#feedback is appreciated greatly

[angelpuns]

Kid Leo Au: Reunion

Part 12

I am geniunely really frustrated with how...anticlimactic this part feels to me. I wish I had drawn it better and had been more careful when doing my finishing steps :/ I didn't spend as much time on lining/coloring this part this week as I would have liked, so I'm really sorry it kinda falls flat ;-; I hope you all enjoy it regardless <33

NEXT TIME ON KID LEO...OH...

Kid Leo Au Masterpost | First | Next

[mintycitrus]

🩵🎨

[bratdotcom]

Look of Love

viktor x glasses!reader ⋆

"Tired?" Viktor asks as you mush your nose into his shoulder, eyes closed tightly.

You reply with a non-committal hum, carelessly tossing your glasses onto the side table. One wrong move, one slight push of a muscle too far, and you'd be complaining to him about how flimsy the hardware was to break so easily as it could bend.

Not that he minded. Hearing you complain about the smallest things reminded him about what he was trying to accomplish. Though, he couldn't think much of those dreams right now. Nor could he read his book with your face squished against him like that, in the same manner a cat would press against its owner to show affection.

Your face migrated from his shoulder to the crook of his neck, making him shake his head and close his book shut.

He doesn't put it away as he responds. Instead, he keeps it laid neatly in his lap, bookmark sticking out of the pages so he wouldn't lose his place. "...maybe one day I will figure out a way for you to wear glasses without you tossing them like trash." He suggests amused, as if his ideas were a mere afterthought to him in the long run of his career. He sinks his weight into the couch, waiting to see what you'd do. Every action had a reaction, after all.

In reaction to his words, Viktor feels you lightly punch him in the shoulder, which he gladly returns back with a laugh. "I see you aren't tired enough to completely go lazy on me."

You respond with a huff, both arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Not lazy, just tired of seeing." You reply back, eyes still closed.

"Aren't we all?" He jokes with a light roll of his eyes, laughing again. A small snort came from him at how certain you sounded with your answer.

Viktor stretches an arm to grab your glasses, examining them as if he were checking their integrity.

He holds the pair by the edge of its lenses, not wanting to smudge the glass with the oils of his fingers. "You dropped them again, didn't you?" He asks aloud before placing them back on the side table. You pull away from his shoulder to look at your glasses, placed neatly on top of a decorative lace doily. "Yeah, why?" You ask in reply, eyes narrowing as you look at him.

Without your glasses, Viktor was the only thing in the room you could see clearly.

Everything else was a blur. An out of focus, unimportant, blur. You only had eyes for him. Nothing else.

"The scratches on the bridge." He answers, pushing hair out of your face with his thumb, a wordless sign of intimacy between him and you in the confines of his closed off study. It was just you and him here, nobody else. He draws out his words as he speaks.

Slowly, he says, "They're chipped. Right down the middle." As he says that, he slides his finger down the bridge of your nose, finger flicking up into the air playfully. He smiles at you again, seeing the way your eyes light up, a reflection of him in them.

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Words: 1699

Chapter 3

The sun had almost set by the time you found yourself in Westview, the paper with Agatha's adress tucked into your pants' pocket.

You walked the empty road, feeling eyes on you behind pulled curtains. The neighbours were uneasy, having chosen to lock themselves into their houses; but you could not blame them.

If what Agatha said was true and had managed to gather a coven, those poor people must have seen a few odd figures heading the same way as you.

Witches could not help it. They always had this aura, making them easier to stand out. Sometimes, their energy was enough to make someone have this uneasy feeling deep within their guts; though being as ignorant to the supernatural, they could never truly understand why.

At last, you reached the house that seemed to belong to Agatha.

The first thing you noticed was the lack of a door, but you speculated that some unfriendly visitor had found Agatha earlier that day. It would explain this sudden and urgent need to go down the Road in such short notice.

Stepping inside, you could hear voices in the background; indicating that you might be the last one to arrive. Your eyes barely glanced at the rather odd decoration of the house. None of it was screaming Agatha; you knew cause you had lived with her even for a short amount of times.

"Wait," you heard the voice of the teenage boy calling, putting a pause at the overlapping voices of the other witches. "We are one witch short," he pointed out, clearly talking about you.

You decided to make yourself present by letting your steps sound a little harder against the wooden floor, earning different pair of eyes on your form.

"No, you are not," you corrected him, one hand in your pocket.

You quickly scanned the room, sensing the different magical signatures while quickly studying them as well.

They were very different from one another, from their ages to their outfits and, of course, their magic affinity.

