#SORRY MONTY YOU CAN’T RUN | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imagine-darksiders · 9 months ago

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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

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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.’

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.”

#fnaf #five nights at freddys #fnaf sb #security breach #Montgomery Gator #On the ropes #Everyone is having a not okay time #Monty x reader #f!reader #fluff #angst #protectiveness #tw noncon

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suugarbabe · 1 year ago

Text

[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.”

#protego series #mafia!slytherin boys #mafia!blaise zabini #mafia!enzo berkshire #mafia!mattheo riddle #mafia!draco malfoy #mafia!pansy parkinson #mafia!theo nott

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moonyswritinq · 7 months ago

Note

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 CLOSED FOR NOW ! *

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 : just started

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/rivals to lovers where reader is more of a dog person so you know it's going to be lots of tension : just started

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 : just started

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

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slippinmickeys · 5 months ago

Text

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.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #pilot #drabble ish

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hypnoneghoul · 5 months ago

Text

Sundown: Chapter 8

WC: 800

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, Transfeminine Mountain, Angst, Crying, Nightmares, Comfort

There had always been something sitting in the back of his mind and waiting for the boy to fall asleep so it could strike.

Notes: Just a short little thing because exams are killing me but I don't want y'all to feel abandoned ahfhagsf

Playlist here. / Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 8 under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss has always had nightmares.

There had always been something sitting in the back of his mind and waiting for the boy to fall asleep so it could strike. The themes have changed over the years; from monsters under the bed to gruesome images of things he himself has done to people.

Sunshine, too.

Those were the worst.

They didn’t go away when he started sleeping with Mounty—albeit they became less frequent with her presence—but he never actually mentioned them and the girl didn’t pry. Every time he had shot up with a gasp and sweat slick skin in the middle of the night he had mumbled something about having to take a piss, tumbled out of bed and ran out of the room. Mounty wasn’t ever awake enough to will herself to follow him, but that’s not what the man wanted anyway, so—wanting to respect his space—she had always let him. She would go back to sleep and would not even know how long Swiss spends outside every single time, breathing heavily and holding back tears against Monty’s neck. The mare saw nearly as much as him and he wonders sometimes, if her mind is as plagued as his.

Still, every time he had come back—he’d never let Mounty wake up without him by her side again, if she’d let him.

Now that she knows everything, though, she doesn’t let him run.

He’s been in there so many times he knows that barn better than the back of his hand; he could count the wooden boards that make it with his eyes closed.

He’d rather not.

He knows what he’ll see, he knows he shouldn’t take the next step, and the next, but he can’t stop. He’s been told she’s there, waiting for him, so he must go.

He knows now it wasn’t true, but he can’t stop. His legs are moving on their own and he’s crying—he’s always crying—but he can not stop.

The pool of blood on the sand reflects the light breaking through a crack by the roof, just as her reddened skin. Her usual tan is barely visible; everything but her face is covered in red.

All Swiss sees is red, red, RED…

All Swiss sees is…just dark ember. Pretty dark ember, reflecting the moonlight filtering in from the carelessly shut curtains

“Swiss, breathe,” he hears, albeit muffled, as if coming from far, far away. “Breathe, darling, it’s alright. You’re here with me, it’s alright.”

Mounty.

His eyes focus on her face, but they don’t clear; the girl looks blurry through his tears. Swiss’ breath hitches and he tries to cough to cover up a sob. Pathetic attempt, really, but he still tries to act as if nothing is wrong.

“Oh, s–sorry,” he chokes out, his voice wobbly, “I–I gotta–”

“No, you don’t,” Mounty interrupts him; sternly, but calmly. It’s all it takes for the cowboy to give up all fight. He slumps over with his eyes squeezed shut, his face falling into his hands as he tries to breathe. It’s not working very well, it’s shaky and he’s getting dizzy. “Oh, darling…”

The girl puts a gentle hand on the back of Swiss’ neck and he wheezes painfully. “Okay, that’s enough. C’mere, darling. And breathe. That’s it.”

The man is all but a ragdoll when Mounty grabs and maneuvers him to lay against her bare chest. He’s tense and limp at the same time, with his mind so, so far away. The barmaid hopes he’s not registering the pained look of worry on her own face; she truly hates seeing him like this.

The dam breaks the moment the strong beat of Mounty’s heart sounds against Swiss’ ear. He curls in on himself, tightens his arms around the barmaid and begins to fully sob, his tears spilling down his face and onto Mounty’s skin, making it glisten in the moonlight, too.

It’s beautiful, actually.

“I know, darling, I know,” she mumbles, stroking his sweaty back. He’s getting cold, starting to shiver. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Swiss knows she does, for some reason since the very moment they met. He will never understand why, but he knows. He can’t stop crying for long enough to tell her that, though.

Another sob rips itself out of his chest and he nuzzles his face closer, scratching Mounty’s skin with his stubble. She sighs, feeling as useless as ever in the face of Swiss’ awful memories.

All she can do is bring a blanket up and wrap it right under the cowboy’s chin, holding him close and whispering how—even if it doesn’t feel like it right now—everything will be just fine.

#divider by @ghuleh-recs #hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps #swissalps' sundown

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heartstringsbloom · 6 days ago

Text

“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.

#pixar cars #the au slowly comes together #Cars movie #cars au #humanized cars #lightning mcqueen #sally carrera #doc hudson #original character #cars oc #writing #my writing #cars fanfiction #siblings au #slight angst

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lulublack90 · 2 months ago

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Prompt 28 - Use

@rosekillermicrofic September 28, word count 515

Previous part First Jegulus part

Apparently, Sirius’s idea of a lift was to give Evan the only available seat in Remus’s car and Barty a seat in the sidecar of his motorbike. Barty had been quite excited when he saw it. He’d always loved the thrill of motorbikes. These feelings were short-lived after Sirius kicked the engine into life and sped off.

The bike purred beneath Sirius’s touch and responded beautifully, but the maniac was zipping through the traffic as if he were on a clear country road. Barty’s fingers were white from how hard he was holding onto the sidecar. Barty felt the sidecar leave the road as Sirius took a turn too fast. He was going to be sick. Why the hell did the Potters have to live so far away?!

Finally, after what felt like hours, Sirius turned into Effie and Monty’s driveway. Barty stumbled when he clambered out of the sidecar as quickly as he could, lest Sirius try to set off again.

“You absolute nutter!” Barty yelled at him. “You nearly killed us so many times!” His heart was hammering in his chest. Even his driving wasn't that bad. Sirius just grinned as he took his helmet off and ruffled up his hair.

