines, feeling in quite the mood to just be difficult.

(“You always say that,” he mutters to their reflection. She clicks her tongue and decides to not with the usual ‘I’m always right.’)

Doc eases him into the once messy bed now tucked neatly because Doc sometimes goes behind his back like that, and folds the sheets around his waist. The comforter has been folded on the desk chair.

“Try to sleep, rookie.”

“Sleep is so off season, Doc.” Lightning scoffs and burrows into his pillow. “Let me behind the wheel and I’ll. . .”

Tires spinning. Dirt flying. Turn right to go—

(“One day,” Monty asserts, laying on his sister’s shoulder. The tv screen glows black and white in the darkness of their little living room. “Someday soon, that’ll be me.”

He feels feels her hum more than he hears her. “Your hair’s in my nose.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear with your hair in my ear.”

“Chomp.”

“Chomp?”

“. . .”

“Did you bite—“)

“—my hair?” Monty mumbles in his pillow.

He hears a chuckle.

Gets everywhere, someone says.

He doesn’t know who. The door shuts quietly.

Lightning wakes up to a note on the bedside in Doc’s handwriting, saying he’ll be at the clinic til 5 or so. Then he checks his phone and there’s a text with the same message, because Doc figured he’d better appreciate that.

He sits up and stretches, letting out a lion’s yawn that tastes like a fresh start and all the sleep he could have asked for. His stomach draws wide circles in him and he glances about for that food Doc had promised.

Doc wouldn’t just leave food out for however long to go bad.

He finds some soup and a cup of strawberries in the fridge. Soup is never his first choice but the strawberries help it go down. He surprisingly doesn’t mind it as much as he usually does, especially when it’s hot and warms him right up. He’s all the more grateful that Doc didn’t leave it out to go bad (as opposed to Lightning, who hasn’t just once forgotten to put leftovers away before bed).

“He’s so cool,” Lightning sighs. The doorbell rings.

As he opens it, he’s met with the most beautiful sight.

“Howdy, doll.” Sally dips her sunglasses and smirks. “You got a date to the prom?”

He sips from his bowl and leans on the doorframe, fighting to hear himself over the speed of his heart. “She just showed up.”

Sally leans up to kiss him before he leaps back, hand over his mouth.

“Stickers?”

“I’m sick, Sal!”

Sally, angel she is, laughs and draws his hand down. She pecks him softly, like, wow. “S’not gonna stop me.”

“Hm?” He’s still reeling from how lovely it always is.

“Nothing, babe.” She walks through the living room and he bounds after, so happy to be together. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good.” He sits back down at the table and opens his arms, wraps the blanket he’s been wearing around them both. “Sleepy. Is that weird? I just woke up.”

“My poor, sick baby.” Sally’s kiss tastes like strawberries. Oh, the thief. “The soup should help.”

“Yeah, but I don’t like soup,” Light mumbles against her crown. “How’ve you been?”

She swirls one of the berries in the bowl, giving a noncommittal shrug. “Well it’s slow today, but most people aren’t rushing through our cute little town this time of year. Don’t get me wrong, I love the activity.” She sighs, takes a bite and Lightning plucks a piece of chicken from the bowl. “It’s just nice having it to ourselves every now and then, not having to deal with all the buzz Mr. Golden racer boy brings everywhere he goes.”

He snorts. “I wouldn’t say I’m that popular.”

“Sure. Sky’s not blue.”

“Maybe not to you.” And he means it, watching her nibble the soup-coated berry and gaze sleepily towards the window above the sink. Bluer than blue, everything she is. Beautiful and true.

“You wanna come by the Cone? I could keep you company.”

“Nah.” He moves the bowl towards her, stealing back his cup of fruit. “It was enough walking to the front door and back.”

“Don’t be a stranger, shortcake.” She moves off of his lap and he misses her already. “I’m calling every couple hours, hear me? If you don’t answer, I’ll peek through your window until you either shoo me off or I get tired of looking at you.”

He rolls his eyes. “In other words, I’d have to actually tell you to leave.” Impossible. He’d never want her to leave.

Her smirk is back. “I know how hard that is for you, so I’ll make the agonizing—“ Sally clutches her heart, lifts her knuckles to her brow “—sacrifice of leaving on my own. See what you’re doing to me, stickers? Do you see how much I go through for you?”

“Always.” He kisses the back of her hand, drops his forehead to it. “I love you.”

He feels her brush a curl behind his ear and knows that she’s the best he could have ever asked for. “I love you too, Lightning.”

They part soon after, with Sally reiterating her promise to check in regularly and Lightning promising to let her.

As he wraps himself in bed, belly comfortably full and face more relaxed, he wonders if he’s forgotten something. His eyes will fall closed and he’ll think he sees someone, he almost knows he does, but they’re gone as soon as he’s conscious of them. There’s a voice he hasn’t heard in years but could never forget. Someone’s hand in his, whispering reassurances behind a curtain. The murmur of an audience. Gone again, back to nothingness behind his eyes. And as it goes, each time.

He falls asleep on a stage, sharing a dream he’s left behind.

It’s loud this time of night, voices bleeding over each other as silverware and plates meet. The tv over the bar is low, far from the main diner and even farther from those just outside, but she catches things here and there all the same. She’s learned how to use her ears.

Racing season must be at its peak. The interviewer on air won’t stop babbling about that three-way tie. Maisie still can’t wrap her head around such a blunder. Least of all can she believe how reckless he was.

Monty never used to be so careless.

When the press shove their way to him (“McQueen! McQueen!”) he’s leaning on his car, smirk loose and proud, arms crossed as if he’s everything and more, the brat (he’s enough, always has been, but she never told him and that hits her harder and harder every night). He prides himself on this one-man show attitude. Maisie tries to get lost in anything else: her cider is bubbly and sweet, he’d like it, Monty’s so different now; the night is cool and deep and unlike the flashes on screen that capture his every move and perfect teeth (as if he ever knew when to stop eating candy. Did he break the habit?).

Ugh, this is her least favorite part of the night, having to sit and wonder. He’s not even thinking about her. Not with his flashy new lifestyle and adoring fans. She polishes off her cider, listening to someone on tv yell that they quit, but refusing to watch. She recalls the news articles detailing each crew Monty’s fired. Maisie leaves her glass at the bar, tips the bartender who smiles her way, asks if she’ll get along fine on her own. She hums noncommittally, adds a few more bills to his tip because he has been a real gentleman all night. She leaves before he can ask again.

In her car she melts against the steering wheel, exhaustion hitting her at once. She doesn’t have to be on set til 9-ish, so she can sleep until 7 or so and make the next town over on time. And right now it’s. . .

Well, if she’s back at the motel and in bed within the next forty-or-so minutes she’ll catch a few hours of sleep after accounting for the bug-watch she’ll be doing. As it goes.

(Why hadn’t he called?)

Why hasn’t she?

She pushes away the accusation, scoffs at it. She’s been busy, obviously. Busy getting background roles and sleeping with the lights on to avoid bugs, or keep them away, but either way she doesn’t sleep. Busy having to settle with a stale bagel each morning because of her allergies and the hotel staff never knowing what’s been used in their meals. Monty probably gets his food special-made. Maisie hopes he remembers to be mindful anyway. He seems fine so far, at least.

Fine enough without her. No reason to call.

Her thumb hovers over his contact in her phone, as it does at least twice a day. He’s on live tv. She could call and embarrass him, probably, if he bothers to pick up. In front of the camera? He’d be ridiculous to. It’s not out of his league, but he wouldn’t have his phone on him. Not just after a race. She couldn’t bring herself to do it anyway, to even taint his success, though it crawls under her skin to just. . .and maybe she’s different now, too.

Her hand shakes and her throat dries. She tosses the phone to the passenger side, breathes through the weight behind her eyes. She’s just tired. And very tempted to go back for a few more ciders, fooling herself into thinking she could afford it. But she’s a big girl. She can pull through without the sugary support.

Maisie drives through McDonald’s for a small coffee—it won’t do much for her, but it’ll make the night a little easier—and heads back to the motel.

It’s a quiet drive. She keeps the radio off, really in no mood for it, though she hasn’t been able to get that one song out of her head for a while.

“Life could be a dream. . .”

The city is its best at night. The lights always fill Maisie with nostalgia for those long, sleepy rides along the freeway, nodding off on her brother’s shoulder as mama drove home. She can’t feel the lights like she would her family, but they’re almost an embrace. They’re close enough.

In the back of her mind she sees those lights on the red carpet. Cameras flashing (“McQueen, McQueen!”) catching her every angle, every one her best. Capturing him, too, as they walk side by side in this dream they’d have built.

There they would be: on a stage doing their latest Broadway hit. Her makeup perfect and his wig finally right. Monty and Maisie, twin sensations.

She’s back at the hotel before she knows it. Her coffee is cold when she picks it up, and she’s no way to heat it. Maisie sighs and brings it in anyway.

She sets it on the small table under the mounted tv that doesn’t get any channels. She showers quickly, well past ready for bed. The stage comes and goes, but her thoughts keep Monty the rest of the night. Her thumb hovers over the contact.

Maisie falls asleep, phone in hand, missing a far-off dream and a far-away sibling.

[imagine-darksiders]

On the Ropes

Chapter 25 - Uninvited Guests

Montgomery Gator X F!Reader

WARNING:

-Noncon touching, inappropriate behaviour, abuse of authority, implied s/a, self-doubt, mild threat

Summary: Tempers flare, emotions are high and boundaries are tested. You worry, but Monty worries more. He just isn't as good as expressing it as you are.

Sorry this one took so long. A few months ago, my parents made me a partner in their company with a view to take over the whole damn thing when they retire, and I've had to learn how to run a business without a lick of experience in the field, so that's been taking up a lot of my life lately. I'm still finding time to write, but it is harder.

Still! I hope a nice, long, juicy chapter full of angst and fluff and hurt/comfort makes up for the hiatus. Love to the brim. X

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

As ideas go, Monty concludes that his latest might have been best left on the backburner, never to see the light of day. He hardly dares move, locked in place by his own mechanical parts as he stares down at you on the sofa, and you in turn, gawk up at him, your eyes still wet and shining with tears.

And for all his artificial intelligence, for all the state-of-the-art programming slapped into his circuitry, the most eloquent response he can conjure up in the face of his own blunder is a weak, faltering, “Uh…”

But what else could best encapsulate the jarring realisation that he’s been caught? He hadn’t really fathomed being caught at all, hadn’t even considered what he might do if he was caught.

Well, too little too late now, he supposes. There’s no way he can simply duck back through your open window and feign ignorance when you inevitably return to the Plex to confront him…

…. Could he…?

… No, no. Definitely not.

Closely observing your expression, the gator’s proverbial stomach sinks as your face begins to lose all aspects of shock and instead turns towards something more closely akin to anger, unpleasant in its familiarity, and Monty realises he’s running out of time to come up with a believable excuse to explain away his presence here, as if a 'good' excuse even exists.

Brows scrunching together, your jaw creaks shut, teeth meeting with an audible ‘click,’ that pulls an involuntary flinch from the gator’s tail.

He can handle Mick being angry with him. He can handle Andy and that exec, the staff and guests and all of their cross words and scathing looks.

Yet for some reason that he dare not examine, the very notion of you pointing your wrath at him fills Monty with a dread so palpable, he’d swear the coolant in his hydraulics freezes solid. The irony of the revelation doesn’t escape him. Until now, he’s spent so long being angry at everyone around him without sparing much thought as to how it must feel to be on the receiving end.

Beyond the threatening wave of apprehension cresting over him, he can still hear the sizzle of water against a hot stove-top somewhere nearby – the very culprit that had landed you on the floor, and him here in the first place - and in his eagerness to set things right again, Monty latches onto the one task he’s at least semi-certain he can’t mess up.

He doesn’t break eye-contact with you, not until he’s edged his way into the little kitchenette and finally tears his gaze from yours to spin around to the stove, knocking his tail against the fridge with a jarring clang of metal. He winces at the force, hoping he hasn’t dented it.

Grimacing at the knobs and dials sitting innocently on the cooker, he elects not to tackle them, instead reaching out to engulf the saucepan’s entire handle in a single fist where he simply lifts the whole contraption off the stove.

At once, the water boiling within its metal confines eases to a manageable simmer.

“Monty…” When his name leaves your lips this time, it’s deeper, colder, with the barest tremble flecked into your voice. “You… you can’t be here…”

The gator has enough sense not to bark out a nervous laugh at the century’s greatest understatement.

Clenching his fingers around the handle, he carefully plops the saucepan down near the back of the stove, away from the burning, red ring of heat. Excess water still dribbles in tiny rivulets down the side of the counter, but he turns his processor away from the mess by physically twisting himself around in the cramped space until he’s facing you once more, clutching his hands up to his yellow chest plate.

“You can’t be here,” you reiterate thinly, your eyes blown wide and pupils small and dark like pinprick holes, locked in his direction.

Then, with the suddenness of a bullet firing from a gun, you explode into motion.

Lurching over at the waist, you swipe your discarded crutch from the floor and begin shoving yourself gracelessly from the sofa with such fervour, Monty is momentarily struck by the ludicrous idea that you might be on your way to attack him.

“Of all the-! the stupid-!” you sputter, slamming the crutch’s rubber foot into your carpet and heaving yourself upright, wobbling across the room on an unsteady leg, “Dangerous! Irresponsible-!”

You continue hurling out adjectives and lumbering forwards, and Monty – suddenly alarmed that you’re about to topple face-first into the carpet again – kicks himself into gear. His pistons carry him across the room in a few, loping strides where he meets you at the edge of the kitchen linoleum, mindlessly throwing both of his enormous palms around your waist to steady you.