Yet again, it was often needed for a coven to be diverse. Though you could not help but wonder if such intense diversity would actually work, the tension between the witches and Agatha was thick enough to almost be visible.

"Sugar," Agatha greeted with a small smirk, not caring that she used your nickname in public.

She never hesitated to do it before, even though you had tried to argue a lot of times. You preferred privacy, and such nicknames, in your opinion, should exist behind close rooms and during intimate moments between two people.

Of course, Agatha never truly took into consideration your opinion and continued. There was something powerful, possessive even when she was the only one to call you such a name. Not to mention, it showed others that in a way, you were hers; some sort of invisible claim that warned others not to test their luck.

Agatha had not changed ever since, at least with that part. Despite the years you two had spent away, despite the rather unknown nature of your relationship; she still kept claiming you, often impressing even herself with ways she could find.

She studied you for a moment as your eyes connected and took notice of your outfit. While other witches chose dresses, skirts, or hippie pants; you went to the other side of the spectrum.

You had chosen a white professional shirt whose shade was bright enough to draw attention from afar. However, that was the only white thing on you.

Your buttoned up vest had white lines, but the base was black, a matching shade with your well tailored pants. Even your tie was at the colour of black, giving you a more unisex and professional look.

Needles to say you had impressed her, since for centuries you were a big fan of simple white clothing. You barely chose any other colour to wear, always having a strong connection to the bright shade.

Yet here you were now, the dark on you, almost fully covering you; the darkness of your solitude and hurt past casting a shadow to your once brighter and naive self.

It tempted Agatha, curious for a moment to test your reaction by having her hand drag across your body; testing if you would stop her when she would try unbutton your vest and take off your tie...oh, and what she could do to you with that tie.

The intense staring and sudden silence had drawn curious looks on you, some wondering what your connection to the dark Witch that had gathered them all.

The moment was interrupted by Lilia, who had been watching between the two of you until her mind and gaze trailed off.

"Two of swords!" She gasped, earning everyone's attention on her.

She did not say anything else, as if she was not conscious she had said anything or not. That alone quickly made you realize which role she played in this coven, a divination witch that was always needed in almost every mission; especially one as dangerous as the one you all had chosen to participate in.

Before any more questions or comments could be thrown, Agatha clapped her hands once.

"Well, gang's all here. Let's hit The Road." She said, trying to change the topic.

However, Jen was not done yet. "Wait," she exclaimed, and Agatha immediately knew this was not going to be good. "Where's our Green Witch?"

"Oh, do we really need one of those?"

"Of course we do." Jen argued and then looked at you. "Unless you are a Green Witch, though you definitely don't look like one," She continued, her tone judging you as did their eyes; going up and down your form.

"I am not," you corrected her, unfazed by her gaze.

You had this passive expression on your face, a cold mask that nothing could truly penetrate. Your aura was calm but hid danger behind it, like a dark peaceful sea whose waters were far deeper than they looked; dangerous creatures lurking within, waiting.

Your answer only fueled the argument between Jen and Agatha, one insisting on the importance of a Green Witch and the other arguing there was no need.

Eventually, Teen joined by referring to one member they had not invited from the list; a black heart.

This made you arch an eyebrow and look at Agatha, who at that moment did the mistake of looking at you as well.

Once again, you quickly saw right through her facade and saw both the fear and annoyance she tried so hard to hide. Whoever this black heart meant to represent was a deep scar from Agatha's past; one she did not wish to bring up.

In the end, Agatha left; excusing herself she was going to bring back the last member so they could all start the ritual and open the door to the Road.

The moment she left, the main attention fell on you; each individual in the room had different thoughts, but you were part of all of them.

In the end, it was the boy who chose to speak up. "Wait, I am confused." he even lifted his hand, like a student asking permission from the teacher to voice his question. "Jen is Potions, Lilia is Divination, Alice is Protection... what are you?"

Jen nodded her head. "The boy is right. What are you?"

That judging look once again.

It made you wonder if she looked at others the same or she felt both offended but also threatened by your presence.

It would not be the first time a witch had reacted negatively against you, especially once they realised your affiliation. Your type was not often welcomed, the duality of your nature often a wildcard that no one wished to possess.

"Backup," you explained, choosing to remain vague with your answer.

There was no need to go into detail, at least not now. You barely knew one another, and it was evident there was no trust between any of you. A common goal brought you forward, but it was not kindness or the need to find a coven.

It was selfish, and you knew that too well. Even your reasons for joining could be considered selfish.