“Sorry, I can get a bit carried away when I’m riding,” He offered by way of apology. Barty contemplated running him over with his own bike when the front door opened, revealing Effie in an apron adorned with pictures of her family.

“Darlings, you made it. Oh, dear did Sirius show off a bit?” She asked when she took in Barty’s green face. “I thought you had a van, darling?” Effie walked out the door and took Barty’s arm to help him into the house.

“I did, I had to scrap it as it was falling apart. It’s probably going to be a few weeks before I can find anything decent in my price range,” he was feeling better being close to Effie’s warmth and away from Sirius and his deathtrap.

“Well, I have my old van,” Effie began to steer him away from the door and instead headed to the garages. “I much prefer my 500, so if it’s of any use to you, it’s yours,” Effie told him as she opened the garage door with her beeper.

The door rolled up to reveal the most beautiful, shiny, black van Barty had ever seen. He could have cried.

“Effie, I can’t accept this. It must be worth a small fortune,” He stared longingly at the van.

“Oh, pish posh. If you want it, it’s yours,” She planted a kiss on his fringe and tossed the keys at him. “Have a look at it and see what you think, I need to get back to my spuds,” She winked at him and wandered back into the house through the side door. Barty looked down at the keys in his hand and pressed the unlock button. The garage was filled with orange flashing lights and the sound of the doors unlocking. A wide smile spread across Barty’s face. Effie Potter was a treasure.

Next part

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nevermorgue · 3 months ago

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Hello, love your stuff. I was wondering what your headcanons are for Annabel and her crew in your Modern Au. Especially the relationship between Annabel and Lenore? Are the two groups still rivals? How did they meet? Are Lenore and Annabel secretly dating?

Thanks for reading.

Kind regards~

Hi anon!! Thank you very much~

I actually had to sleep on this one. I can’t imagine them being rivals in a setting that has no conflict. Like if they were students or something I could use the excuse of rival schools, but in this case I’m unsure how to make the groups go against each other.

We could potentially keep the Annabel/Lenore friendship plot line sort of like canon? Perhaps after the fire Lenore had to stay in the hospital for a while. Annabel, who was there frequently, ends up befriending her- oh I just got a fucked up idea.

I’m sorry I have to do this: Ada. ADA. You know her terrible taste in men. When Annabel and Lenore first met, Annabel was frequently visiting ADA in the hospital after a particularly bad encounter with her last boyfriend. Of course, she doesn’t tell Lenore this. She keeps her reasons for being there brief.

But one day she stopped visiting suddenly. No contact information was given or anything. Lenore was hurt and kind of betrayed. But then everything in her life started taking a turn for the worse, so she had to push her thoughts about Annabel to the side and focus on living.

And now with her new roommates and friends, she’s in a comfortable spot. Well, she’s still job hunting but she’s happy and safe. NOW she takes the time to try and find Annabel online. Her university achievements from some school in London come up. (She has not graduated yet. More info in a second) She manages to find her email.

They meet up in person and have a little small lashing out. Lenore, mad she stopped visiting without warning- and Annabel, who was apologizing but ends up saying something like “I have a life too, I was stressed and I am sorry that you were not my full focus” in a bitter way.

And with THAT setup out of the way, let’s move on to Annabel’s group.

- Annabel met Prospero through school. She transferred from her uni in London to…wherever this is. I know it’s not New York because that’s where Lenore RAN from. Imagine some other state on the east coast. She probably shares a Gen Ed class with him and that’s how they officially met. They met before Lennabel did.

- Annabel met Ada before classes even started. Ada probably saw her in public and thought, “Wow. I have to be her friend. She’s perfect” and just kinda…latched on. Annabel was irritated but played along for multiple reasons. 1) She needed American acquaintances who may know the area better. 2) she needs acquaintances in general. 3) Ada isn’t ALL that bad. Usually.

- Ada starts hanging around Annabel and Prospero more frequently. Prospero is tired of her very quickly. She gets attached to him quickly, still vulnerable and hurt from her last relationship

- Potentially meet Montresor + Will through clubbing. Annabel does NOT want to, but Ada drags her along for a night. They unfortunately meet Monty, who tries to flirt with them both. Annabel, finding him entertaining and a way to make her stay in America more interesting, decides to keep contact. And Will too, I guess.

- Montresor and Will are a package deal. They’ve known each other for about two years.

- Then it’s pure chance that Monty + Will find Annabel and Prospero hanging out one day. Now all the group has met and they are all a sort of group. Prospero doesn’t like them, only tolerates them at best. It’s a very fine line these guys walk on

- And then it’s just fate that the two groups frequently run into each other in public places. the town isn’t all that big and they frequent the same places. At first, Lenore and Annabel are kinda bitter/awkward with each other but they slowly start to make up as time goes on. But by the time they go, their groups kind of already hate each other. So once they’re back on gay terms, Annabel suggests they keep the facade going for ‘their sakes’. Lenore doesn’t see the point in this, but this can be another plot point later I think

- more info: Will, out of everyone, knows the area the best. I think he’s been here his entire life and just kinda knows where everything is. Everyone uses GPS and google maps anyway, even when he tries to explain the shortest routes.

- Prospero is in the medical program. He’s gonna start interning at the hospital soon!!

- Ada and Morella used to be friends a whiiiile back. Like a while back.

- Will works in a movie theater. Did I steal this from my own fic? Yes.

- Prospero’s a rich kid. His parents pay his rent, but he STILL works at a bakery anyway. He likes the free stuff. He has a sweet tooth

- Monty uses Will’s tiny ass apartment for his escapades. Whenever he kicks Will out, he ends up at Prospero’s. The two have a silent agreement to let him sleep on the couch.

- Nobody knows where Monty even lives. Not even Will knows.

Im gonna have to start tagging this as my own modern AU at this point!! i’ll just call it “nevermorgue modern au”

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crowpickingss · 3 months ago

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Fangs

monty x gn! vampire reader

summary: basically what happens in dbd but slightly altered

warnings: angst, explicit language

a/n: long Monty fic because I feel like we don’t have enough this really focuses more on the reader though

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A vampire living among humans, seems impossible. Well for you that’s not the case. Port Townsend was filled with supernatural beings. From witches to ghost, the supernatural outweighed the humans.

Your diet consisted of mainly blood. You would drain the blood out of animal meat from the butchers. It was that butchers place that led you to meeting Charles. He was nice, funny and full of references you didn’t understand.