Almost at once, you latch onto him roughly, your fingertips squeaking against plastic as they attempt to gather purchase around a too-thick wrist.

“Monty!” The acrid taste of panic steadily trickles down the back of your throat. “Monty, this isn’t funny! I’m not kidding! This isn’t funny, you cannot be here!”

But Monty isn’t laughing. And although you sound borderline hysterical, there isn’t a trace of humour in your expression either. Maybe you hope it's a practical joke, or that you're seeing things. Anything except for the gargantuan reality peering down at you from behind star-shaped sunglasses. 

“I know,” is all the gator can muster up as a reply. Because he does know. He can’t be here.

And yet, he is.

“Then what-” you snap, “-the fuck are you doing here!?” It’s the first time you’ve really raised your voice at him, and there’s a sharpness to it that tucks the animatronic’s snout down towards his chest, rendered contrite in the face of your reprimand. Something deep in his subroutine starts to hum, discontented. Perhaps it’s the fact that the shoe is on the other foot now, and this time, he’s the one on the receiving end of someone else’s anger.

Another tear spills over to clump your eyelashes together.

Whirring loudly behind his glasses, Monty’s optics track its path over the swell of your cheek, and again, he creaks his jaw open, hoping something more substantial than his previous answer will miraculously come to him. As it is, he merely utters a soft, “I… don’t know.”

Evidently however, that had been the wrong thing to say.

For several seconds, your mouth flaps open and closed in disbelief before your face screws up into a tight ball of incredulousness and you manage to shrilly proclaim, “What do you mean you don’t know!?”

You snatch your hand away from his wrist to rake trembling fingers through your hair, digging into your scalp with the tips of blunted nails. “Oh god, oh god… This is bad, this is bad! You’re…”

Trailing off, you lean away from the animatronic, shoving a palm against his solid chest and giving your head a harsh shake, as if you might somehow throw the whole situation from your mind. Even as you pull away, his hands retain their firm point of contact on your sides.

After a beat of silence, you go still once more, blinking up at the gator and confirming that, no, you aren’t imagining the hulking, green goliath towering over you, looking far too large to occupy the space between your ceiling and floor. “Monty, for god’s sake,” you say through gritted teeth, “You’re in my flat!”

“I.. I know this looks bad-” he tries, removing a hand from your waist, palm tipped towards you in a placating gesture, “But, it’s okay-“

“- In what universe is this okay!?” you fret, batting at the massive paw that stretches towards you, “Monty! You’re outside the Plex! If you’re caught, they’ll-! Christ! You could be decommissioned! Is that what you want?!”

“I wanted to make sure you got home,” he emphasises.

“You can’t do that though!” you almost wail at him, shaking your fists beseechingly as if to beg him to comprehend your desperation, “You understand why you can’t do that, right?!”

“I was just-!” There’s a sudden buzz of static as he cuts off his own voice box, rendering the end of his sentence effectively unspoken.

But he ought to have known you aren’t about to let him get away with silence, not when you’re so clearly distraught and prying for answers.

“What, Monty?!” you exclaim, pinning him with your glare like a butterfly to a corkboard, “You were just what?!”

The gator’s jaw works mechanically, grinding the gears on their pivots as he clenches and unclenches it. He’s unwilling to give up the vulnerable words that have lodged themselves in his voice box, words that seem far too soft coming from the mouth of an animatronic with an unmalleable frame.

The only sound to break the silence is the steady ‘drip,’ ‘drip,’ ‘drip,’ of your leaky faucet.

“Montgomery,” you snap when his silence starts to overstay its welcome.

And the gator, despite his best efforts, flinches.

Plastic eyebrows slot together with an audible ‘clack’ as Monty lowers his optics to the carpet at your feet…

You’ve fallen back on his show title.

It’s a… rather decisive step away from the nickname he asked you to call him. The chasm that stood between you and the gator was wide when you set foot his green room not so long ago, yet in spite of first impressions, that gap has slowly been closing up over the last few days.

But now? Calling him ‘Montgomery,’ and in so terse a tone feels too much like the rift has just inched a few notches wider again.

Perhaps it’s that solemn, borderline desperate urge to regain what precious ground he’s lost that drives him to finally lift his gaze from the carpet and aim it somewhere near your glistening eyes instead.

“Just… tryin’a do what you did for me…” he utters.

Your face immediately untwists, brows launching up your forehead as everything about you opens up in clear surprise.

Whatever excuse you’d been imagining, he hadn’t provided it.

“What?” The question squeezes out of your throat, rasping and tight.

Hiking up the volume in his voice box, Monty retorts, “You came to make sure I was okay at the Plex. I-I’m just… doin’ the same thing!”

Sputtering around half-formed words for a several seconds, you finally manage to exclaim, “There is an astronomical difference between a human going to their place of work, and an animatronic up and leaving the place they were built, Montgomery, you can’t even try to pretend there isn’t!”

You’re well aware that comparing your autonomy to his own is a little below the belt, but the truth, whilst certainly ugly, is still the truth.

“Andy can tear me a new one for not going home after surgery,” you continue frantically, “But that’s nothing compared to what Faz Co. will do to you if they find out you’ve gone awol! And that’s not even the half of it! I mean - What if you run out of charge!? Or – or!”

As you steadily approach the line between distraught and thoroughly panicked, your voice begins to rise, cracking at the apex of your sentence, hypotheticals darting relentlessly through your head.

“What if someone saw you!? How did you even get here! Oh, fuck, Management’ll scrap you for spare parts, or - Damnit, Monty!” you blurt, ducking your head to try and meet his downcast optics, “Are you evening listening to me!?”

He is listening, as a matter of fact, quite intently. Though his visual feed may not be focused on you, the gator is hanging on your every word. But it isn’t the realisation he could be decommissioned that’s caught his attention. He already knows that the outcomes you’ve just listed are very real possibilities, should his little escapade ever be discovered.

No, instead, it’s the clear and undeniable fear laid thickly in your voice that grinds his processor to a halt. It sits on your tongue like a glaze, shining brightly for him to pick up on, and wonder how he missed it in the first place.

This isn’t anger.

This is something else dressed up to look like anger, and the tragedy is, it’s a disguise he knows all-too well, so well, in fact, that he should have recognised you’d donned it the moment you opened your mouth to speak.

You’re afraid.

If animatronics were built to house spirits, Monty’s would be tentatively lifting their heads. However, the revelation that perhaps he hasn’t driven off his best and only friend is cut woefully short when all of a sudden, his audio receptors give a ping, alerting him to new input approaching from a nearby source.

Without warning, the gator’s head snaps towards the door of your flat, mechanical clicks filling the unexpected silence as his optics adjust to the change in distance.

Footsteps… heavy and unhurried, slowing as they draw nearer to your door…

“Monty?” you hiss, distractedly following the line drawn by his glare, “Don’t try and-“

‘Knock.’

‘Knock.’

‘Knock.’

Three deliberate raps on your front door cause any further arguments to shrivel up and die at the back of your throat. You stop breathing altogether, and every noise suddenly seems too loud in the ensuing silence.

‘Who the Hell-?’ you wonder, dumbfounded, ‘-It’s the middle of the night!?’

No sooner has the thought occurred to you than a finger of ice-cold dread drags a chilly path up the notches on your spine, right to the fine hairs prickling at the nape of your neck.

Like a jackhammer, your heart rams itself up against your sternum over and over again.

‘He couldn’t have… Shit. Could he? But... How?’

“Y/n?”

You’re too slow to clamp your mouth shut around a gasp when you hear the voice, muffled but undeniably masculine, calling out from the other side of the door. Monty’s silicone lips ripple apart, though he at least has the forethought not to push an audible growl through his speakers.

The voice, however, doesn’t sound as though it belongs to the… the person you thought it might have belonged to.

You can’t place it straight away. You’re only sure that you know it from somewhere, but with several centimetres of wood standing between you and it, details are distorted and difficult to pinpoint.

Another knock startles you again, even more-so when it’s followed by, “Are you in there?”

A pregnant pause stretches until your teeth start to ache from keeping them pressed together so firmly.

And then, the words you thought you’d never have to hear again filter through the cracks beneath the door. “I thought I heard shouting.”

There’s an instinct that rises from buried depths at the utterance, instincts you thought you’d put to bed long ago.

It's as though someone has lit a fire under your feet. Mechanically, you twist around towards the sofa, your eyes locking onto the remote controls sitting on its arm rest. Limping up to them with stilted, frenetic movements, you snatch them up and aim them at the television, jamming your thumb into the ‘on’ button with far more force than necessary. Plastic creaks beneath your fingertips.

Seconds later, the screen flickers to life, landing on a film you don’t bother to try and recognise. Hiking up the volume until the tinny sound kicks out of the speakers and fills your meagre living space, you toss the remote back onto the sofa cushions and make your way arduously to the door.

Yet another knock indicates that your late-night visitor is persistent, you’ll give him that.

Several steps from the entrance, your progress is stopped by a sudden wall of green stepping in front of you, blocking your path forward.

“Move,” you rasp through gritted teeth, too quiet to be heard over the television as you smack at the gator’s tail that’s trying to curl around your thighs.

Monty’s head swivels around to frown at you. The purple casings surrounding his optics slide half-closed to give you the impression of a beseeching look.

You wonder if he knows who’s at the door.

“Hello? Y/n?” the stranger calls again.

“I - just a second,” you blurt out, ignoring Monty’s grimace as you bully your way past him, using your crutch to keep him from stepping around you lest he risk tripping you over, “Sorry, I’m... still getting the hang of these crutches.”

You have half a mind to demand to know who the Hell would have the unmitigated audacity to come around and knock on your door at this time of night.

Behind you, Monty’s claws try to hook into the back of your shirt, but the fear of accidentally tearing anything you own keeps him from holding on with any real purpose. As such, it’s only too easy to slip out of his grasp and press your eye up to the peep hole, the blood in your ears rushing to a watery crescendo.

A distorted yet familiar face peers back at you through the glass, sweat glistening off a ruddy forehead that shines under the overhead lights.

“Mick!?” you burst out.

What in the name of God...

Whirling around to face Monty, you throw an arm out, gesturing wildly towards your bedroom door.

The gator’s jaws are clenched tightly enough that you suspect if you were to toss a lump of coal between his teeth, he’d spit out a diamond, and while his tail twitches back and forth in clear agitation, he doesn’t otherwise move.

“Ah, you are there,” your not-so-mysterious visitor exclaims, “Mind opening the door?”

Yes, you mind! You mind very much! What is he doing here!?

Unless…

Your head turns slowly over a shoulder to gape unblinkingly at the animatronic looming close behind you. Your eyes find his, your stomach clenches…

“Hello?”

“Uh, just… hang on a second!” you stall, fumbling and fiddling with the metal latch, pretending to fight with it whilst you cast another, desperate look back at the gator. “Damn lock is always getting stuck.”

The moment his optics catch your eye again, you mouth, ‘Please’, jerking your chin at your bedroom door, ‘Please. Hide.’

Ever so slowly, Monty blinks, taking in the harsh lines that cut crevices down the centre of your forehead, right between your furrowed brows. And just like that, the corners of his snarl start to fall, and the apertures of his pupils expand to hide blazing, crimson LEDs.

A thousand calculations run through his processor at once, all of them pertaining to the risk of leaving you to face Mick by yourself. His programming shrieks in defiance as he takes a reluctant step backwards, being light as he can on cumbersome actuators.

He should stay… Neither of you know why Mick is here, though he can hazard several guesses.

You’re afraid, you’re vulnerable… You need him.

But probability reminds him that perhaps the situation isn’t so dire. He's sure he hadn’t been spotted on his way here, and if he was, why would Faz Co. send Mick – of all humans - out for retrieval?

What if the man's being here is merely down to chance?

If that's the case, then should he catch you with one of the Glamrocks in your home, the repercussions will be far worse than whatever Monty fears could happen by leaving you to deal with the situation alone…

So, driven back by the urgent glimmer of tears shining over your sclera, Montgomery Gator begrudgingly makes a decision that goes against his very programming. He retreats from the room, slinking backwards as silently as a two-tonne bot can through the door and into what he can only assume must be your personal recharging station.

All the while, you watch him over the threshold, waiting until the gator’s hefty bulk disappears into the darkness of the room beyond. Even still, you wait for him to push your door shut with an undetectable 'thud' before you finally wrench the lock on your own door free and tug the whole thing open, remembering to plaster a tentative smile on your face just in the nick of time.

“Mr Matthews,” you grind out sweetly, praying that the television in the background covers your stumbling addition of, “What a… a nice surprise!”

The man on the other side of the door straightens his posture at once. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s keeping one arm behind his back as he too slaps a grin on his face, though you imagine his is slightly more authentic than your own.

“Y/n, my dear,” he returns, revealing his hidden appendage and, to your surprise – and confusion - producing a fistful of limp, strikingly dark dahlias, the kind you might pull off the bargain shelf at your nearby petrol station.

 “I wasn’t sure you’d be awake,” Mick continues, edging towards you until the toe of his winter boot pokes over the threshold, “But I was in the area and thought I’d stop by to see how you were doing.”

With the flowers practically shoved under your nose, you try to surreptitiously lean backwards, putting your weight on the crutch as you reply, “O-oh, that’s, ah, very kind of you…”

Can he hear your pulse thundering? Oh god, can he see the dilation of your pupils? Does he know who you have hidden in your bedroom? He must… He has to. Why else would he be here?