After all, no one else chose to walk the Road unless they had a deep selfish goal in mind. Ironically, this one was what was tested the most during the trials that awaited down the Wicked Path.

You turned to the boy, realizing he was still confused by your presence. Sure, your name was on the list, but you did not seem to be part of the main four needed; according to both the Ballad and Agatha.

"To walk down the Road, you need four basic witch paths to help you and also unlock the door. Anything else is extra help, " you explained, your tone slightly softer

You could not help it. Just by seeing into his dark, innocent eyes, your defences dropped. He was a young boy, too young to choose such a path, and it made you wonder what he truly needed to take such a decision.

Jen opened her mouth to argue when Agatha walked into the room, dragging with her an older woman.

You could immediately tell she was a human woman, no drop of magic within her, and something told you the others realised that too.

Looking at Agatha, you saw her silently asking you to remain quiet on the topic, and you obeyed. Though deep down, you could not help but wonder how this would truly work.

A green witch would be needed for the trial, and only after it was passed, she would no longer be of need.

You did wonder how this would work out, but your trail of thoughts was interrupted by the faint sound of a wold howling. Your head immediately snapped to the side, eyes distantly gazing out the window as the darkness of the night covered the sky.

Agatha must have realised it, too, for she clapped her hands yet again. "No time to waste, vamos!" She said and started to walk towards the stairs leading to her basement, leaving you all no choice but to follow.

Chapter 4

[woolieshubris]

So, you've been sent bait: A Guide for Internet Posters and Readers

Disclaimer: I am simply an autistic internet poster with a special interest in human interaction, abuse patterns, and internet culture. I am not a scholar and I do not have a degree in these things. While I have done research into the topics of cancellation, online abuse, and harassment, I am far from an expert.

Introduction:

I've seen this happen dozens of times before. A semi popular blogger will suddenly seem embroiled in a controversial topic, receiving harassment and accusations of some pretty terrible things. It goes on for about 24-72 hours, and then poof, it seems to be completely over, (however, of course, it can be brought up again without warning.) This can be emotionally damaging for the blogger, for the supporters of that blogger, and for the shock waves it will undoubtedly send into the greater community. This also further spreads discourse and popularizes harmful ideologies to people who might have previously never heard of them. The targets are almost always trans women, (with transmisogyny doing most of the cancellation legwork) and it seems to always have the goal of turning fellow trans people against the target. (Though, of course, I've seen this done with autistic creators, nonbinary creators, ect. Trans women are just the most popular target.)

Now, the goal of this guide is to help people understand how this happens, be able to recognize the patterns of a targeted harassment campaign, and be able to try and prevent it in the future. I'll be writing this as a guide to the target, however, I think it's important for lurkers/readers to also be able to recognize these patterns so they too can avoid being manipulated into falling into these pitfalls. A large portion of this harassment initiative is to use "useful idiots" in order to do most of the legwork. As a reader, you must avoid becoming a useful idiot, (which I'll be referring to as fools from now on) and you must be able to tell when other people are being used in this manner as well. This is the most effective way to protect people from unwarranted harassment campaigns.

Section 1: Bait

Types of Bait:

You've been sent bait, but you aren't sure if it is actually bait, or a genuine question from a fan. You don't want to ignore someone's valid concern, so you answer it even though you might not be sure. This is your first mistake! If you think it might be bait, it's best to treat it as such. Think of bait asks as toxic waste. If you aren't sure, it's much better to be safe than sorry. If you receive a bait ask, your best bet is to delete it and not respond at all. Yes, it will probably rattle you, and you'll probably feel bad about deleting the question, but you need to understand that it doesn't matter. If this person was asking a genuine question, they would understand if you don't want to answer. If they get annoyed or angry at your lack of answer- they were likely asking it with the intent to hurt you.

The first type of bait is bringing up a controversial topic.