He introduced you to Edwin. You felt you clicked more with Edwin. Maybe it was the fact you died the same year or the fact that your humor was very matched. Edwin found that your vampiric ability’s would be useful to cases and invited you to join the dead boy detectives.

One day when You, Edwin and Nico were researching at the Library you bumped into a new face. You fell in love the moment you saw him, sadly he seemed more interested in Edwin.

You slowly became closer with Monty. One day when you were laughing at one of his jokes he noticed your fangs. He was curious and asked about them which ended up leading you to confess your secret about being a vampire.

You had expected him to turn away but he instead told you his secret. You felt even closer after he confessed you both knew a secret that if it got out would cause you both a lot of trouble.

One night when you were sleeping Edwin burst into Nicos room. He seemed upset so you did what any friend would do, pester him until he spilled why he was upset.

He told you all about Monty, the kiss and his feelings for Charles. You felt a little hurt that Monty had kissed Edwin but right now you were focused on cheering your friend up.

You explained that you would try everything to get Monty and Edwin to be friend and you would help Edwin to confess to Charles.

The next day Monty came up to the rooftop this time with a case. You followed him into the woods listening to him talk about Gladys. Eventually you split up Charles and Crystal going one way and You, Monty and Edwin going another way.

You were trying to get them to talk the entire time but they wouldn’t say a word. Eventually you fell silent and eventually they made up. Just when you thought all was well The Cat King had to show up and ruin everything.

The look of betrayal on Edwin’s face shattered your heart, it obliterated Monty’s. The Cat King walked by and spilled another secret this time it affected you “I can’t believe you, you knew he was a crow and you let it happen” Edwin was mad and betrayed “I’m sorry Edwin, I didn’t think it would blow up like this”.

Edwin stormed off and went to find Charles to warn them about Monty. You tuned to The Cat King who looked smug as ever and lunged at him. He dodged before you could do any real damage.

He disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke leaving you and Monty behind. He looked defeated a small stream of tears running down his cheek. You pulled him into a hug hoping it would calm him down.

You held his hands “Monty, no matter what happens I’m here for you” He pulled you into the hug this time “Thank you, I’m going to find Esther now” You nodded and turned away.

You didn’t bother trying to find Edwin. You walked back to Nico’s and just stayed there. When they came back they were more flustered than ever. Crystal explained everything which made you feel guilty about not staying. You started apologising to the point where the word sorry didn’t sound like a word.

Edwin groaned a mix of annoyance and frustration painting his face. Charles knew you didn’t mean any harm and he hated seeing Edwin mad “Edwin cmon mate forgive em we all mess up once” Edwin took a deep breath “Toying with my feelings isn’t just a mistake Charles” You wiped a tear that almost fell from your eye “Edwin, Monty actually liked you a lot and what you did at the swings was a dick move”

Edwin groaned again “You don’t need to remind me” You crossed your arms “I’m only being mean because I’m looking out for you and Monty” Charles, Crystal and Nico all said goodnight and left you and Edwin in the hall alone “Edwin I really liked Monty, a lot and I know you like Charles but you don’t need to be so harsh”

Edwin sighed “He’s a bloody crow and he lied to me, I have every right to be mad at him” you pinched the bridge of your nose “Look just promise me you’ll make up tomorrow, he really cares about you Edwin” He rolled his eyes but gave you a look that said he agreed.

However you didn’t see Monty the next day. You went out searching but he was no where to be seen. Defeated you walked back into the apartment and saw Nico and some lady standing in Crystals cleared our apartment.

You approached Nico very confused. She explained what had happened to Edwin and you were shocked. You sat down by the door waiting for them to return.

Fast forward a little bit to when they returned it was a very wholesome moment everyone was cheering and smiling well except for the night nurse but she didn’t look like the lady to do so.

You begged Edwin to help you search for Monty he reluctantly agreed but after a while there was no trace it was like he vanished.

As you were all saying your goodbyes to Crystal you couldn’t help but feel off. The whole place felt different but you couldn’t tell why. It wasn’t until it exploded that you actually understood why.

You helped Nico and Jenny out of the destroyed butchers shop. Crystal came running back as Esther came out holding the two ghost boys in a locked box.

She walked off all high and mighty leaving the four of you to recover. You, Crystal and Nico all huddled up after talking a break to calm down. They would go get intel on Esther while you were tasked with figuring out what you were dealing with.

You hid outside of her house and looked through the window to see the medieval torture device set up in her living room. She turned to look directly at you causing you to duck. You watched as she released the ghosts. Tying Edwin to the machine and chaining Charles to her kitchen counter.

You also saw a crow in its cage, a small piece of hope hit you. It was likely that the crow was Monty. Nico and Crystal came back and helped to defeat Esther. Esther was able to get one final blow before she died hitting you right in the stomach.

Edwin and Charles helped carry you back to the shop entrance. Her magic caused you to feel weak and frail. When you left the house, Monty followed not leaving your side.

Crystal carried a couple of books about witchcraft hoping it had a cure. She found one and with the help of Edwin and Charles performed it causing all the pain to go away by the wound to stay.

When you were feeling better you let Monty claw his way up your arm. You took the book that Crystal put on the ground and started searching for the spell Esther used before.

You almost cried when you found it. The spell seemed simple enough after a couple of minutes back and forwarding you mustered up the courage to turn Monty human.

It happened and was quick and easy and hopefully painless. Monty returned in the blink of an eye. You hugged him really hard as he regained the ability to become human.

He hugged you back harder thanking you a million times “Monty, I know Edwin wasn’t into you but I am so I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go out?” He smiled softly “I would love too” You smiled showing your fangs.

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spidercookie18 · 1 year ago

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𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑪𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒖𝒏 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑪𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝑯𝒊𝒅𝒆

The Lost Boys 1987 AU set in modern time. None of the boys died, and all the Emersons/Star/Laddie/Frog brothers are vampires. This is explained later…

Tags: Halfing vampire, mentions of killing, swearing, scenting, biting, smut, dp, oral, creampies, choking, degradation, praise, spanking, smoking, use of y/n, afab, use of she/her. Warnings: This chapter is basically 97% porn 3% plot. MINORS DNI Summary: Y/N apologizes to Marko, David is behind her every step of the way ;) Word Count: 7k Previous chapter here: Next chapter here:

“No one should suffer what I suffered. I still dread those scenes when man killed man. I lost my parents, most of my family, by running away.” — Milkha Singh

Chapter Four

After some light arguing, and some teasing, David agreed not to rifle through your things again…for the time being.