Almost running on autopilot now, you continue, “You didn’t need to come all this way though. Um…” Trailing off to bite at the inside of your cheek, you hedge, “I didn’t realise you knew where to find me.”

To anyone with even a modicum of self-awareness, the statement is poised as a direct question, in expectation of an answer. ‘How did you know where I live?’ is being broadcast from every facet of your voice and expression.

But Mick, clueless or perhaps deliberately obtuse, merely lowers the flowers an inch and replies, “Oh, you’ve mentioned it to me a few times now.”

… Have you? It’s… entirely possible, you suppose. After all, you talk about a lot of things at work, and subsequently, you forget about a lot of things too. But who would remember all the small talk you make with co-workers, or the unimportant comments you toss out while you’re responding to ‘check-ups’ from management?

Your home address however… It took you a long time to even tell Andy where it was, in case of emergencies… You can’t imagine it’s something you let slip without noticing.

But… Mick is here…

So how else?

Shoving down the frustration at yourself for being careless, you clear your throat and nod at the flowers. “And, can I presume those are for…“

Mick jumps, staring down at the dahlias clutched in his fist as if he’s only just remembered they’re there. “Oh, yes of course they’re for you!” he proclaims, “Of course, of course. Only courteous to give flowers to people in need of healing, no?”

You blink at him mutely, pretending not to notice the excess oil he’s slicked into his hair tonight.

Is that why he’s here? To bring you flowers? Is that all?

Part of you wants to slump with relief. Another part however, older, wiser and sadder, remains cautious.

“Well, again, that’s really kind of you,” you tell him, reaching out to take the flowers from his hand. The stems seem to breathe elated sighs as he relinquishes his iron-clad grip. “I’ll have to find a vase for these…”

You’re not sure you even own a vase…

“Naturally,” he replies, peering over your shoulder to quirk a brow at the television blaring behind you, “Ah. Movie night?”

“Hmm?” Following his gaze, you rush out, “Oh yeah, I figured… since I’m off tomorrow and the foreseeable future, a little late night wouldn’t kill me…”

Would it be rude to ask your senior why he’s bringing you flowers at this time of night? Maybe you can tell him you were just about to turn off the TV and go to bed?

As you deliberate how best to tell the man on your doorstep to make himself scarce, he surprises you by abruptly asking, “May I come in?”

‘No!’ your own voice screams at you from inside your head, ‘Just say no!’

“I’m not sure that’s-“ you begin tactfully, but Mick is already bustling forwards, crowding you until you take a slight step to one side. After that, well… You’ve given him an inch, he’ll take a mile, as it were.

Once he has a literal foot in the door, Mick sweeps past you, moving breezily into your living area and roving his gaze all over the room, hands planted on his hips. “Goodness,” he remarks, cocking his head at your bare walls and sparse décor, “You don’t get much on a cleaner’s salary, do you? You haven’t put that… ahem, bonus to good use yet?”

You want to bristle like a cat that’s been kicked.

Mick’s jab is unmistakable, but his awareness of his own civility is not.

Swallowing back a retort, you simply murmur, “Hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I’ll go and put these in some water.” Truthfully, you’re still reeling from the fact he’d just invited himself inside.

Hobbling towards the sink, you delicately lay the flowers in the washing-up bowl and turn on the tap. An angry ring of red light catches the edge of your vision, and you glance over at the stove-top, clicking your tongue as you reach over and turn the cooker’s dial to the ‘off’ position.

Teeth find the inside of your cheek and bite down on the fleshy wall, worrying at it while you wait for the bowl to cover half of the flowers’ stems.

‘Monty knows better than to give himself away,’ you assure yourself, trying to pretend you can’t feel those eyes prickling at the back of your neck, ‘And it’s getting late. Mick’ll want to get home soon. This isn’t anything other than a concerned manager delivering well-wishes to a member of the staff.’

‘There’s a guest in the house,’ a voice that isn’t entirely your own pops up, unbidden, ‘Offer him a drink.’

“Can I get you anything?” you blurt out, turning off the dripping tap and swivelling about to face Mick, “Coffee? Tea?”

The man throws you a look, barking out a laugh. “My word, someone’s got you well-trained,” he chortles.

The moisture dries up in your mouth. He likely assumes he’s referring to your upbringing, or maybe your schooling, but his statement hits far too close to home and sends phantom prangs of alarm through your brain, fizzing like electricity.

But just as your head starts to feel light…

“No, nothing for me,” he sighs, entirely oblivious to the cracks forming in your outer veneer as he nods pointedly at your television, “Although, uh, TV’s a little loud, no?”

“O-oh, yes,” you give a start, wobbling past him, “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.” That one was a little barbed, but you think it’s more than justified, given the circumstances.

Making your way to the sofa again, you reach for the controls, intent on swiping them off the cushions, but you freeze in your tracks when your eyes land on the overturned coffee table to your left. The coffee table Monty had knocked aside in his haste to get at you after you collapsed…

Behind you, Mick of course, has already seen it.

“Doing some redecorating?” he comments.

Thinking on your feet, you resume your task of picking up the remote and turning the television off, plunging the room into an uncomfortable silence once more. “No, just… had to move it earlier to do some exercises the physician recommended.”

Mick ‘ah’s’ in apparent understanding whilst you elect to deliberately leave the table where it is, tipped on its side.

“You wouldn’t believe how much space it takes just to do some stretches,” you add, “I haven’t gotten around to moving it back.”

You make a concerted effort to keep your eyes from drifting towards your bedroom door, painfully conscious that the gator must be standing just on the other side, head pressed to the wood to follow the flow of conversation.

“Mm, I can imagine,” Mick grunts noncommittally, and as you return your attention to him, you’re just in time to see him helping himself to a seat on your sofa, breathing out a long, languid sigh as he glances up at you, ruddy cheeks pushing out in a smile. “Come, sit!” he insists abruptly, as if it isn’t your sofa that he’s inviting you to. “Rest that leg of yours, you must be tired.”

If only he knew how terribly his suggestion puts your back up and sends your pulse skyrocketing.

All of a sudden, from the direction of your bedroom door, there comes a soft, nearly inaudible scraping sound, not unlike claws dragging across wood.

To your horror, Mick’s head starts turning towards the noise, but quick as a flash, you draw his focus by stretching your jaws into a wide, obnoxious yawn and settling down on the opposite end of the sofa, leaving a respectable distance between you both.

Covering your mouth with a palm, you loudly proclaim, “Oh! Oh, excuse me. I suppose I have got one foot in bed already.”

You try for light-hearted, miss and land on uncomfortable instead. But if Mick gets the hint, he doesn’t outwardly acknowledge it, merely hums and pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of his shirt, daubing at a glistening temple.

As you perch awkwardly on the edge of the seat, you keep a firm grip on your crutch and make every conceivable effort to avoid casting any wayward glances at your bedroom door. If there’s even the slightest chance that Mick isn’t here because of Monty, then you aren’t keen on blowing your cover.

“So,” the man next to you starts conversationally, clapping his hands down on his knees, “You’re holding up all right, then?”

Shrugging a shoulder, you reply, “As well as I can be, all things considered.”

Mick purses his lips, head bobbing sympathetically. “Mm, I’m sure that’s the case,” he admits, “Bad business, that attack in the tunnels. Very bad business…”

Bad business, or bad for business, you wonder.

And talk about an understatement. You have to sternly remind yourself not to scoff.

His mention of the ‘incident’ however does raise a certain flag at the back of your mind as it occurs to you for the first time that Faz Co. wouldn’t be above sending someone to make sure you’re sticking by the non-disclosure agreement. You wouldn’t put it past them…

Is that why Mick is here? Second guessing yourself for the umpteenth time, you take a deep breath and gently try to steer the conversation towards something of real substance. “I… signed the exec’s paperwork, by the way… So, you don’t need to worry. The matter’s done with, so far as I’m concerned.”

The fact that you now have enough money to start looking for a nicer place to live is certainly motive enough to keep idle gossip to yourself.

In response, Mick only tips his head back and barks out a laugh, “Of course you did,” he chuckles, shaking his head at you, beaming, “You’re a damn good woman. You work hard, you keep your head down. You do your job, and you do it well. You’re loyal…”

Trailing off, he twists himself about at the torso to face you, the smile sloughing off his face as he adds, “Loyal enough that you’d come to the Plex the day after you were carted away in an ambulance.”

With gradual unease, your fingertips curl into the sofa cushions.

Whatever expression you pull must be dire indeed because Mick immediately drops his serious façade and lets out a chortle, leaning across the sofa to give your knee a pat just a few inches from the top of the cast, apparently too amused to notice that you blanch.

“Now then, no need to look so spooked,” he tells you, “I’m not here to lecture you about what you should and shouldn’t be doing following a major incident. I just thought I’d mention that I saw you today-“

You can barely focus on his voice. He’s allowed his clammy palm to lay like a lead weight upon your knee. It’s still there. Why is it still there? The temptation to kick your leg out as if to shoo away a bothersome fly is awfully prevalent.

“I must say,” he carries on, oblivious to the way your gaze drills into the back of his hand, “I was impressed by your dedication to the company. I’d have come over to say ‘hello,’ but…”

Breaking off to torture you with a pregnant pause, the man’s jovial expression collapses, turning sour. “Well…” He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “Then I saw you were with the gator.”

Right there on the sofa, your heart seizes up.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with that gator recently.”

‘He knows,’ you fret, flicking a frantic look at the door to your bedroom. The evidence is stacking up against you. Why turn up now, and why mention Monty at all?

Fingers trembling, you start the process of falling apart right next to him, debating whether or not to just get it over with and come clean when he suddenly furrows his brows at you and – at long last – draws back, retrieving his hand from your leg. “You need to watch yourself around that bot. You hear me?”

Relief and shock war for control for several seconds as you gape at him, only remembering to snap your jaw shut once you realise it’s been hanging awkwardly ajar for far too long. Swallowing thickly, you try to smooth down your bristling nerves and stammer out a clumsy, “I-I’m sorry?”

“I’m not the only one who’s noticed, you know,” Mick surges ahead as if you hadn’t spoken, “Most of the staff are starting to talk. A lot of the guests too. And now there’s that video going around…”

Your eyes are starting to ache with the effort of keeping them affixed to the manager, not your bedroom door.

“It’s no secret that it’s taken a real liking to you,” he grunts, “And the way I see it, that puts you at the most risk.”

Suddenly, you find it much easier to pay attention. Several, rapid blinks put Mick at the centre of your focus as you politely admit, “I’m sorry, I… I don’t follow.”

The look he gives you is decidedly pitying. Heaving a slow sigh through his nose, he roves his gaze up towards your ceiling as if he means to pluck the right words out of thin air. “Listen,” he begins patiently, like a teacher trying to explain something basic to their struggling student, “Bots don’t just… change like Monty has. I mean, what’s it been? Less than a week? And it’s gone from causing countless incidents of property damage and snapping at every staff member it sees to carrying one across the plex?”

He puffs out a derisive scoff and shakes his head, lips pursed. Then, leaning forward, he links his fingers together and props both elbows on top of his knees, glowering hard at the blank television screen. “I’m not buying it,” he utters darkly, “Sooner or later, its old ways will start kicking in again, and when they do, who’s the person directly in the firing line?”

Peeling one hand away from the other, he curls it into a fist, extends his forefinger, and aims it right between your eyes.

There’s something so inherently disconcerting about the action alone that you physically draw back from the man on the sofa, leaning away and eyeing his hand as though you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. But at the forefront of your mind – and a sudden source of great contention - is his implication that Monty is any kind of threat to you. Perhaps you wouldn’t be feeling a thrum of defensive indignation if the gator himself hadn’t been in the other room, no doubt able to hear every word Mick is saying about him. As it is, your chest starts to buzz with the desire to correct the man’s assumptions.

Peeling a dry tongue from the roof of your mouth, you slowly press out, “With all due respect, Sir-“

“-It’s Mick, doll. Just Mick.”

You try not to pull a face at his interruption. “Mick,” you start again, “With all due respect, I think that’s a bit unfair to Monty…”

At once, surprise opens his expression, smoothing the wrinkles between his brows as they go shooting up his forehead instead.

“Unfair?” he deadpans.

“I just mean that he’s been trying very hard to do things right lately, and we shouldn’t dismiss that just because he's had a few bad days, right?” Instances of breaking into your apartment notwithstanding. “Christ, Mick, he saved my life from that en-“

Mick’s beady eyes narrow at you.

Clearing your throat, you carefully amend, “… from that intruder.”

For several seconds, you watch on as the man’s face twists up once again into a frown, and he purses his lips at you, exhaling roughly through his nose. Leaning sideways across the sofa, he puts himself close to you and raises a finger into the air, wagging it at you in a manner that you really don’t care for.

“One example of the ‘correct’ behaviour doesn’t negate all the harm that bot has otherwise done,” he tells you firmly, “To the brand, to the plex…” Trailing off, his eyes gloss over as they drift to the back of his hand, staring at something you can’t see. After a moment, he quietly adds, “To me.”

Glancing sideways to find you fixing him with a strange look, he pushes out a cough. “A-And it certainly doesn’t prove that it’s safe. Never trust a dog that’s bitten once not to bite again.”

“Monty’s not a dog,” you point out, your brows set in a stern, unyielding line.

“No,” Mick agrees sharply, “It’s a two-tonne animatronic with a history of violence and a penchant for causing trouble wherever it goes.”

All at once, you bridle, clenching your fist around the crutch. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re in your own home that gives you a shot of courage straight through the chest. If Mick had confronted you with these accusations at work, you can’t deny you might have been a little more hesitant to retaliate. As it is, he came into your flat uninvited, he sat on your sofa and started bad-mouthing your friend…

 “Now hang on a moment, that’s just plain wrong,” you retort, “Monty hasn’t caused any trouble for me, and in fact, he’s gone out of his way to help me these past few days – quite a lot, actually.”