While certain topics (like queer rights, abortion, Palestinian freedom) do actually matter in the real world and I would believe are worth responding to or making your position clear (as long as it is something you do have an opinion on) this does not mean all controversial topics are equal. Many topics that are "hot debates" online do not matter in the real world. (for example, proship vs antiship). Regardless of the validity of the debate, if it doesn't matter in the real world, it likely isn't worth publicly stating your opinion on those things. That is why people who are active in those movements try to make these things seem like they have real world consequences- to try and make their debate more valid and easier to pull more people into. The real goal with many of these topics is not to try and have a reasonable discussion. The goal is to try and pull as many people into them as possible. If they can successfully get ANY response out of you, then they win. Their debate is now broadcasted on your platform. Their thoughts, arguments, philosophies are now spread to thousands of people instantly. Even if you respond with an answer like "huh?" "what?" or "what does this mean???" they still win. Your acknowledgement of the debates existence at ALL is a win for them. They get to publicly platform their beliefs on your profile. If you respond at all and express even the slightest hint of an opinion, then they will have an entire section of fools that can now send you messages about this topic. Death by a thousand paper cuts. This is the most common type of bait, and the reason is simple. Internet debates can suck in people and can quickly rot peoples brains. Like sleeper agents, people will automatically start trying to chime in the moment they see the hints of any debate. If you fall for this debate, the best thing to do is delete everything, block main players and wait it out. With any luck, it will be completely forgotten by the end of the week.

The second type of bait is an accusation.

Again, while some allegations or accusations are worth responding to, if it is completely false, not responding will be your best bet. If you do respond at all, the allegation and your name will be linked in peoples minds. Even if you deny it, people will be confused as to why it was brought up at all. They might even think that you are lying or deflecting. Responding to the accusation at all is treated as a confession. If this accusation is something you've heard before, it would be worth looking into the source of the claim- someone might be spreading lies about you. However, if this accusation is something you've never received before, it is almost certainly bait. They are trying to make you look bad. Just delete them. If this is something you are receiving from a specific person, ask them about it privately. Never respond to false accusations on your public platform unless you know the source of the accusations. If you have to respond to them, you need to link to the accusation in full, not vaguely describe them. When you vaguely describe them, then you are putting the duty on the readers to find the accusation- they'll read it on the accusers terms- putting the ball directly into the accusers court. If your reader reads it directly from the accusers, then it will automatically make your refutation look dubious by comparison. Make it easy for the reader to see the full accusation and point out the absurdity of the claims. By laying out all of the information clearly, the readers will be able to easily figure out that the claims were bogus. In future confrontations, your supporters will likely even respond to the accusers for you, now that they fully understand the arguments against you. Supporters love to correct people, and this can help you significantly- just as much as it can hurt. It's a double edged sword, so if you point it in the right direction, it can help protect you against false accusations.

The third type of bait is confusion.

This type of bait is a bit harder to spot, and it's usually blended with the other two types. This type of bait is deliberately confusing. The confusing nature is what makes it such effective bait. A vague message can be read a thousand ways, and as long as one person can spin it in a way that makes you a "horrible person" then that can quickly become the narrative. If you receive a question that you do not understand, you have no reason to answer it. If you can't answer, simply not acknowledging it at all is the smartest thing to do.

How to deal with bait:

As I've stated in the previous sub-sections, the first time you receive any type of bait, you should ignore it. The intentions of the bait may differ, but they all need to be treated in the same way- with no respect at all. Anyone who tells you otherwise is someone who wishes for you to be hurt or a fool. If you receive it more than once, try blocking the person. If you continue to receive it, then that means that in all likelihood it's more than one person sending you the bait, and it might not be bait after all. However, you should proceed with extreme caution. You do not respond to the bait- you figure out the source of the questions and answer it on your own terms. Simply making a post like "Hey, for the record, I support dolphins." will go over a thousand times better than a post that goes like "'Why do you hate dolphins?' I don't." If you are receiving bait, another way to deal with it is by turning anonymous asks off and looking into the blogs of people sending you the bait. Search terms relating to the question they asked. If it's something they seem to get into a lot of internet fights over, block them. The approach you must always consider bait with is that all of the bait asks you receive are sent by one person trying to seem like a group of people. This is on purpose- they want to intimidate you into answering. This is why blocking and turning off anonymous asks can be useful tools. It forces them to unmask themselves.

Footnote 1: The response by these bait people is often "keeping on anonymous asks allow people to feel safe in asking these important questions." Your safety is more important. This is just trying to guilt trip you. Fools will also often respond similarly. After all, it can sound compelling. However you are not a publicly traded company. You do not need transparency. You do not have body guards or multiple employees. You are a singular person with a right to privacy and safety.

Summary

In this section, we discussed the main types of bait: controversial, accusatory, and confusing. We also talked about the best way to deal with each type, as well as the pitfalls of responding to each type, and how to deal with a larger harassment campaign.

If you personally have fallen victim to any of these techniques, either as a fool or a poster, I can understand how you might feel- however the important aspect of these types of bait is that they can and do trick people. If they didn't work, they wouldn't be used. It is not your fault for falling for it- it is completely on the perpetrators of this abuse. However, I hope this guide can help people to protect themselves or recognize when these things are happening to them.