You got dressed and packed your bag for what you were sure would be another overday stay. You remembered to burn the old vial necklace you had before you left, and then locked up. David took you to a burger joint and you both sat on the curb near the bike, eating burgers and fries.

“Thank you, these are really good,” you licked your lips and picked up another fry.

“Told ya, they’re solid, it’s no ‘Charlie’, but it’s good.”

You laughed and had a sip of your drink. You shifted to one side and pulled your shorts down a bit. David noted that that was the third time in a few minutes that you’d adjusted your clothes.

“Yeah, it’s that damn thong you wanted me to wear,” you snapped at him.

He laughed, “you don’t like it?”

“No, it’s cute, but it’s just annoying,” you shifted again in your seat.

“Well, I’ll just have to take it off ya then,” David said, slipping his fingers down the back of your shorts to pull at the thong.

You yelped, “David!” And arched away from him.

“Sorry, sweetness, couldn’t help myself.”

He chuckled and went back to eating his burger. He watched you from the corner of his eye; you looked happy sitting next to him, just doing something normal for a change.

“What David?” you asked, noticing him watch you.

“You got a lot of shit at your place,” he said bluntly.

“Okay, you’re one to talk, you’re actually a hoarder.”

“Am not,”

“Who’s Michael?” You asked, poking fun at him, “should I be worried?”

“Wait, did you go through my stuff?” David turned in his seat to question you.

You shrugged, continuing to eat.

“Don’t go through my things,” he hissed.

“Oh, but you can go through mine?” Your mouth full, you sipped on the coke.

“All you said was ‘not to break anything’, which I didn’t,” he reminded you.

“Fair enough,” you put the empty fry cup in the bag.

David turned back in his seat and got quiet, like he was thinking. “Eh, you’ll meet Mike n all of em soon enough.” He picked up his soda and took a sip, “I’ll take ya along on laundry day, how about that?”

“Oh, so you guys do do laundry,” you giggled.

“We don’t smell,” David rolled his eyes at you. “But my point was… where’d you get all that stuff?”

Without turning, you replied to him, “thirty-five years is a long time to be on the run, David,” you wiped your mouth with a napkin.

He shrugged, “you got sticky fingers,” he chuckled.

“I did not steal that stuff!” you shouted at him.

“Then how did you-”

“I bought it, stupid.” You put the empty burger wrapper in the bag, “also, plane tickets aren’t free.”

He looked at you confused, “what do you mean you ‘paid for it’?”

“I work, duh.”

He stared at you for a second, “what work can a halflin’ do?”

“Kinda what you guys do, but for money.”

“You eat people for money?”

“No,” you rolled your eyes at him. “I kill people…n’ sell their parts,” you said, plainly.

“You WHAT?”

You took a long sip from your drink, and began to explain, “when I left Monty, none of the people he dealt with would work with me- I can’t even be mad at them; hell, I wouldn’t have wanted to work with me either. But because I knew how to make those kinds of…connections, I was able to make some money. Whatever the pack wouldn’t eat they would sell to certain… buyers.”

“Buyers?”

“Mhm, if you have enough money, you can buy all kinds of crazy shit. I had this one guy the other day wanting Orc tusks. I’ll tell you, that job fucking sucked.” You laughed.

“Wait,” David was still confused by how casual you were being, “you can just buy parts? Like black market type stuff?”

“Um, kinda, that stuff is used more for surgeries and medicine, my stuff is more niche. I’ve had people ask for body parts of old lovers, or enemies. Sometimes they’ll want dragon eyes, or maybe a rich farie wants to eat some specific part of some specific person, or sometimes rich humans want to mount a werewolf head in their parlor.”

“Dragon eyes?”

“Not the kind you’re thinking of…”

David was taken aback at this new revelation, he didn’t really consider the lives of other night creatures often, and he especially never thought people hunted them for parts. “Do you ever hunt vampires?” He asked, sheepishly.

You shook your head, “nah, I try to steer clear of vamp nests, you just never know who knows who, ya know?”

“Huh.” David stared at the ground, pushing a pebble around with his shoe, pondering. He looked back at you.

“What David?”

He scooted a bit from you, “you’re kinda scary,” he said, and you busted out laughing.

“Shut up!” You laughed out and pushed his shoulder. “Relax, I’m not hunting you,”

“Sweetness, you couldn’t take me down,”

“David,” you patted the gun in your tote, “I already did.” You reminded him, and he scoffed.

“I let you,”

“uh-huh, whatever helps you sleep at day, sweetheart.”

David huffed at you, luckily, he thought your attitude was cute. He stood up and stretched. You loved watching him; there was something about David that just, enamored you. His arms went high over his head, and he grunted as he stretched; you watched as his shirt raised up just a little bit and exposed his tummy.

Such a cute treasure trail, you thought as his arms came back down to his side.

David raised an eyebrow as he watched your eyes fix on his belt. He smiled, “looks like I gotta get you home.”

You blushed when you realized he caught you staring at him. David extended his hand out to you, and you took it; he pulled you up off the ground, and close against his body. He growled low against your neck, nuzzling your skin; you could feel him inhaling you.

“David,” you said meekly, “people are watching,” you squirmed against his hold.

“Let them look,” he began to suck hickies into your neck.

You mewled, you weren’t going to get free from him, you knew that, but you could at least have some privacy. “David,” you whimpered, “please...”

You felt his teeth scrape against your neck again, and he swiftly picked you up, and placed you on the back of his bike. He pulled you by your jaw and kissed you, and you moaned against his lips. “Ohh, sweet thing, you’re gonna get it.” He swung a leg around the bike and revved the engine. He kicked the stand up and waited for you to put your arms around him, the second you did, he took off. The bike sped off down the street and within a few minutes you were rolling up to the cliff above the lighthouse.

David parked the bike behind the rocks where it normally was, and he noticed that Marko’s bike was back in its spot. His mood shifted, and he turned his head to look at you,” you’re still going to apologize to him.”

“I know, David.”

David offered you his hand as he got off the bike. You took it and swung your leg off. You watched as David pulled his cigarettes out of his jacket. He put two in his mouth and pulled out his lighter. He lit the cigarettes and took a few short puffs to ignite them. He put the lighter back in his pocket and pulled one of the cigarettes from his mouth and handed it to you. You smiled at his trick and took the cigarette from him. He took a long inhale and walked you down to the edge of the stairs.