Somehow, Mick’s brows travel even further north towards his slicked-back hairline. He blinks, surprised, either because of your sudden and admittedly barbed defence of a bot you’ve only known for a few days, or because he hadn’t expected you to show him your backbone at all.

You quiver angrily on the opposite side of the sofa, heavy eyelids protesting the late hour whilst Mick blows a noisy breath through pursed lips, regarding you with newfound interest.

“Now then, there’s no need to get yourself all worked up,” he soothes cloyingly, “I didn’t come all this way to upset you.”

The willpower it requires not to bark ‘I am not upset!’ is tremendous, even more so to fake an apologetic smile and reply, “Of course you didn’t. Sorry, it’s just been a long day.” And getting longer with every second Mick sits there, behaving as though he’s done nothing untoward simply by being here.

“I’m sure it has,” he remarks.

And then… something happens. Something that sets the synapses in your brain firing off alarm bells left right and centre, paralysing you in your seat.

Without a word to announce his intentions, Mick shuffles himself along the sofa cushions towards you, closing the very deliberate gap you’d wedged between the pair of you minutes ago.

“If I’m being perfectly honest with you,” he begins in a low murmur, and you wish he wouldn’t be honest at all if that’s how he intends to speak, “I’m sorry I ever sent you into that damnable gator’s room in the first place. I mean, granted you’ve saved the company thousands in repairs since then… But… Ah, forgive me, perhaps this is unprofessional but…”

His already soft voice dies to absolute silence as he stretches his hand across the distance between you and sets it down on your leg once more, just above your knee - nowhere an uninvited hand ought to have any business treading.

You can’t tear your eyes off it. All the moisture in your throat has dried up, all the breath in your lungs stays trapped.

You’re not angry anymore.

“I simply wouldn’t forgive myself if that gator hurt you, you know,” his voice sounds muffled, half-drowned out under the blood rushing in your ears, “I’m only looking out for you.”

You’re scared.

He’s sitting close, too close, close enough that the smell of smoky cologne is suddenly clogging up your airways and sticking to the back of your throat when you inhale.

“Can you blame me for worrying though?” he asks, rubbing his hand up an inch as if he’s testing the waters. Sadly, your limits have been pushed before, further and further each time until the bad things just became mildly uncomfortable things, and the really dreadful things were simply better to ignore.

“You really are a very good worker. But that animatronic isn’t safe.”

Your breath catches in your gullet when you swallow, and even now, after all your experience and the hurdles you’ve cleared, you start to doubt yourself. Perhaps Mick really is just concerned. He certainly sounds it. You could be finding horror in something entirely benign. He’s a manager, he knows better.

He’s a molehill and you’re sitting here wondering if you should make him into a mountain.

Fingers twitch against your skin and you blanch, prying your jaws apart to… what? Scream? Tell him to get his hand off you? He hasn’t technically done anything wrong. You let him inside…

All of your senses come flooding back to you suddenly as a strange sound catches your ear; a latch clicking out of place, a handle turning inwards. Ears thrumming with adrenaline, you at last manage to rip at least part of your concentration off Mick and train your hearing towards your room instead.

Luckily for you and the idiot gator trying to stealthily open your bedroom door for some, inane reason, Mick seems far too preoccupied with catching your eye to even register the noise.

He’s looking for a reaction.

The appealing idea that this might just be one big misunderstanding starts to wash away bit by bit.

You cast your mind about, mentally searching the room for something – anything to derail the direction of his goal. When that fails, you reluctantly allow your gaze to wander from your television to the front door, over to the kitchen and then down to the flowers poking over the lip of the sink…

Flowers…

A stray gear in your brain chugs to life, kicking out a single, blessed idea.

“Hah!” you wheeze out breathlessly, forcing a wobbly smile onto your reluctant mouth, “You’re starting to sound like Andy. He worries about me too.”

There. It’s only for an instant, but out of the corner of an eye, you see Mick’s expression falter. “Flowers?” he asks.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, “I’m surprised you didn’t arrive with him actually.” Feigning an expectant glance at your front door, you school curiosity onto your face and add, “You didn’t see him on your way up, did you?”

Mick’s hand starts to raise ever so slightly from your thigh, too slow for your liking, yet you grit your teeth and bear it for a while longer, like you always have.

“See him?” the man blinks, “I… no? Why would I have seen him?”

“Oh, it’s just, he texted me before you knocked on the door. Said he’d be here in another ten… fifteen minutes to drop off some stuff I left in my locker at work. I thought you might have come together.” Shrugging a shoulder as casually as you can, you quirk a brow at Mick and continue, “You really didn’t see him? Huh. I hope he’s okay. It’s not like him to be late.”

On the last word, the feeling of warm, sweaty skin pressed to your leg disappears.

Bingo.

“Well,” Mick announces brusquely, plastering a cheery grin on his face as he leans back and slaps his palms onto his knees, pushing himself off your sofa, “If Flowers is on his way, I’d better let you two have your space. Wouldn’t want to crowd you, hmm?”

Though it damn-near kills you to do so, you tilt your head and ask, “Oh, are you sure? I think he wanted to have a word with you about something.”

Mick’s face turns several shades paler than usual as he stumbles over his response. “Ah, well, I’m sure it can wait until I see him at work tomorrow.” Slipping a finger between his grey tie and the collar of his shirt, he tugs the fabric looser, taking several, hurried steps in the direction of your front door. “I’m sorry to have stopped in unannounced.”

Your smile reveals just a few too many teeth. “It’s not a problem,” you lie, using the crutch to lever yourself onto your feet, “I suppose I’ll see you at work, then?”

Mick’s backwards peddling might have been funny if you were in any mood to laugh.

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes. I’ll see you then,” he titters, “You just stay off that leg in the meantime.” His hand grasps the door handle, sliding clumsily around it for a moment as his damp palms clamber for purchase.

You heart soars when he finally manages to pull it open, only to step halfway outside and hesitate in the threshold of your home. For several, awful seconds, you stare at the back of his head, wondering if he’s changed his mind, or worse, if he’s called your bluff.

Sparing you a look over his shoulder, Mick catches your eye. “Just… remember what I told you about the gator,” he tells you suddenly, “Preferably before you decide to visit the Plex again.”

And with that, he just… leaves, disappearing out into the hallway and pulling your door shut in his wake until the latch ‘clicks’ shut.

Mouth full of cotton wool, you listen intently for the thump of dress shoes hitting carpet to peter out as Mick beats a hasty retreat down the hall. Fainter and fainter, the sound fades, until at last, you hear the far-off 'ding' of the lift doors sliding open and shut, and with a shuddering inhale, you promptly crumple forwards against the door, gasping out a wet, pitiful noise whilst you scrabble at the lock with shuddering fingers.

It’s only when the metal latch slides into place with a definitive ‘shunk,’ that the door of your bedroom bursts open.

With all the speed and unimpeded ferocity of a stampeding bull, Monty comes surging from the darkness of your bedroom, his shoulder struts reared back like a pair of snakes ready to strike.

“What’d he do to you!?” he demands, crossing towards you in just a few strides.

You spare a thought for your downstairs neighbours before you remember they’ve been on holiday since last week. And a good thing too. Each step the gator takes sends tremors through the floor below your bare feet.

Monty’s sensors – by now so well-tuned to your vitals – had been going haywire behind the door, picking up on your thundering pulse and the steady uptick in your cortisol levels. He’d had to stand there, helpless but to listen as Mick spewed his rhetoric into your ear, and Monty hadn’t been able to defend himself or refute the man’s claims at all. But you-!

Wonderful, righteous, amicable you... You had! Monty's systems were thrumming, thoroughly cowed to hear you come to his defence, which made it only more difficult not to burst into the room and sweep you away from Mick when the man all but purred reassurances at you.

But worse, perhaps, was the gator’s inability to see what was happening on the other side of the door. Mick’s verbal blows against Monty’s behaviour couldn’t have been the catalyst for your climbing heartrate, though some small, selfish code in the animatronic hopes you felt at least a little indignation on his behalf.

No… Something else occurred here tonight. Something Monty wasn’t privy to, but wishes he was, if only to settle the ire broiling in his circuits.

You have your back to him, and your forehead pressed against the solid wood of your front door.

He has to see your face… He has to know. He has to read your expression and see for himself that there isn’t any fear there, just exasperation or even a fiery burst of anger. Anything… Just not fear. He would take all the fear in the world from any human he meets if he would only be spared from yours.

Wrestling back the hissing lines of code that poke and prod at his temper, Monty slows to a halt as he reaches you, his apertures twitching wide then narrow again whilst they flit up and down your body in search of damage.

“Hey,” he calls, sliding a single, clawed hand around your bicep, “You hear me? What’d he-?”

If he’d have just known… If he’d have hazarded a guess as to where your mind had gone in that moment, he might have thought twice about laying his hand on you.

“DON’T-!” you yelp shrilly, whirling around to face him and thrusting your wrist against his, knocking the limb aside as if to parry a weapon instead of his arm.

Startled, the gator wrenches his appendage back, holding it above his shoulder in a display of surrender as he blinks down at you dumbly, jaw falling ajar.

And then, he sees it.

You’re staring up at him, your face drawn back, haggard and half-mad with terror, your chest heaves with the effort of taking in breaths.

He doesn’t have to perform a scan to determine what he’s been dreading. Humans have looked at him like that ever since he was first brought online. Monty’s processor thumps, dredging up a memory of Mick - younger and bolder than the man he is now – reeling away from the gator, face as pale as Moon’s and his eyes so wide the entire iris was exposed. Monty remembers the odd sensation of something soft collapsing between his teeth.

The animatronic violently purges the memory from his internal storage, though he knows it’ll still linger there somewhere, buried behind layer upon layer of firewalls until his guard is lowered once more.

All at once, he recoils like he’s been hit by a wrecking ball, staggering backwards until his tail hits the wall behind him and he’s forced to stop. Unable to retreat any further, unable to offer you any more distance, he simply stares at you from his side of the room.

It’s over… This wonderful, safe harbour he’d found in you is finally finished… You believe what Mick had said about Monty being a danger to you.

He always knew this had to end, of course. Good things can’t thrive in the vicinity of a Faz Co. animatronic. He just… didn’t think the time would come so soon.

Even still, he can’t help but cling with raw, desperate hope to you, scrabbling to keep a hold of your good graces because he’s too stubborn or too foolish to let go.

“I-I wouldn’t -“ he starts, concealing his claws with his fists and tucking them against his chest, “- I’d never… I wouldn’t hurt you. Not you, not ever. You’re…”

His voice box sputters, cutting out for a moment as he searches his bank of vocabulary for what you are.

When it finally dawns on him, his processor almost grinds to a halt.

“You’re all I got,” he confesses slowly, surprising himself with the revelation, “I don’t got nobody else…I ain’t gonna hurt you, you know that.”

You have to know that.

Please know that.

Gradually, far too gradually for the gator’s highly strung code to endure, you lower your arm  too look at him, brows high on your forehead.

“Monty?” you utter quietly, sending a quick glance between the animatronic’s downcast snout and the hands he still keeps curled beneath his chest. In another blink, you realise what you’ve just insinuated through action alone.

“Oh, I… Monty – No, of course you wouldn’t. I’m so sorry, I… God.” Slouching back against the door, your head knocks against it as you drop a palm over your face. “This is such a mess.”

Lowering your palm to the door, you splay your fingers over the wood behind you, drawing in a steadying breath and trying to ground yourself to the solidity at your spine. Another breath, and you finally drop your eyes to the gator.

For the briefest moment, you consider telling him why you couldn’t bear to feel a hand on you right now.

Your mouth creaks open, the words sitting on the tip of your tongue.

But something along the vein of common sense tells you that it wouldn’t be fair to burden Monty with such knowledge.

‘Besides,’ you remind yourself, borrowing your mother’s words, ‘It’s all in the past, and least said, soonest mended.’

Morose yet resigned, you swallow back your admission.

“I’m sorry, Monty,” you offer instead, raising a hand to rub at your drooping eyelids, “I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Unconvinced, the gator curls his tail inward, eyeing your arm - the one he’d grabbed.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The question seems to creep out of him, his volume levels set so low that you have to strain your ears to hear it.

“No,” you reassure him, dropping your hand to give him a gentle, albeit tired smile, “No, you didn’t. You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” he readily agrees, lifting his snout a little.

For a few seconds, the pair of you simply regard each other from opposite sides of the room, until eventually – and reluctantly – you have to let your smile fade away, replacing it with a worn, heavyhearted frown.

“That was close though,” you whisper to yourself, letting your eyes slip shut, “Shit, that was too close.”

How on Earth Mick didn’t find out about Monty’s presence here, you’ll never know.

A mechanical whir followed by a thud lets you know the gator has just edged a step closer. “Yeah, no kiddin’…” There’s a pregnant pause, and then you jump slightly, snapping your eyes open as Monty raises his voice to an indignant bark, “And just what in the heck did he think he was doing, comin’ round here in the middle of the night anyway?”

The look you shoot the gator is withering enough to have him tilting his head sideways.

“What?” he asks, apparently oblivious.

You elect to gloss over his blatant hypocrisy in favour of jabbing a finger at him, though the action lacks the same hostility it might have ten minutes ago. “You know, it wouldn’t have been ‘too close’ if you hadn’t been here in the first place.”