When you got to the first step, David started floating above it, “you want me to carry you?”

You chuckled, when he wasn’t being a menace, he was actually quite sweet. “Thanks, but I can do it,” very lightly, and barely noticeable, you floated above the wood, and down the stairs.

David was grinning, ear to ear, “ha-ha! I didn’t know you could do that!” He floated in front of you and landed, waiting for you with open arms. Your heart glowed at how proud David looked, “sweet thing, what else can you do?”

You chuckled as he rubbed his thumb over your cheek; there was a loud noise that came from the cave further in, and the both of you looked towards the flickering lights, “I’ll show you another time, okay?”

The two of you walked inside, and your mind raced with what you would say to Marko to get him to forgive you. David helped you down the rocks into the main cavern and you saw Marko, laid up against the couch blowing up puffs of grey-white clouds. He was blasting rock music and as you got closer, you noticed he was smoking a joint.

“Marko,” David called to him over the noise, “we’re home!”

Marko half turned his head to see who it was, then rolled his eyes and turned back around. He huffed and pressed himself further into the arm of the couch. David puffed on his cigarette and walked over to the old boom box, to turn it down.

“Hey!” Marko protested.

David motioned for you to step forward, and you took one last drag from the cigarette before you tossed the butt in an old tin can. You walked in front of where Marko was sitting, and he looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“Marko…” you fiddled with your hands, “I’m really sorry for being a brat to you earlier.”

He took a long drag from his joint as he eyed you, then turned and blew the smoke in your face, “fuck you.”

“MARKO,” David shouted at him.

“That’s not a fuckin apology, she’s not sorry!” Marko hissed at David.

David started to move towards the couch to continue yelling at his brother, Marko kicked his legs off the couch and sat up to defend himself. The boys were yelling all kinds of nonsense at each other, none of which you paid any mind to.

All you did, was kneel at Marko’s feet; he wanted an apology, so, you’d give him one that’d shut him the hell up. The boys quieted as they watched you, you knelt in between Markos legs and held your closed hands in a prayer to your forehead. You looked down at his feet and gave him what he wanted.

“Marko, I’m so sorry for my behavior earlier. Thank you for taking care of me… I’ll never disobey you, or lie to you again,” you looked up at him with puppy dog eyes and pouty lips. “Please…forgive me.”

The boys stilled, watching you in silence. David had no idea you would take it that far, and Marko… well, he really enjoyed that.

He gulped and shifted in his seat. He didn’t know if it was the weed, or that desperate look on your face, but he loved the way you looked groveling below him. He leaned down, and inhaled the joint, his hazel eyes looked over all your features, and he slowly blew the smoke out on your face. You winced, coughing lightly. Marko chuckled and sat back up in his seat. He spread his legs in front of you, and you noticed the tent growing in his jeans.

“Marko?” David called to him, standing behind you, “is there something you want?” You could hear the smile in his voice.

Marko smirked, his eyes locked on your, “you really want me to forgive you?”

You were ordered on the bed and positioned yourself on all fours. David sat behind your ass, and Marko stood in front of you by the bed, still smoking his joint. He slowly crept on the mattress in front of you, his knees on either side of your hands and softly angled his hips up into your face.

You knew he would enjoy taking out his frustrations on you, especially since you would be ‘apologizing to him’ the way he wanted. You felt David kiss up your thighs and pulled your shorts up by the belt loop, the seam of the denim rubbing against you. You moaned and wiggled, you could hear him chuckling now. He rubbed his fingers along the seam against your clothed pussy and felt you get wetter with anticipation.

Marko looked down at you from where he was on the bed, he was clearly still very upset with you; you swallowed hard in your throat and felt your cunt clench around nothing. You felt David’s nose press up against your pussy, and you whined. Your mind was fuzzy from the smoke, and you felt Marko place his hand on the back of your head. You’d noticed him shifting around on his knees and the denim creaked from the push of his erection. He rubbed his hand over his jean covered cock, and slowly undid his buttons and belt. You gulped at the worry of your punishment.

Marko was smiling that devious grin down at you, as he slowly freed his cock from his jeans. He wasn’t as big as David, he was a bit shorter, but still very thick, his veiny cock curved up, and had a bulbous, red head, that looked heavy as it bobbed up and down.

He pressed it up against your nose and held you against his shaft.

He wanted to degrade you; he was going to embarrass you in every way he could. He was furious at you for stepping in between him and David. He was his second in command, he was the one you should have been submitting to. Instead, he had to baby your ass, while you got him in trouble. Marko gritted his teeth. He licked the tips of his fingers and tossed the dead joint from his mouth. He was going to make you regret pissing him off, he would burn that lesson into your body.

Marko pulled your hair and you winced, he pushed his tip up against your lips and rubbed his precum along your smile. “Put your tongue out,” he ordered, and you stuck your tongue out for him. You flinched when he tapped his cock on your lips and tongue. “Oh, don’t you like that?” Marko mocked you, “how about this?” He pulled hard on your hair, and when you opened your mouth to protest, he shoved his cock deep into your mouth.

“Mrmph,” you moaned around him; David was having fun slowly stripping the clothes off of your body. You could feel his hands wandering around your cunt and ass, but your attention was somewhere else.

Marko made shallow thrusts against your mouth and held your jaw so you would look up at him. He wasn’t as big as what you were forced to take last night, but he was damn near as mean about it, and he was mocking your every sound.

“Ohh does the princess not like that?” And he would shove his cock in deeper, and harder than before. He pushed you down on his length and held you there, you felt your lips hit against his base and his pubes tickled your nose. You struggled against his hold, and when your eyes began to roll back from lack of oxygen, he took you off in one quick movement.

“Aaaah,” you gasped, and Marko laughed at the saliva that connected you to him.

He watched as the string of drool got thinner and thinner and finally dripped down your chin, “you look good like that,” he was wearing that shit eating grin of his, and he rubbed his tip across your mouth and cheeks to spread the saliva.

You grimaced and tried to pull away from him, so he gripped your chin, pried open your jaw, and shoved his cock back into your mouth. He held you by either side of your face and fucked his cock down your throat. He was going to make you pay, and he laughed at the tears that prickled the sides of your eyes.

“You’re going to be good from now on, you hear me?” The words he growled out accentuated by each thrust, and you moaned in agreement against his length.

David was having the time of his unlife watching the two of you have fun with each other, if he had thought for even a second, that you didn’t want this, he would have stopped. But he could tell how much you were enjoying apologizing to Marko by how wet your pussy was getting. David had pulled your panties off and watched your love drip down your cunt. “Fuck darlin,” he sucked in through his teeth, and started licking slow stripes along your slit.

You moaned on Markos cock, “fuck, David, you really got her going there,” Marko bobbed your head along his length.

“Do you like all the attention you’re getting, Y/N?” David chuckled as he shoved a finger inside you.

“Mrmph! Mhm-mhhh,” you moaned eagerly.

Marko loved how soft and warm your tongue felt on the underside of his cock. He pulled you off of him with a pop and he moved your sweet dirty little mouth to lick his balls while he jerked off on your face.

You licked, and sucked, and swirled your tongue on his balls, trying your best to be apologetic for your behavior earlier. “Ohh, fuck, David I think she’s really sorry man,” Marko laughed out. He loved the way your eyes rolled back as you licked at him from below.

“Good,” David shoved another finger inside your cunt and scissored you open, “now she’ll know not to be a little shit.” He said sternly as you clenched around him. “Oh, sweet thing, are you gonna come already?”

Marko looked down at you as your eyes began to cross.

“Mmhm,” you moaned with his balls in your mouth.

“Fuck, David, I think I’m close too,” Marko moved you from his balls back to his cock, you gasped as you were repositioned. Marko was deep in your mouth, against the back of your throat making quick shallow thrusts.

David chuckled, “are the both of you going to come? Already?” You and Marko whimpered unanimously, and David chuckled, delighted by the way the both of you squirmed. “Tisk, tisk”, David shook his head in amusement. “Well sweetness, if you wanna come you know you gotta beg,” he shoved his fingers deep into you, curling them and pushing you further on Markos cock. You came off of Marko’s length with a pop as you turned to look at David.

“Please,” you begged out, a breathy pant.

David smiled into your skin as he pressed kisses on your thighs, “not me, darlin,” he pushed you forward on the other vamp’s cock as he curled his fingers in you.

Marko rubbed the back of your hair, he chuckled when you looked back up at him, puppy dog eyes trying to win his favor. “Get back to it, principessa.” He slipped your mouth back on himself, and you wrapped your tongue around his tip.

“Pwease,” you mumbled, still lapping at his tip. Your eyes were shut now, brows scrunched up in want; you focused on giving him pleasure, so you could get some.

You both moaned and whimpered, your lips pressed to his base, begging for your release. Marko whined, his face contorted with pleasure, “come for me, bella,” your walls spasmed around David’s fingers and Marko’s fingers intertwined with your hair as he shoved himself deep into your mouth to spray down your throat.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Marko moaned as his hips stuttered against your lips. You felt your whole body shake from your own orgasm, and you tried not to choke on Marko’s cock, it was so much come, you couldn’t swallow it fast enough. Marko pulled out from you and jerked the last few sprays in your face. You flinched as it hit your nose, and cheek, and the boys laughed.

Marko sat back down on his knees, clearly spent, while David turned you over to your back. He moved from his place between your legs, walked over to the side of the bed, and sat down next to where your head was. He wiped off Markos cum from your face, with his fingers and pushed them into your mouth.

You swirled your tongue against David’s gloved digits, “good girl,” he said darkly. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and moved his hand to your throat. “Now,” he let his other hand travel down to your cunt and rubbed your clit gently. “Are you going to be good from now on?”

You whimpered and nodded, “mhm”.

David squeezed harder on your throat, “is there something you want to tell Marko?” David pressed harder on your clit, and your hips started squirming on reaction. “Sweetness?” David called to you.

“Yessir, m’sorry Marko,” you choked against David’s hand. “I’ll be good…I promise,” Marko smiled, and David leaned over to kiss him.

You watched from your place below the boys as they licked each other’s tongues. You whimpered; watching the boys make out, while David choked you and played with your pussy, felt too good. Your hips bucked against David’s hands, and he pulled away from Marko.

“So fucking needy,” Marko said as he kissed down David’s cheek and jaw; the boys were looking down at you now.

Tears ran down the corner of your eyes and David finally pulled his hand from your throat. You gasped, and David moved to kneel above you at the top of the bed. His legs on either side of your head and pinned your wrists down. Marko walked to the other end, between your legs and started to lazily stroke his cock in his fist. You picked your head up and looked down at Marko, he threw his jacket to the wheelchair that was still by the bed and pushed his jeans further down. You looked up at David as Marko began to take off his shirt, your eyebrows knitted with nervousness.

“If you want to stop darlin, say so now,” David pressed a kiss against your forehead. Marko leaned down and ran his tongue over your wet slit.

“F-fuck!” You looked back down at Marko; his tongue was thin and forked and he slowly flicked it across your clit.

Now, he could smell you. The scent of your arousal, and the scent of your skin, he felt a heat grow in his chest and cheeks.

Was this what David had been smelling? He thought as he let his tongue lap up your love, no wonder he was going crazy.

He looked up at you, his beautiful hazel eyes turning gold and red, his nostrils flared as he savored your scent.

More!

He swirled his tongue in and out of you, it felt so odd and so fucking good. You pulled against David’s hold as you mewled and bucked your hips against the curly haired blonds face.

“Maarkoooo…” David called to the other vampire. He could hear his brother beginning to slip away, and called him back before it was too late.

Marko looked up at David from between your legs. He reluctantly pulled his tongue from you. He sat up, crawled onto the bed, and held his cock in his hand, he rubbed his thumb over his tip. He bit his lip; silently begging for your permission. You nodded softly to Marko, and he eagerly pushed himself inside you.

You moaned so sweetly for him, you felt so warm and nice against him. Marko pushed into you to the hilt. He pushed your shirt up over your breasts and pulled your hips down to him. He was a tits man, and he was going to love every second watching your beautiful pair bounce up and down for him.

“Aaah, Marko,” you whimpered as he bottomed out in you.

“Fuck,” he sucked in air through his teeth.

You could feel David shifting around atop you; you were surprised at how patient he had been this entire time, maybe this was his way of making it up to Marko for how he snapped at him earlier.

Marko wrapped your legs around his waist and started slow thrusts, you moaned, and he gripped his fingers into your flesh. It was a nice change of pace from last night, they both felt so good. From where he was hitting you, Markos tip dragged slowly against your sweet spot.

“Marko,” you whined, and pulled against David’s hold on your wrists.

“Easy, sweet thing,” David said gently, “just enjoy it.”