Perhaps recognising the rising challenge in your tone, Monty’s stance shifts as he raises up on his struts, towering so high that his mohawk almost brushes the ceiling. He peers down the length of his snout at you, the line of his brows set and rigid, half shuttering his optics.

“I ain’t sorry,” he tells you, and it’s so matter of fact that you give a hard blink, your own eyebrows springing up towards your hairline.

You’re starting to feel a little like Andy. If this is how exasperated the poor mechanic feels when you do something stupid, then you owe him several, sincere apologies.

“I… I was, though,” Monty adds suddenly, lowering his nose as if the bluster was only ever meant to be short-lived, “Before Matthews turned up. But now, I…”

For a second, he falters, then bulldozes through his hesitation with a sharp grunt and a shake of his head, meeting your gaze resolutely. “Now, I’m glad I was here.”

His optics flicker brightly, though they dart between your face and the cast on your leg at frequent intervals as though he’s uncertain of himself yet determined not to back down from his conviction.

“I ain’t stupid,“ he insists, but there’s too much fervency behind it, like you’re not the only one he’s trying to convince, “Matthews was doin’ something to you. If you hadn’t’a got rid of him, I’d’ve…“

“…What, Monty,” you sigh when it becomes clear he’s hesitating to sort through his words again, “What would you have done, short of giving us both away?”

“I’d have stopped him,” he growls, puffing out his chest and jabbing it with the sharp claw of his thumb, “I’d’ve protected you.”

Rolling your eyes, you huff, “Oh, my hero. You’d get yourself scrapped, and me arrested for kidnapping an animatronic.”

It’s disconcerting to see a bot so large and intimidating positively wilt as though your point has just heaped a very real, very tangible weight upon his shoulders.

Letting a sigh slip through your nose, you catch a loose bit of skin between your teeth, worrying at it in the tangible silence that hovers between you and the gator.

You want to be angry with him for being here. You want to tell him how foolish and misguided his programming was to convince him that he should leave the Plex to seek you out. But if there was any strength left in you after the day’s events, it’s been well and truly sapped clean out of you. In fact, ‘sapped’ is too gentle a word for it. As memories try to pile up on top of one another, it takes more effort than you’d care to admit to beat them down again, leaving you with very little residual energy to conjure any resentment for an animatronic who followed you home because he wanted to make sure you got there safely.

This behaviour is so out of character for him.

And you? Well, you’re so out of your depth. Shit, you can never tell Sun and Moon about Monty’s escape. If the daycare attendants find out that they can leave the Plex as well, you’ll be in for a whole new world of trouble.

While you slump against the door, contemplating, Monty’s large head swings to the left, his optics studying the window. He’d wrenched it open so hard the frame had torn jagged splinters from the surrounding wood. The corner of his lips turn south as he lowers his optics to the table he’d overturned. That alone had almost been enough to rouse suspicion, but you’d explained it away expertly, from what he could hear, and Mick ended up none the wiser.

It comes as no real shock to the gator that if it weren’t for your quick thinking and well-oiled responses, he’d have given himself away ten times over. He’d have given you away…

Impulsive, Freddy might call him.

Stupid, would be Roxanne’s more cutting, though no less accurate decree.

It’s never been an easy thing for Montgomery Gator to admit that he might have been wrong. Even if his protocols thrum with a newfound urge to guard a member of Fazbear Co.’s faculty, his processor knows all too well that his coming here put you at the most risk.

The gator’s tail drops to the ground with a dull ‘thunk’ of plastic and metal on the carpet. “I just wanted to do somethin’ right for once,” he utters to the stillness, his truest desire finally spoken aloud.

He doesn’t look at you this time, but his audials pick up your gentle intake of breath and wonders what happened to the animatronic who would have bitten your head off several days ago just for looking at him the wrong way.

At least if that Monty did something wrong, it was usually deliberate. Somehow, as he’s quickly coming to learn, it’s so much worse trying to do something right, and getting it wrong anyway than doing something wrong in the first place.

Hurts more, he concedes.

The gator is too busy discovering the scope of his regret to notice you push yourself off the door, leaning hard onto your crutch as you squint up at him, cocking your head to one side like he’s a puzzle you’re still figuring out. Admittedly, you absolutely are. You’re not an engineer or a programmer. You can’t begin to fathom the depths that Monty’s learning algorithms can reach.

All you can see is an animatronic condemned by those who made him, trying to be better than he’s told he is. So, while you can’t condone his being here, for his own sake, you realise that he - much like yourself - has likely had more than enough of people telling him off.

Sucking down a long, thick breath, you release it all in as weary a sigh as you’ve ever expelled.

“You’re doing fine, Monty,” you say, and it’s kinder, warmer than you’ve sounded all evening, “You’re doing just fine. I mean, this was a little…” Pausing to gesture loosely at the overturned coffee table, you let out a soft laugh and continue, “Uh, overzealous. But your heart was definitely in the right place.”

‘Your heart.’

Slowly, hesitantly, Monty’s tail lifts from the ground, rising with the edges of his crocodilian smile. You might never know how much it means to him that you don’t point out how he doesn’t technically have a heart. And it means even more to hear that you know his intentions came from a good place.

“But,” you add, inhaling, like you’re bracing yourself, “I’m still not happy you’ve put yourself in such a precarious position just to check up on me.”

Monty’s metal framework groans as he slumps again.

“Ugh. Listen to me,” you chuckle, rubbing your temple, “I’m starting to sound like Andy.” Starting forwards, you begin limping for your room, stifling a wide, clumsy yawn behind the back of your hand. “Now, I have had, like, the longest day. And I’m going to bed before I keel over.”

“…But… what about your food?” he asks, sparing a glance over at the saucepan sitting idly on the countertop. The water inside has long gone cold.

Your footsteps pause as you draw alongside him, reaching out to lay a palm on your bedroom door. “I’m not hungry,” you murmur after a second. It’s not entirely a lie. For some reason, the meagre appetite you had for cheap noodles and tea has evaporated, leaving you hollow, yes, but not nearly as hollow as you were rendered by the touch of Mick’s hand on your leg.

Giving your door a shove, you push it open and reach around the corner, sliding your fingers along the interior wall until you find the light switch, flicking it on and illuminating the bedroom with a warm, yellow glow. Monty is frowning at you, you can feel his crimson optics boring into the side of your head, but you ignore him to say, “I suggest you go back to the Plex before you run out of charge.”

You must have mistaken the gator’s earlier acquiescence for a willingness to leave.

“I got plenty of charge,” he deflects.

As it is, Monty’s optics rove over the top of your head, widening significantly behind his glasses as they land upon the contents of the room that he’d been standing in just minutes ago. He hadn’t bothered to sate his curiosity then, far more apprehensive about what was happening on the outside of the space, but now, without oppressive darkness cloaking every corner and without a potential threat to contend with, his protocols take a backseat to his inquisitiveness.

He observes closely as you shuffle into the new territory, your territory, where you immediately make a beeline for the nest – bed, his CPU corrects – that’s set against the furthest wall.

Swinging his prodigious bulk around, the animatronic trails after you, ducking underneath the doorway and raising his snout to the air.

You don’t even have to look over a shoulder to know you’re being tailed. The heavy stomps are proof enough of the gator’s proximity. “Monty, come on,” you whine, “You’ve gotta go home.”

The gator only offers a gruff hum in response, otherwise distracted by the simple yet pivotal revelation that he, for the first time, is seeing your private, recharging chamber. Immediately, he’s struck by how much more lived-in this humble space is. Out there, in your kitchenette and the adjacent living room, everything seemed so much more bland. Less you.

In here, there are pieces of you scattered into each corner of the room, from the pile of unwashed clothes sitting in a nearby chair to the row of house plants lined up like soldiers along the breadth of your windowsill.

Curious, his optics roam towards a desk in the corner, upon which sits - to his immediate intrigue – a large, square tank filled almost to the brim with crystal-clear water, and lit from above by a cool, fluorescent light bulb. He knows what it is at once, though he’s never been privy to one in person before.

At his back, you reach the bed and promptly collapse onto your rear at the edge of the mattress, dropping your crutch to the floor and listening to it land with a sharp clatter of plastic.

“Ohhh,” you groan tiredly, leaning forwards to balance your elbows on your knees and drop your face into a palm, trying in vain to rub away the bags underneath your eyes with numbing fingertips.

Your whole body aches ferociously, all stemming from the sharp twinge of your ankle that lays protected behind a thick, white cast.

Six Weeks…

Day one has been hard enough. How are you supposed to make it to day forty-two? The question remains; is it uphill from here, or down?

Glancing over a shoulder, you restrain an impromptu smile before it can spread as you spot Monty creeping up to the fish tank on your desk, his head hunched low to peer through the glass at your little corydoras sifting eagerly through the substrate in search of hidden food.

“Hey, little guys,” the animatronic murmurs, his optics casting the water in a gentle, pinkish glow.

Fish are a novelty for him. He knows of them, of course, has seen images of them depicting many various shapes, sizes, and colours. He knows they can’t survive for long outside of water, and he knows they’re covered in scales.

But to see for himself how those scales flash under his scrutinous, crimson LEDs, to watch their barbels twitch as they playfully chase one another along the floor of the tank…

There’s a strange kinship there for the creatures who share the waterways with his real-life counterparts.

He likes them, he decides. He likes that you have them. It speaks to an apparent affinity for aquatically-inclined animals…

For several moments, you merely observe the gator from your bed, wondering why he’s stalling. At least, you assume he’s stalling.

“Monty,” you yawn, pretending not to notice how his purple shoulder struts jump in response to your voice, “What are you doing?”

The gator’s head twitches towards you briefly. “M’sayin’ hi to the fish,” he states simply.

Shooting him a deadpan glare, you retort, “You know what I mean. Why are you still here? You need to get back to the Plex before you’re missed.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna miss me,” he shrugs, “Sides, I’ve still got a couple’a hours of juice left in the tank. Don’t worry.”

“But I am worried, Monty,” you squeeze out - and oh, there’s that pinch of tenderness to soften the hard, brutal metal hidden under his casing – “If I wasn’t worried about getting caught, I’d haul you back to the Plex myself… How did you get here unseen anyway?”

“Came over the rooftops,” he replies proudly, cocking his head at a fish that approaches the glass, lured by the glow of his optics.

“The rooftops!?” you sputter, “How on Earth did you get up there!?”

Flashing a cheshire grin, the gator gives the casing on his thigh two hearty slaps. “Got the best pneumatic cylinders in the business. These things’ll carry me distances you wouldn’t believe. Sometimes I use ‘em to get from one side of the catwalks to the other. This is the first time I’ve seen what they can really do.”

Collapsing backwards on top of the covers, you splay your arms out on either side of you, letting a long, appreciative whistle pass your lips. “You jumped…. All the way here?” you realise aloud.

“Beats walkin’.”

“… And you’re going to jump all the way back?”

“Can’t exactly take a cab, can I?”

You don’t respond for a long while… So long that he turns himself all the way around and rises to his feet, half expecting to find you fast asleep on the bed.

Your eyes are closed, and you’ve gone very still. Your chest rises and falls with even, steady breaths, though your legs are still dangling over the side of the mattress, toes brushing against the carpet.

Monty frowns. A hum of machinery gives him away, not so silent as he paces around the bed towards you and lowers himself down onto one knee, reaching for your legs with the intention to lift them up to the bed so you can lay flat.

His first-aid protocols are nowhere near as advanced as Freddy’s, but he’s skimmed enough medical files in the last twelve hours to know that you should keep your damaged leg elevated.

With gradual movements, the animatronic’s fingers flex and stretch for your cast. However, his purple claws barely make it within a foot of your appendage when your body goes absolutely rigid, as though you’ve turned to stone right there on the mattress.

At once, Monty stops, glancing up to see one of your eyelids crack open and swivel over to peer at him, blinking slowly in the glow cast by his optics. “What’re you doing?” you ask guardedly. Something in your voice quivers. He catches it right away.

“I… just – I was gonna put your legs on the bed,” he explains.

The clock on your bedside table ticks quietly ever onwards, and it’s only when you remember to exhale that he considers your expression for another moment and finally ducks his head, asking, “… Can I touch you?”

Stuffing your teeth into your bottom lip, you clutch a fistful of the duvet beneath you and slowly shake your head from side to side. “Not… Not yet… I’m not…”

You falter, swallowing a painful lump that sticks in your throat like guilt. Monty didn’t do anything, after all.

But for an animatronic, his response comes far too softly.

“Okay,” he nods, pulling his hands away and returning them to his lap.

And that’s… all he does for a long time.

Sniffing, you lower your gaze, tugging yourself backwards using the duvet as leverage until you can haul your heavy cast over the side and stretch your legs out towards the foot of the bed, sighing in relief.

"Better put a pillow under there," Monty pipes up, jutting his chin towards the fluffy, white cushions spread out behind you.

Clicking your tongue, you stretch behind yourself and snag the first pillow your fingers grasp, hauling it over your head and tossing it haphazardly near your leg. After taking a moment to brace yourself, you lean back on your elbows and bite your tongue to keep down a cry as you lift the leg up and onto the pillow.

Through it all, Monty says nothing further. He does stare at you though…

You’ve noticed he’s being doing that a lot lately. What was it Mick said?

‘It’s no secret that it’s taken a real liking to you.’

You don’t want to think about Mick.

Finally, when the gator’s staring starts to grow a little too… intimate, you swallow thickly and peel your lips apart to mumble, “Monty, why don’t you want to go back to the Plex?”

He perks up at his name but loses his enthusiasm as he registers the question.

“I’ll go back soon,” he grumbles.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Monty’s vents hiss as he simulates a pensive sigh - like yours - and begins folding his legs up underneath himself, his plates sliding over each other as he settles himself down onto his rear, arms draping loosely over his knees. He knows.

“Six weeks…” he mutters, cautiously lowering his long chin until it brushes the duvet cover beside you. When you don’t protest or move away, he gives his head a little more rein to droop, and the framework in his neck no longer strains to keep it aloft.

Confusion lays its mark bare across your face. “What?”

Six weeks,” he repeats, “That’s how long you’re gonna be gone for. That’s a long time to…” Static clings to his voice-box, stifling his words. With a grimace, Monty thumps a fist twice over his chest until something clicks audibly into place. Then, forcing a laugh, he falteringly adds, “S’a… long time for a bot to go without having his room cleaned, yeah?”

“You could always let the S.T.A.F.F bots help you,” you point out.

“Nah, they wouldn’t do it right.”

A weary smirk toys with the edge of your mouth as you reply, “Well, have you considered – and this might be a bit outlandish, but bear with me here – have you considered just… cleaning it yourself?”

“Course I have,” he retorts, “But… c’mon, it’d be more fun with you, wouldn’t it?”

He should have known when your smirk recedes to leave him looking at a flat, sombre line that you weren’t fooled for a moment.

“Monty… Is the truth really that embarrassing?” you pose.

‘Yes…’ he huffs wordlessly to himself, ‘It is.’

 “It’s all gonna go back to the way it was before,” he mumbles into the duvet.

“What is?”

“Everythin’,” he suddenly exclaims, wrenching his head back up, “It’ll go back to how it was before you came along. You’ll be gone for six weeks! What if I start gettin’ angry again? What if I forget about what you taught me, ‘bout accidents n’ stuff?” That thought brings on another that’s even more dreadful, and he curls his hands underneath his chest, leaning into them against the side of the bed. “What if you forget about me?”

You blink at him, bewildered, studying the jarringly human behaviour he’s exhibiting, and wondering, not for the first time, if it says something about you that you see humanity in so much of what these animatronics do.

“Hey,” you offer, giving him a sympathetic smile when he slides his nose further along the duvet until it almost touches your arm. Almost. “You might be overthinking things, Monty. I’m pretty sure I could never forget you.” You laugh at that, causing him to blow a whuff of air against your forearm. “And besides,” you add, “Six weeks is… like, nothing, okay? It’ll go by faster than you think.”

Far from convinced, the gator only grumbles unintelligibly into the duvet and casts his optics to the other side of the room. The bed underneath you rumbles as the rich bass growls out of his speakers.

“Listen...” you sigh, flopping your head down onto the pillow to blink up at the ceiling overhead, “When I was younger, one of my best friends moved halfway across the world with her family.”

Immediately, the gator’s jaw clenches at the mention of your ‘best friend’ before he catches the action and berates himself for behaving like a toddler being asked to share their favourite toy.

“We haven’t seen each other for… Oh boy, ten years, maybe? I still call her sometimes… Probably not as often as I should... And you know what?”

“…What?”

You roll your head over to peer at the animatronic beside you, finding his focus has returned to your face.

Pulling your mouth into a sleepy smile, you let out a hum before murmuring, “Every time I ring, she’s always so pleased to hear from me. I bet if she were to walk through my door right now, it would be like no time had passed at all.”

Monty’s optic shutters click open and shut. “How come?” he prompts quietly.

“Well, do you think I love her any less now because I haven’t seen her for ten years?” you reply, “Friends can’t be together all the time, you know. Even if they might want to be. Life gets in the way. Families, jobs, fatigue, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still friends. So, you don’t need to worry about not seeing me for a few weeks, okay?”

You can’t help but find this conversation very reminiscent to a similar one you had to have with Sunny after he learned you were leaving for a week of summer vacation.

“I ain’t worried,” Monty lies through his teeth, “Just wonderin’ how you’re gonna have any fun without me around.”

“Fun was not the doctor’s recommended treatment,” you yawn, letting your eyes slip shut and keeping them closed, bogged down by a cumbersome weight that’s been heaped upon your shoulders. A myriad of hurried little thoughts swirl around inside your head, too numerous to pin any single one down. Mick’s arrival and subsequent behaviour, whether you’re trying to read too much into what might have been nothing more than a friendly gesture, Monty’s escape from the Plex and the sudden responsibility you have for an animatronic you’ve barely known a week…

You just need to sleep.

‘It’ll all make sense in the morning,’ you try to tell yourself…

You’d make a shit salesperson.

For some time, the quiet gurgling of your tank's filter provides a soothing backdrop to the silence cast between you and the animatronic.

“Can I stay here?” Monty’s question breaks through the fog of flitting thoughts, his volume barely a digit away from being entirely mute, “With you? Just for a lil’ while?”

Prying your eyelids apart to blink tiredly at the gator, you let your chest fill with a slow, heavy breath, blowing it all out again through your nose.

“… Just this once,” you whisper back.

The gator’s optics brighten, then flit towards the movement of your hand on the bed.

You’ve raised your forearm, inching the appendage closer to Monty’s snout. Fingers worn dry and abrasive from chemicals and labour touch down on top of the animatronic’s nose, followed by your palm, spreading a pleasant flood of warmth down through his teeth and onto his tongue.

In response, some of Monty’s systems backfire, kicking errors codes to his HUD that tell him he’s overheating, and should release excess coolant to the affected areas. He ignores the alerts. He ignores everything. Everything that isn’t your hand is left by the wayside, forgotten in favour of soaking up a touch that he knows would never cause hurt.

Letting his optics click shut, the gator draws his silicone lips up into a lax, lazy smile.

The muffled ‘thumps’ of a heavy tail fall and rise from the carpet over and over, and Monty’s frame seems to purr as he relaxes his massive head onto your mattress, contented and committed to this spot until his battery hits zero and his limbs rust from underuse.

He knows he has to leave, but for now, just pretending… It’s the happiest he’s been in…

It’s the happiest he’s been.

“Just this once.��

[toad-games]

@wayhavenots I’m so glad you asked, you will regret asking but I’m still glad you did.

Completely self indulgent AU In which Meredith Barker becomes a reluctant investigative journalist.

Teddy isn’t exactly a reporter. She didn’t go to school for journalism, she has an English degree, specializing in poetry. But she lost her job before the fic starts, and is just kind of wallowing when Bobby calls her up.

She doesn’t live in Wayhaven anymore at this point, and she and Bobby haven’t been in any significant kind of contact since they broke up almost two years ago. But he heard through the grape vine she needs a job, and what do you know, he needs writers.

He convinced the Wayhaven paper to start an online edition, and it is floundering. He can’t keep reporting nothing but high school sporting events and obituaries he will go insane. They need more content. Flavor stuff. He knows Teddy is a good writer, she could be really good for the paper, and also the online edition is all his idea and it can’t flop.

So he gets her the job and Teddy has to move back to Wayhaven. Which she hates the idea of, but she also kind of has to cuz her lease is about up and she can’t seem to get a job anywhere else.

Anyway, she moves in, and what do you know, another single girl is moving into the same apartment building on the same day. Teddy meet your new neighbor Janet Greenland!

Flash forward a few months,

Teddy is working for the paper. she’s very set into her routine. She has a dog. One could almost say she’s happy. But then, she notices her neighbor Janet hasn’t been home for a few days. Or at least, Teddy doesn’t think so. It’s not like they’re friends. Teddy doesn’t have friends. She has a dog. And also Bobby. She likes him significantly less than the dog. But as the days go by and still no sign of Janet she’s getting uneasy. she tries to report Janet missing but gets brushed off.

Also, a handsome stranger has been frequenting Hayley’s in the mornings, the same time as her, and he’s charming and friendly and she can actually talk to him without feeling like an idiot after. And she keeps running into him around town it’s like magic or it’s meant to be or something. (Or potentially planned out because sorry Teddy you do still have that super special blood that a murderous vampire does crave so very much)

So, we have a couple of plots kind of running parallel to each other.

1. Small town hallmark movie romance with Nate

2. Which is actually a bodyguard romance but Teddy doesn’t know that

3. Which is causing Nate some significant Stress. Because he wasn’t supposed to get this close to Teddy. Just be friendly. Not go on dates to greenhouses and walk her dog for her.

4. Attempting to solve a string of disappearances around town with your ex who you had a truly terrible romantic relationship with, but are beginning to have a surprisingly successful crime solving relationship with.

But what’s gonna happen!! Teddy is gonna find out the truth eventually, and then she’s gonna have to keep it from Bobby and the paper and also was Nate just being friendly because it was his job to protect her and also HER MOM ASSIGNED HIM THAT JOB so by all rights Teddy should hate him! But she can’t, because he’s Nate. And also because Monty, her dog, adores him. What’s a girl to do.

I don’t know but hopefully we will find out

[slippinmickeys]

L’appel du Vide

Nude bra and panty set, rough terry robe, her trotters shoved hastily into stiff penny loafers with the leather heel folded down, probably on the wrong feet. Adrenaline still thrumming, the bites on her back starting to itch. And he’s standing there lit by candle flame, his eyes like bryophyte on oak bark. 

What if she lets him kiss her? It’s the split second thought of jumping off the cliff, of turning into traffic—l'appel du vide—she could just lean forward and sweep her tongue across the pillow of those lips. He’d have her on her back in thirty seconds, those long sweeping fingers three knuckles deep, she knows this intrinsically, can smell it on him like he could smell the crazy off Monty Props. 

Gross misconduct, a career in tatters, but the urge is so compelling she has to squeeze her fingernails into her palm until the pain distracts her. 

“Scully?” he says, bending his knees to get a look at her eyes. His face is open, gentle. He’d be a generous lover, irritatingly eager to please. Probably masochistic. 

“Sorry,” she says, stepping away slightly, averting her gaze from his. She spots the Georgetown hat he wore on his run, a powdery white ring of dried sweat an inch up the canvas like a high water mark.

“Listen, I’d be freaked out too,” he says, and she’s finding his compassion off-putting. She doesn’t want him to think she can’t handle this. She remembers the few cadets at Quantico that tried to help her over the obstacle course wall. It rankles.

“Where’d you get the candle?” she asks, looking for a distraction. A Pottery Barn pillar in a roadside flophouse—where did he get the damn thing?

“Over there,” he gestures vaguely to an end table. “Scully, are you okay?” 

He rests a heavy hand on her shoulder, squeezes. 

One more mental flash of her sitting astride him, pinning him to the bed with her eyes. 

“Yeah,” she breathes, finally looking up. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

She lets him tell her about his sister. Follows him into the void. 

[justdrawlynn11]

Nex Log Entry: #196

Į’m şørřý

[a small crashing sound can be heard, along side the hectic sounds of someone pressing buttons]

“NONONO WORK- OPEN PLEASE- HOLD ON SUN- CMON OPEN OPEN OPEN-”

[The sound of panicked banging on glass can be heard. The sounds of an overly muffled fight are present, it wasn’t a verbal fight.] [The sound of Sun yelling is faint, his blood curling screaming as parts were thrown at the walls.. his parts]

“SUN JUST A LITTLE LONGER PLEASE! CMON CMON OPEN I BEG JUST OP-”

[Sun can no longer heard. A large, muffled thunk can be heard.]

“SUN!”

“NONONONONOŅǑÑŌŇØ- SUN NO- PLEASE NO!-”

[The sound of a door going up can be heard. Followed by a voice, Eclipse] “I got what I wanted.. Goodbye Nexus.”

“Ī’ŁĽ SĶĨŇ ŸØŲ ÅĻÎVĘ ŶŌŰ-”

[The sound of a teleportation spell occurred. Followed by a thud] “ȚĦĄŤ- oh no… oh nonono Sun- Sun please answer me! Anything- a word, a nod, ANYTHING PLEASE!-”

“Please no- please don’t go- please! P-please..! please.. I’m sorry!”

[His voice was shaken and breaking]

“I can- I can fix it I- I-”

[A set of doors can heard being opened and closed] “Nexus..? I saw you in a rush to get down here and I wanted to check.. what happened- w-WHAT HAPPENED?!?”

“EARTH- Call Solar, or Moon, or Monty I DON’T CARE JUST PLEASE CALL FOR HELP… he’s not- not responding please no no no-”

“S-Sun? Wh- Nexus what- is he going to be-?”

“I don’t know Earth! Just please call for- for some help!”

“I-I- I’ll go call for someone-!”

[The doors open and close again, Earth hurriedly rushing as the sound of phone ringing can be heard fading as the doors close]

“I-I’ll see what I can do until they get here-”

[The sound of slight metal movement can be heard]

“oh no… nononononøňōñœ…”

[The sound of something being laid to the floor is heard, followed by shuffled movements]

“There’s nothing left… he’s gone… he isn’t- there isn’t anything we could- he’s really just… but he can’t be…. I don’t know wh.. what I’ll do if… I… Í…”

[Nexus can be heard chocking on his words, crying can be heard in the direction of his voice..]

“Į’m şørřý… Ī’m šö.. şǒ śōřrÿ Șůň… Ǐ łővė ŷøų śö mūçħ bûbå… ı’m śørřŷ î’m şǒřry ĩ’m…”

[quiet sobbing can be heard from Nexus’s direction.. he can’t speak right now]

[5-10 minutes pass. Nexus’s crying and heavy sobs become quieter] [The sound of set of doors swings open is heard again, along with the sound of hurried running]

“Monty’s on his way. What happened where’s Su-”

[The steps take a pause, then quickly pause back up again]

“SUN!”