Marko picked up his pace and you could feel his balls slapping against your ass. The noise coming from you all was so lewd, you and Marko were moaning and gasping with the feel of each other’s bodies, and David was humming contently at the sight before him. Marko pulled your legs from around his waist and sat up with your legs parallel to him. He dug his nails into your thighs and started fucking you harder.

“Ahh fuck!” He’d stopped being gentle and was fucking you akin to how David was the night before. “Marko!”

You could hear your own mewling in your ears and David had moved to hold both of your wrists with one hand to cover your mouth with his other. “Noisy little thing, you don’t want to wake the neighbors, do you?” David chuckled.

“I want to hear her,” Marko panted out.

David looked up at him,” yeah?”

“Yeah,” Marko nodded, and David took his hand from your lips.

You moaned a symphony of the boy’s names as you came undone for them.

“Fuck, she’s squeezing me so tight,” Marko winced as he held your legs close to his chest.

“Yeah, but it feels fucking good, don’t it?” David looked down at you.

Marko started licking and nipping at your legs.

“Aah!” You cried out as he began to sink his fangs in.

“MARKO,” David shouted. Marko looked over at David, confused by his anger. “No blood,” he shook his head slowly and you could feel his low growling rumble through your upper half.

Marko reluctantly retracted his teeth and continued to suck marks along your legs.

“Marko,” you whimpered under him, you felt so good squeezing his cock, so warm, and soft, and wet.

“Fuuuuck,” he growled, moving your thighs off his chest, and your legs draped across his elbows. You could feel yourself bouncing in the bed when his hips came down against your ass. It was so hard, and deep into your heat. The plat, plat, plat, that came from Marko’s thrust against you was barely louder than your moaning.

“Harder!” you screamed as you raised your hips off the bed.

“Oh, is that not enough for you?” He lifted his arms and pulled your hips up to his level and railed into you. You moaned and whimpered as the boys enjoyed your reactions. David freed his cock from his jeans and started slowly jerking himself off with his free hand, while Marko fucked you dumb. He thrusted hard against your cervix, and you begged for his cum.

“Please, I want it,” you called out to Marko, and began begging for kisses.

David leaned down, shoving his tongue into your mouth. You tasted yourself on his lips, and he tasted Marko off yours. Marko pushed hard into your warm cunt and painted your insides white; he bent over you to suck on your breasts as he came.

Marko pressed his hips against your ass, and moaned as he filled you past your brim. You whimpered and David kept shoving his tongue down your throat.

Poor Marko slumped against your form, it had been so long since he’d shared someone with David, he loved sharing with him. He pushed up from where he was on the bed and brought David in for a kiss, you’d have felt left out if Marko wasn’t still throbbing inside of you. You wiggled against David’s hold and the boys chuckled as they pulled off of you.

You were more than satisfied with how the night was ending. The two vampire boys enamored with you, kissing, and licking all over your body, their sweet moans captured on yours and their skin. The warmth of the friction, the bruises and marks, the beautiful noises that echoed through the cave…

But David had to greedily end your happiness, “oh sweet thing, you’re not tired yet are you?”

With that, Marko pulled out of you, and pulled you over him. He laid back on the bed, and his come started dripping down your cunt onto his cock. You were back on all fours, and he was on his back on the bed. David pushed your ass down, your knees slid out and Marko’s cock was stuffed back in your pussy. You whined as David quickly moved behind you. He pushed down on your back and angled your hips up. He climbed over you and Marko, then lined up with your entrance. You were still hazy, coming down from your high when you realized what was happening.

“David, wait,” you tried to turn your head.

“It’s okay sweetness,” David said as he teased his tip against your skin.

“We’re gonna make you feel real good,” Marko said, pulling you down to him for a kiss. He tasted like weed; he was so greedy with how he kissed. His lips crashing against yours, his tongue eagerly pressing into your mouth, biting, and sucking your lips, you finally pulled away from him with a loud gasp when David pressed into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, David!” You screamed and moaned and wiggled against the boys as David’s cock bullied its way into your pussy.

“Hold her Marko!” David ordered him.

“Comere bella,” Marko pulled you back to a kiss and you whimpered against him. Your eyes were all the way back in your head, and your arms and legs shook as you tried to stay up right. The sensation of both the boys stuffed into your cunt was overwhelming. It was painful, and it stung at how stretched you were, you felt the tears come to your eyes and you sobbed into Marko’s mouth.

David finally stopped when his cock wouldn’t go in any further, nestled against Marko’s, the boys stilled to let you adjust. You were still sobbing and whimpering into Marko’s mouth when they finally checked on you.

“How’s she doing?” David asked Marko.

Marko pulled away from you and watched as the drool dripped out of your mouth and your eyes crossed. He chuckled, “I think she likes it,” Marko called to him. The boys slowly started to move in and out of you.

“F-f-fuuuuuuck,” you moaned, and tears started streaming from your eyes.

It was more pleasure than you’d ever felt, you tried to keep yourself from coming, because you knew your cunt would clench around them and squeezed even tighter. You didn’t want them losing control right now, so you just focused on breathing.

You panted, hard, and your fingers gripped into the sheets. When David pulled out, Marko pushed in, when Marko pulled out, David pushed in. They worked together to make you cry out with pleasure, they knew just how to make you come undone for them.

With a scream, you tore at the sheets in your hands, and you felt your knees buckle below you. You slumped against Marko’s chest, and he looked down at you from where he laid.

“You’re tuckering her out David.”

“She’s a big girl, she can take it.”

David slipped his fingers down your shoulders and around your arms. He grabbed around your elbows and pulled your arms up and behind you. You huffed and David sat back with your wrists in his hands and your arms pulled straight back. From where he was leaned back, he had you sat up, it was almost a sadistic form of cowgirl, except you were double stuffed with two big vampire cocks.

“D-D-David” you whined. Your head falling up, and felt the tears roll down towards your ears.

You could hear him laughing behind you, there was little you could do but pant and come. Marko gripped his nails into your hips and thrusted up into you. He loved watching your breasts bounce up and down, he was starting to be glad that David brought you home.

Marko sat up and wrapped his arms around your waist, he was sucking marks into your breasts now and you could feel his teeth on your flesh.

“Marko!” You sobbed.

David was too wrapped up in the feeling of your wet cunt around him to notice what was going on in front of him. Your scent in the air made the boys start to slip away from you, they fucked roughly into your cunt, and their movements became more erratic.

Poor you, you didn’t know that your scent was a damn vampire aphrodisiac.