[Hurried movements can be heard]

“Oh nononø- we- I can fix it I just need to-”

[The sound of slight metal movement can be heard again]

“There’s no use… Eclipse ripped it all out…”

“…”

“Ŵħąť?”

“I SAID THERES NO USE BECAUSE ĘĆĽĪPȘË ŘĪPPĖÐ IT ALL OUT! SUN IS ĠØÑĘ THERE’S NOTHING EVEN LEFT… nothing at all…”

“Nonono.. Sun… Şūň….”

“Į’m ğøǐňġ țõ šħřëåď Ẽçłīpśė āpâřț ļîmb bÿ ľǐmb føř ďöiňğ tħış.”

[The sound of crying can be heard from the direction of Moon’s voice. His sobs growing heavier with each and every deep breath.] “sun…”

[End of recording]

[moonyswritinq]

I can’t wait to read your fics! Your writing is awesomeeee!

Can we know whatchu got in the inbox already plsssss?

(Btw I just discovered your blog but it’s so cooooool!)

😍

* REQUESTS ARE OPEN ! *

thank you so much! it really means a lot to me to hear that <3

and for sure, I'll tell you what I got, in no particular order. I've written what the ship is, the form it's going to be written in—if it's decided (which can be subject to change if you have opinions on it)—, context to it and its status if it's started. I also added some projects that I haven't had requested but are working on, just in case you are curious about that (because I realised I had not updated about them for about a year, so sorry).

MASTERLIST, TAG LIST, REQUEST RULES

Dead Boy Detectives

Charles Rowland:

Charles x gn reader, headcanons and oneshot — based on the song 'So American' by Olivia Rodrigo : finished

Charles x gn reader, headcanons and oneshot — reader is short and alive

Charles x male reader, oneshot — Charles pines for reader and doesn't know how to confess his feelings

Charles x gn reader, headcanons — just cute headcanons : finished

Charles x gn reader, headcanons and oneshot — established relationship, alive reader who is psychic/has powers

Charles x male reader, headcanons and oneshot — Charles with an s/o who is European (prob Italian)

Charles x alive! gn reader, oneshot — how Charles would react to Crystal and Niko's roomate (reader) getting hurt on a case

Charles x alive! gn reader, oneshot — Charles is worried the reader will get hurt if they help on cases, so in retaliation they stubbornly put on loads of iron jewelry to keep him from stopping them

Edwin Payne/Paine:

Platonic Edwin x sibling! gn reader, oneshot — reader has been wandering the earth as a ghost in search of their brother, and accidentally run across him in a small town in America : finished

Platonic Edwin x gn reader, headcanons and oneshot — reader is a witch and Edwin does not trust them in the beginning, but they end up with a sibling relationship

Edwin x psychic! alive male reader, headcanons and oneshot — reader is the opposite of his partner Edwin; energetic, outgoing, impulsive, and often gives him ghost heart attacks trying to prevent him from dying

Monty the Crow:

Monty x gn reader, prob oneshot — non-native reader (prob French) that struggles with english and Monty thinks it's cute/reassures them

Monty x male reader, headcanons and oneshot — vampire gothic reader who shows affection in strange ways and loves to listen to Monty talk

Monty x gn (maybe male) reader, oneshot — painting Monty's nails black in a tender and intimate scene

Monty x ghost!gn reader, oneshot or headcanons — Monty goes after the wrong ghost

Monty x male (or genderfluid) reader, oneshot or headcanons — Monty has a crush on reader but feels guilty because of Esther's plan

Thomas the Cat King:

Thomas x male reader, oneshot — enemies to lovers where reader is NOT a cat person : finished

Thomas x ftm reader, prob oneshot — a fallen angel reader who got hurt and gets reassurance and help from The Cat King

Thomas x male reader, prob headcanons — reader is stoic and ace, yet not sex-repulsed, but The Cat King has to work differently to gain his affections than through his sexuality

Thomas x gn reader (or x Edwin), oneshot — a poor soul narrowly avoided Esther's capture and takes refuge in The Cat King's palace

Thomas x male reader, oneshot or headcannons — enemies to lovers with the Cat King and the Dog King (reader)

Thomas x mage!gn reader, oneshot — the reader is Edwin's descendant and helps out on cases, always thinking about the two ghosts and never about themselves. The Cat King notices this and helps them unearth some repressed desires

Painland/Payneland:

Charles x Edwin, prob oneshot — friends to lovers in a non-modern AU where they didn't die

Charles x Edwin, oneshot — Charles realises his feelings earlier and says he loves Edwin back in that scene

Edwin / The Cat King:

Edwin x Thomas, oneshot — Edwin finds himself paying a lot of attention to cats in London, though he hasn't figured out why, which is something The Cat King notices and decides to send him a little something to remind Edwin of him

Edwin x Thomas, oneshot — the rest of the Detective Agency find out about Edwin's relationship with The Cat King and chaos ensues

Miscellaneous:

Dead Boy Detectives x male reader, oneshot — reader has powers and works with the detectives on a case

Poly Edwin x Charles x gn reader, headcanons and oneshot — established relationship with fluffy moments between the three : may not be written (don't love poly but we'll see)

Dead Boy Detectives x supernatural!male reader, headcanons — the boys get a crush on the feminine presenting supernatural being and then finds it out he's a man

Platonic! Edwin x gn reader x Thomas, oneshot — part two of Runs in the Family, The Cat King finds out Edwin has a sibling and shifts his attention : may not be written (there will be NO incest)

Lord of the Rings

Legolas Greenleaf:

Legolas x male reader, oneshot — reader and Legolas drink way too much at a pub, ignoring any onlookers and opting to share a dance together : not requested

The Marauders

Regulus Black:

Regulus x ftm reader, oneshot — fluffy scene, maybe dysphoria comfort

Regulus x male reader, oneshot/series — academic rivals to lovers that resolves with a lot of tension at a Slytherin party : not requested, almost finished

The Maze Runner

Newt:

Newt x male reader, prob oneshot — Newt is very protective of reader, could be in the Glade or in the Scorch Trials or in the Last City

Newt x ftm reader, headcanons and oneshot — best friends to lovers and everyone in the Glade knows about them

The Umbrella Academy

Male Original Character, series — with a charismatic & overdramatic who flirts with everyone, multiple ships : not requested, but a long work in progress

Outer Banks

JJ Maybank:

JJ x male reader, oneshot — reader is a surfer and manages to impress JJ enough to get invited to a party, where they play truth or dare and silly things happen : not requested

Sherlock

Sherlock Holmes:

Sherlock x male reader (or oc), oneshot — reader is a genius, autistic, and a cat person, and help Sherlock with one of his cases, thus earning his attention immediately : working on

Star Wars

Obi-Wan Kenobi:

Obi-Wan x male reader, oneshot — part two of Caught in the Moment, which would be the aftermath of them finding out about Obi-Wan and the reader's relationship during a joint training session

Stranger Things

Eddie Munson:

Eddie x gn reader, headcanons and oneshot — shy reader who needs to let loose, Eddie takes it upon himself to show them a good time and they really come out of their shell

Eddie x male reader, oneshot — reader stumbles onto Eddie's magasins which are bookmarked with people that look suspiciously like reader, so gay confession ensues : may not be written (original request too lewd so I changed but don't know if I'm inspired enough to write it)

hope this helps if you want to request something or just to see what's to come in the near future :) you guys have really put me to the test and to work and I appreciate it more than you can believe. if you cannot see a request you've made her then I will not write it, sorry (prob bc it went against my rules or was too sexual).

if you want to encourage me to write faster/more a good way is to read, like, reblog, and comment what I have already written. I loooove feedback and encouragement

[suugarbabe]

[Chapter 5]

word count: 4.3k

warning: smut, fingering 18+ content MDNI

an: Theo is not mentioned in this chapter and I’m so very sorry but chapter 6 is very Theo heavy so I hope that makes up for it 🫶🏻

You and Enzo had made a routine of apparating to the club together. You had been doing this for about a week before the incident with Monti, but ever since that night Enzo was very firm that you arrive together. The first few days after it happened, he carried a lot of guilt with him for letting you go to the alley by yourself. It took heavy convincing, but you were pretty sure that you were able to convey how much it wasn’t his fault, and that you were glad he was there to help protect you.

Since that night, Mattheo had barely been around the manor. You could count on one hand the amount of times you actually saw him at the manor over the last two and a half weeks. It was more like you heard him more often than you saw him, and most of the time he was yelling. All of the other boys were being yelled at regularly, but Draco seemed to be taking the brunt of it. You weren’t sure if it was because they were family, but it made you feel kind of bad for him.

It really made you upset not seeing Mattheo that long, not really interacting with him. Maybe upset was not the right word, but if you thought too long about it you felt queasy. There was something about the dynamic between you and Mattheo that made you feel one of two ways, either incredibly, seething, fire burning, hell raging mad - or - light headed and butterfly stomach and warm and yearning and pining and wanting so much of him you thought you might physically implode.

You were thinking about all these things as you were doing mindless work getting the bar ready for the night when Pansy walked into the room, mouth running a hundred miles a minute as you heard her pleading with whoever was on the other end of the cell phone pressed to her ear. When her conversation finally ceased, Pansy set the phone down on the table in front of her. Her head was hung low, like she was trying to recenter herself. You looked over at Enzo, who simply shrugged his shoulders.

In the next moment Pansy was screaming with rage as she pointed her want towards the stage nearest her, deep red exiting her wand and the stage effectively exploding in front of all of your eyes. Your mouth was agape, not expecting to ever see this side of Pansy. Enzo only shook his head in annoyance, taking out his own wand and giving it a swift flick, causing the once exploded stage pieces to slowly float back to their original position until it was like Pansy didn’t have an outburst whatsoever.

“What’s the problem, Pans?” Enzo broke the silence, clearly having dealt with this side of Pansy plenty of times before. Pansy let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “One of the main stage dancers is not coming in tonight and I have no one to replace her. You know how particular Mattheo is, he’s going to have a fucking aneurysm over this. Roxy is good, but she can’t do the whole stage by herself.” Pansy leaned her head back, closing her eyes and letting out a few more expletives.

Enzo couldn’t contain his amused smirk, “This is why I’m glad I don’t have your position, Pansy. It is far more easy being me than it is being you.” You scoffed, quickly quipping back, “Yeah until you’re basically dying and whining like a toddler when someone is trying to save your life.” Enzo gasped at you, fake hurt in his eyes. But the interaction managed to put a smile on Pansy’s face, if only for a brief moment. “Really, you guys, I’m not sure what I’m gonna do, I really don’t want to deal with an angry Mattheo tonight.”

You gnawed at your bottom lip, wondering if what you were about to say would be helpful or just start another argument. You really wanted it to be helpful, you wanted to show everyone how valuable you could be in a crisis, prove yourself of sorts. Especially after the last time you were given a task you basically caused them to all have to show their darkest sides of themselves in order to save you. You glanced over at Enzo, knowing that immediately after you spoke your thoughts he would protest.

Enzo’s eyes widened before you could even speak, shaking his head as if he already read your mind; which in fairness was highly possible. Regardless, you turned back towards Pansy, the words flowing from your mouth before Enzo could protest for real, “I could do it.” Pansy’s head snapped up at your words, you quickly reasoning as to why it was a good idea, “I wanted to be a dancer when I first came to the club anyway, I know I can do it. Not to mention I watch the stage every bloody night, I could probably do Roxy’s routine in my sleep. And Roxy and I already have a good relationship so there would be like…chemistry or whatever.”

Once again you managed to make Pansy smile. “That’s brilliant!” She exclaimed at the same time that Enzo barked out, “Like bloody fucking hell you are.” Both you and Pansy turned to Enzo glaring. “Okay, remind me to never be in the same room as the both of you when you’re upset, because this is fucking scary,” he took a step back from both of you, “but I’m serious, Angel, no way. Mattheo would fucking kill you if you went up on that stage.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you head went along with it, “Oh, please Enz, Mattheo would never hurt me, let alone kill me.” Enzo scoffed, “Right right, I forget, you guys have that special relationship.” He emphasized the last two words with air quotes. You narrowed your eyes up at the sandy haired boy, “What are you insinuating?” Enzo doubled down, not breaking eye contact with you, “I’m saying that your relationship is different with Mattheo than any of us. He lets you get away with a hell of a lot more than any other person in this family.”

“Oh, bullocks,” you spat back at him. You were irritated beyond belief, Enzo never spoke to you this way. “Fine,” Enzo held his hands up in surrender, “how bout you just go tell him about your little plan then, hmm? I know he’s here.” You looked over at Pansy who just shrugged her shoulders. Turning back to Enzo you crossed your arms stubbornly, “Fine, I’ll go ask him.” Enzo huffed, “Well fine!” You shouldered past him, “Fine!” He called back at you again, “Fine!” For good measure you threw one more over your shoulder, “Fine!” Pansy covered her face with her hands, shaking her head, “You guys are worse than having bloody children, I swear it.”

You walked with determination back towards Mattheo’s office. With each step the air felt like it was getting thicker, but you urged yourself to keep moving, to prove to Enzo (and everyone else) that while you now worked for Mattheo it didn’t mean that he controlled you. With a flick of your wand his office door swung open to reveal an irritated Malfoy and Mattheo with a satisfied smirk on his face that was less than comforting.

“Can we help you?” Draco sneered, clearly annoyed by the boldness of your intrusion. You stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed. You gave Draco an irritated look before turning to Mattheo, “Pansy said one of the main stage dancers isn’t showing up today, so I’m going to replace her. I know the routine and have a good rapport with Roxy so-”

“No.” Mattheo cut you off with a firm statement. You huffed in annoyance, “Yeah that’s not really an option here, boss, if we don’t find someone to go up there then the club will lose money and I know that you don’t really like that and it’s bad for bus-”

“I said no,” Mattheo’s voice boomed again, “I’ve told you before, Birdie, you are not a dancer. You are a bartender. You are not going to be a dancer, will never be a dancer, under any circumstance. Is that clear?” You glared at him, holding his gaze as your lips formed a thin line. You opened your mouth to protest again but Mattheo flicked his wand, mumbling a quick depulso and pushing you back through the doorway before slamming it shut.

You’re a right git, Mattheo, you said to him. No means no, Princess. Don’t play with fucking fire, Mattheo thought back. You stood outside the office trying to weigh out your options. You were about to lean towards just giving up, when you heard Draco’s voice, “C’mon, what’s the harm, really. It’s just one night, and you know she’s right fit, she’d bring in so much money. She’s right about us losing out with just Roxy up there.” You smiled at a bit at Draco actually being on your side, maybe he wasn’t such a tosser after all.

“Absolutely fucking not, she’s not doing it. I swear to fucking Salazar if she goes on that bloody stage it’s your head, Cousin.” You didn’t have to see his face to know Mattheo was seething and poor Malfoy was on the receiving end of it. The fiery anger in his tone only fueled your own further.How dare he think he can decide what you can and cannot do? You didn’t care if he was the owner of the club, he had no right to tell you what decisions you could make. You were tired of him acting like he owned you.

With a deep breath you walked away from the office door, heart pounding as you made your way back to the bar. You felt like your heart beat was in your head with every step you took, the bass of the music in the club not helping ease this. When you got back behind the bar you closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to try and center yourself. In the time you were in Mattheo’s office a large amount of clientele had appeared, the current dancers working hard to milk them for all their money as Enzo bounced back and forth behind the bar.

As you got to the bar you turned around toward the booze, grabbing the most expensive tequila the club had as you slammed four shots down in front of you.“Y’alright, Angel?” Enzo’s eyes grew wide as you picked up one glass at a time and quickly threw them each back, the alcohol burning your throat in the most calming way. Picking up the last shot Enzo’s large hand enveloped your wrist, “Slow the fuck down, what are you doing? Trying to blackout on the job?”

Your eyes pierced his, a storm of determination brewing behind your pupils, “Enzo, let go of my wrist or I’ll hex your fucking cock off.” He shook his head, stubbornness higher than ever, “No way, Mattheo will have my throat if I let you get fucking sloshed.” You groaned in frustration, rolling your eyes and stomping your foot on the ground like a toddler having a tantrum.

“Why does everyone act like Mattheo is my fucking keeper?” You leaned your head toward the shot, tipping it in to your mouth while Enzo still gripped your wrist. He rolled his eyes at your actions, finally letting go, “Why’re you doing this, Angel? Was I right about the meeting with the good ol’ boss?” You looked toward the stage as the dancer finished up her routine, crawling on her knees and swaying her hips as she picked up the large bills from the stage floor and stuffing them into her bikini top and barely there bottoms.

Enzo followed your gaze, laughing nervously, “Oh no fucking way, hell no. You’re not…no, Angel.” You turned to face him again, pulling off your tank top to reveal your rhinestone bikini top, “Who’s gonna stop me?” You shoved your tank top into Enzo’s chest, walking toward Blaise at the Dj booth to tell him what song you wanted and what stage name to announce. Enzo glanced around the club nervously, praying to Merlin that Mattheo wouldn’t notice, or that at least whatever stage name or song you played didn’t alert him to your little rendezvous.

Enzo stared at you as you walked towards the dancers changing rooms, trying to get you to change your mind, He’s gonna have your ass if you go through with this Angel, you know that don’t you? Entering where the rest of the dancers were you just shook your head, answering Enzo, Let him! You quickly found Roxy, walking up to her and telling her your plan. She gave you a questioning look, but after assuring her that Mattheo would only be upset with you and not her, she helped you get ready, hair, makeup, the works before going towards the main stage entrance.

As Mattheo left his office to find Pansy and talk solutions, Blaise began introducing the next entertainers to come on. Being none the wiser to your plan, he did everything you asked. Flicking a few switches on his sound board the main stage began to illuminate, catching the attention from most of the patrons and earning some whoops and hollers from those that were excited for the main event.

Blaise held his wand to his throat in the booth, doing his introductions, “Please welcome to the main stage your favorite girl R-R-R-R-Rooooxxxxyy,” he drawled out. “And accompanying her tonight is someone new to the stage,” at this Mattheo stopped dead in his tracks. He looked over towards the bar only to find Enzo looking towards the ceiling and avoiding his eye contact. He looked across the club at Pansy, who was holding her hands up in surrender. Blaise’s voice continued, “Let’s give a very warm and wallet generous welcome to…” Blaise paused for dramatic effect, lowering the lights around the stage and putting a small spotlight at where you were about to walk out, “Cherrí.”

The amount of whistles and cheers that occurred when you stepped out into the light was almost deafening. You tried to give your most sultry smirk as you walked toward the pole opposite Roxy. You grabbed hold of the cool steel as you began walking in a slow circle, Blaise putting on the song you requested; Cherry Pie.

You grabbed hold as high at your height would allow as the lyrics began, following Roxy’s typical routine and pulling the bottom half of your body up the pole, hooking your knee around the bar and leaning backwards as it spun, now hanging upside down while you grabbed the pole above you

She's my cherry pie

Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise

Tastes so good, makes a grown man cry

Sweet cherry pie, yeah

Maneuvering your body around the pole proved to be a lot easier than you anticipated. Following Roxy’s lead you would stay on the pole while she walked and danced around the stage, shedding a layer of clothing here and there and crawling seductively towards the bills that were being thrown on stage. When she walked back toward the other pole, you took a deep breath, knowing it was your turn to do what she called crowd work. You took one last spin on the pole, the whistles from the men directly in front of you fueling your adrenaline along with the song you chose.

Swingin' to the drums

Swingin' to guitar

Swingin' with the bass

In the back of my car

Ain't got money

And I got no gas

But we'll get where we're goin'

If we swing real fast

I scream, you scream

We all scream for her

Well, don't even try 'cause

You can't ignore her

You slowly slid the skirt you wore down your thighs, the man in front of you’s eyes roaming your body like you were his last meal. You shimmied your hips, pulling your skirt down teasingly slow and bending over in front of the men to give them a full view of your arse. Bills flew to the stage as you finally stepped out of your skirt, sinking to your knees and spreading them wide to sit back on your heels. You let your hands roam up your body, over your breasts causing the hanging rhinestones to shake and glimmer in the light, then dragged your hands up and into your hair, throwing your head back as you bounced slightly on your knees.

Crawling on your hands and knees across the stage you were sure to arch your back, swinging your hair back and forth in time with the song, throwing winks at men that looked like they wanted to tear you apart like an animal but instead threw money on the stage. Walking back over to you, Roxy held out her hand, helping you up slowly so your body’s slowly dragged against each other as you stood up, giving the whole audience a show.

The song ended and Blaise turned on an interlude as you and Roxy maneuvered around the stage to grab the bills that were left. As you were picking up some bills while still trying to look sexy and sultry on your hands and knees a man held out a large bill in front of your face. You reached out your hand, but he quickly grabbed your wrist. You were about to protest or even hex whoever it was. But as soon as you saw the tattoos on the fingers that held you all your nerve endings tingled.

Slowly, you looked up. Taking in the sharp black suit jacket, crisp black dress shirt, all to go along with the onyx eyes that belong to Mattheo Riddle. To any average onlooker it would seem like there was a glint of playfulness in his eyes. But you’d seen that look before, many times during your lessons. If this look told you anything, it was that you were going to regret your last few decisions.

His voice was low when he spoke, you almost had to lean closer to even hear him as he grit his words through his teeth, “Office. Now.” It was a command and not one you were going to ignore. You sat on your bum, swinging your legs over the edge of the stage. Despite his rage Mattheo still assisted you. Grabbing your hips, albeit harshly, and lifting you off the stage and setting you down on your feet.

Once standing he gripped your wrist again, leading you to his office like a child about to be scolded. You looked toward the bar, Enzo meeting your gaze and miming locking his lips as if to assure you he didn’t tell the boss on you. Once in his office Mattheo released his hold on you, “Sit.” You walked toward the chair in front of his desk before his voice cut through the silence once more, “Not there. On the desk. Facing my chair.”

You gulped, trying your best to keep your face stoic despite the rising heartbeat in your chest. You walked slowly around his desk, slowly lifting and perching yourself atop. The wood was cool against your bare thighs, Mattheo not even giving you a chance to put more clothes on before dragging you through the club. So there you sat, clad in only your bikini top and thin panties. You tried your best to control your breathing as Mattheo came to stand in front of you.

He gripped each one of your thighs just above the knee, his touch setting your skin aflame. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hands splayed across your legs, squeezing the flesh as he spoke to you, “Are you proud of yourself?” You tore your eyes from his hands and looked up at him, confusion clearly written on your face. “Oh, don’t play innocent now, Princess. Not after that fantastic performance you gave,” he wore a shit eating grin as your face fell. Mattheo’s grip on your thighs tightened slightly as he spread your legs wide enough to step between them.

“I was just-” Mattheo gripped your throat, effectively silencing you before you could begin. “Ah, ah. It’s my turn to talk, you just get to sit there and listen.” A shiver ran up your spine as his hand that was still on your thigh slid up higher. “You really pissed me off just now, Birdie. Blatantly defying me after I told you no. I told you from the beginning, no dancing, and yet what did you fucking do?” He hung his head, letting out a light chuckle as his thumb kneaded the inside of your thigh, “Do you know why I won’t let you dance, Princess?”

You shook your head the best you could with the grip he had on you. His smirk grew in to a devilish grin as he leaned in close, whispering in your ear, “Because if you’re going to be a slut for anyone, it’s going to be me, and only me, do you understand, Princess?” You nodded, squirming on the desk at his words. Mattheo met your gaze, taking in your current state of desperation, “Do you like that, Princess? The idea that you only get to be the perfect little slut for me?” He slid his hand between your thighs, dragging two fingers along your folds over your panties. He smirked at the dark wet spot that was already forming, pressing his thumb lightly against your clit. You jolted at the contant, a pathetic whimper leaving your throat.

“All this for me, Princess? Or is some of this for all those men throwing dirty bills at you being a whore?” You groaned at the degrading words, shaking your head, “N-no, it’s all for you, Matty. I swear, just for you.” Mattheo growled at the nickname, eyes darting down quickly to your parted lips before meeting your gaze again, “Good, because it’s about time for everyone to know who you fucking belong to.” With the grip he had on your throat he finally brought your lips to his. The kiss was anything but gentle, lips harshly pressed against one another as his thumb started circling your clit again. You whimpered at the action, Mattheo taking the opportunity to allow his tongue to explore your mouth.

As his lips trailed lower, along your jaw and to your neck, his fingers gripped the top of your panties before tugging harshly and ripping the thin material off your body. You gasped and could feel Mattheo smirk against your skin. When he found a particular spot to suck and bite near your collarbone he ran his finger up your folds, coating them in your slick before circling two fingers over your clit. “Fuck…” you moaned out, trying your best to take in all the pleasure you were receiving.

Mattheo’s lips found yours again as he circled his fingers around your hole teasingly, swallowing the whimpers as they left your lips. Without warning he slipped a finger deep inside your cunt, your back arching and bringing your chest flush to his. “Fuck, Princess, you’re so fucking tight, don’t know how you’re ever gonna take my cock when you can barely take a finger,” Mattheo groaned against your lips. You mewled against him, hands gripping the edge of the desk like a vice, unsure if you were able to touch him or not, but too lost in the pleasure you were feeling to try.

He added a second finger, thumb finding purchase on your swollen clit, slowly finger fucking you on his desk. He broke his lips from yours to watch your cunt swallow his fingers over and over as he pumped them into you. “Fuck, Princess, you’re taking my fingers so well. Those other men would die to be in my position right now, but that’s not who you want, is it, pretty girl?” You shook your head vigorously, chest heaving. “Words, gorgeous, let me hear them. Let me hear what I’m doing to you.”

You tried to keep your eyes from rolling in the back of your head and answer him, “N-no, fucking hell-” Mattheo curled his two fingers now with every outward thrust, pushing against your g-spot in the most delicious way no one else every had. The blissful stretch created an overwhelming feeling of pleasure, “Don’t want them, j-just want you.”

You could feel the pressure building inside you, the waves of pleasure clouding your vision. He quickened his pace, his long fingers hitting places you have never been able to reach and sending jolts of electricity through your entire body. His thumb made tight circles over your clit and you clenched around his fingers. “I can feel you clenching around me, Princess. Come on, be a good girl and let go f’me.” It was like his permission was all your body was waiting for as you fell over the edge into your orgasm.

Your vision blurred as you let out a pornagraphic moan, Mattheo continuing to finger you through your high, your legs shaking with pleasure. As your breathing calmed Mattheo slowly slid his fingers from your cunt. He stuck out his tongue, bringing the glistening digits to his mouth before lewdly sucking them clean causing you to clench around nothing.

“I swear to Salazar I can’t wait to fucking devour that cunt of yours,” he grabbed hold of your thighs, gripping them tightly as he captured your lips in another searing kiss. You couldn’t help but moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue. Mattheo rested his forehead on yours, his own chest rising and falling along with yours to catch your breath. “Never forget that you’re mine, Princess.” He leaned back slightly, grabbing hold of your chin. His eyes held an intensity to them as they locked with yours, your breath hitching in your throat as he spoke three final words.

“I own you.”