Marko bit down, it was taking everything in him to keep from breaking the skin, but he was going to get as close to that as he possibly could. You looked down at the curly haired blond, you could barely see his golden eyes from how they were fluttering shut. He growled into your soft mounds, you could feel the rumbling rip through your chest, and he pulled tighter around your waist.

David could only hear three things at this very moment, the sound of his grunting, the sound of your heartbeat, and the sound of his hips slapping against your ass. Nothing else mattered to him. He was sharing his mate with his favorite brother, Marko, and David could tell he was starting to love you too. You felt so good around him, and he loved how Marko’s cock felt rubbing against his as well. He was going to abuse your body every day for the rest of your life if he would have it his way. He felt you spasming around their cocks again, and he laughed deep from his chest; he loved how easily you fell apart for him. He let your arms drop, and you slumped against Marko’s chest.

He leaned forward against you and licked the shell of your ear, “you comin again sweetness?” You just panted and whimpered for them, David chuckled, “you’re already getting used to us playing with ya, huh? Your sloppy little pussy loves sucking on our cocks, eh? Just a fucktoy aren’tcha?” He felt you squeeze against their cocks, “oh? You like being bullied, darlin’?” You squeezed again.

David looked over your shoulder at Marko, who was still sucking marks into your breasts. His golden eyes glossed over in lust; David could only imagine the look that was on your face, or his. He chuckled, his two favorites, both so wrapped up in their own pleasure to think of anything else, to notice anything else. With the way you were sucking them in it was a wonder how they both lasted so long. You felt Marko’s hips begin to falter, his nails gripping against your waist, and both you and David felt him throbbing as he came again.

Marko made such cute noises as he came, he grunted as his hips stuttered against you. His soft panting and whimpering into your skin was endearing, then he fell back hard against the bed. He was the one thing keeping you sitting up, so when he fell, so did you. You pushed your hands to Marko’s chest, trying to push yourself off, but you were stopped by a large hand on the back of your head.

David didn’t stop, he was merciless. He pushed your head down in a warning to not move, and he pulled your hips up and off of Marko. He fucked you against the other vampire.

Your top half was slumped against Marko, who was still panting from his own release, and you could feel the cum dripping down your thighs. David’s hips were smacking hard against your ass, the way his cock dragged slowly out of you, and slammed hard into you. His cock bullying its way into you, as you wiggled your hips, trying to get him to stop. His tip hitting your cervix hard with each thrust. It was torture, your poor cunt was so abused by this point, you could barely think with how sensitive you were. You were panting, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re finally quiet? Sweet thing? I wanna hear you!” David said, slapping your ass.

“Aah!” You moaned.

“More!” David yelled, smacking your ass again.

“Fuck!” You could hear some rustling behind you, and you felt David smack your ass again, this time it stung more, much more.

SMACK.

“Fuck! David!” You screeched. David had taken his belt from his jeans and was hitting you with it. You felt tears begin to prickle your eyes again, “please!”

SMACK.

“David!” You were crying now, your ass stung and the way the pleasure mixed with the pain… your eyes rolled back into your head, and you felt the tears roll down your cheeks.

David didn’t entirely like hurting you, but the way you clenched around him when he did… it was too good for him to stop.

SMACK.

“You really like getting bullied don’t Cha darlin?” David’s hand kneading the plush of your ass. “Dirty little whore, loving out cocks.” His hips pistoning against you as he continued to degrade you, “my good slut, our good slut. Come on sweet thing, tell me how much you love getting fucked dumb on my fat cock.”

Marko had finally caught his breath enough to look down at you, he saw you crying. He was a sadist, but after how good you made him feel he wanted to help you enjoy the pain that was being inflicted on you.

“Look at me, bella,” he called to you. His eyes were a deep golden color now, his voice was like silk, and you couldn’t help but listen to him. “Just enjoy it, principessa,” he called to you.

You were so weak, you let your mind slip under his control. The last of the pain quickly turned to pleasure, and you felt the knot in your stomach tighten. Marko smiled at your fucked out expression and pulled you into a kiss.

SMACK.

You felt David’s belt come down hard on your ass again, your legs shook, and you fell deeper into Marko’s kiss.

You moaned and screamed against his lips, you felt your orgasm crash into you, your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest, and this intense wave of pleasure washed over you. Your eyes crossed, your toes clenched, your whole body shook; suddenly, everything was hot, then everything was wet.

You heard David moan out behind you, and his thrusts became sloppy, and finally he pressed hard into you. You felt his spurts deep against your cervix and his hold on your hips felt like it was going to bruise, if not make you bleed.

He held himself against you for a second, then slowly, so tortuously slowly, pulled out of you. He watched as your cunt twitched around nothing, and the cum dribbled down your clit, and onto the bed.

“Fuck,” David panted out.

Marko pulled from the kiss, and you felt the fog in your mind begin to dissipate. The sting on your ass came back, and the welts from where the boys’ nails dug into your skin burned. But the ecstasy that pulsed from your cunt, it was all worth it. David was chuckling behind you now.

“What?” Marko called to him.

“She made a fucking mess of my jeans,” David moaned in delight.

“Did she?” Marko peered out from under you, sniffing the air. His eyes rolled back at the scent of your love, and he let out a low groan.

David swiped his finger across his pants and licked your taste off his digit. “Mmhm, my sweet thing.” David helped roll you off of Marko and pressed his index and middle finger into your mouth. You softly sucked on his fingers and pressed them between your tongue and the roof of your mouth. He smiled down at you, and Marko put himself back in his jeans.

David watched as your eyes softly shut and you gently stopped sucking on his fingers. He wanted more of you, but he knew you were done. Marko rolled off the bed and walked over to the wheelchair to pick up the rest of his clothes. He slid the shirt over his head and then put on his jacket; one arm in, and then the other, he looked over to David, who was still leaning over you in the bed.

Marko watched David smile down at you, he placed a soft kiss to your temple and covered your naked body with one of the blankets that was on the bed.

“David?” Marko called to his brother, he could usually read his mind, but right now he had closed himself off to Marko.

“Shh,” David hushed him, still watching you as you drifted off to sleep. After a moment, David turned to Marko, the look on his face a graven sight.

David knew he wouldn’t be able to keep you a secret from Max forever, and God forbid that psycho, Montgomery, came looking for you and the pack got caught in the crosshairs. He didn’t know what to make of it, but he knew Marko would be able to at least calm his nerves; maybe even offer some advice.

David stared at his brother, unsure of himself, “we need to talk.”

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