[thetypingwriterficblog]

skyfall

[loki x f!reader. part of the moonlight sunrise compilation. this is the enemies part of the enemies-to-friends-to-lovers. takes place during The Avengers (2012). canon divergence. this is basically the premise chapter. feedback is greatly appreciated!] next > TW: some graphic descriptions of injuries, canon-typical violence Word count: 1.3k [edited to be in 2nd person pov. italics = y/n's thoughts]

The city crumbles all around you. You sprint through the falling ruble, grabbing whoever you can get to safety.

“Guys, what the fuck is going on over there?!”, you yell into comms.

“Sorry Doc, but Rudolf here just keeps setting off explosives.”, Stark chimes in. 

You throw down a shield around a family before a block of cement could crush them. You usher in the stragglers in the street to the subways underground to take cover. Looking up, alien ships whizz through the air. Your eyes land on Cap on a cop car giving out instructions. 

“...I need a perimeter as far back as 39th.”, Cap says before beating the shit out of the aliens that popped up behind him. You run over to him, catching the attention of the police, “Make sure the buildings are evacuated, too. Those things are airborne and they got bombs.” You turn to Cap, “You guys need me over there?” He shook his head, “We’ll be ok. Right now, I need you on the ground doing damage control.”

“Got it.”, you throw Cap a thumbs up before turning on my heel to follow the sounds of destruction. Note to self, I need Stark to build me some fancy hyper-mobility shoes or something because I cannot keep running around like this. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“He’s stable.”, you say to the EMT before moving on to another body, your hands emitting a warm glow. The next one was a kid - couldn't be more than 7 years old - his chest caved in and his mouth full of blood. Your heart gets stuck in your throat, but you try to shake off the feeling. You place your palms on his chest, and focus your energy into regenerating his rib cage. The kid sputters out a cough. Judging from the blood, his lungs may have been punctured. You take one of your hands and slide it under his back to start healing his lungs. Soon, you can feel his ribs get solid under your palm and his wheezing soon stops. You breathe a sigh of relief as wave of exhaustion hits you. 

I can’t keep this up at this rate. 

Breaking out of your daze, a voice comes through your earpiece. “Got Loki, gonna go out for shawarma, you want anything?” You stomach growls on cue, but as you look around at the wounded people on stretchers and makeshift beds on the ground, your feet stays firmly planted. “I dunno, Stark. Things aren’t look so good down here. I don’t think I should-”

“Go.”, the EMT spoke curtly without looking up from the arm she was dressing, “We got it from here. Thank you.” You nod back, “Thank you, too.”

Promising to come to the hospital to help later, you head over to the shawarma place.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Pushing through the doors of the Shawarma Palace, you're greeted with the sight of Nat, Clint, Banner, Stark, Thor, and Cap huddled around the table, eating their meal with a chained Loki sat in between Rogers and the Asgardian. 

“(Y/N)! So nice of you to join us.”, Stark motions to an empty chair next to Nat but you instead make a beeline for the tied-up god. “Thanks for having me.”, you smile at Stark before pointing at Loki, “This is the guy right? He’s the one that opened the hell portal and blew up my city?” The others look at you weird as a couple nod their heads with a soft “Yeah?”.

“Ok, cool.”

You deck Loki in the jaw.

“Oooh, whatever happened to the Hippocratic oath, Doc?”, Stark winces. “I’m not an actual doctor, I am held to no such oath.”, you turn to the cook with a smile before making your order. 

Loki, annoyed, whips his head to look at me, “Nice to meet you too, (Y/N).” You send him a death glare before sitting down next to Nat with your shawarma in hand. “What did I miss?”, you say before starting to eat. 

“Nothing much. Stark flew into the hell hole, closed it, fell from the sky, we met up to catch this guy,” -Nat motions to Loki- “and now we’re here eating this… really good shawarma.” Tony has a smug look on his face at Nat’s approval. “Man, it sounds like you guys had a lot of fun.”, you manage in between bites. “How were things for you?”, Banner interjects. “Oh, you know the usual. Shielding people from falling rubble, running around evacuating people, spent a lot of time with really wounded people with sunken in chests and heads trying to bring them back to the land of the living. You know,” you shrug before reaching down for the last bite of shawarma, “Usual damage control.”

You're met with looks of sympathy and discomfort, and you never wanted to change the subject more. “So, this shawarma really hit the spot!”, you laugh, hoping the mood will change. “Yeah, you devoured your food so quickly, I’m surprised that you weren’t breathing it in!”, Thor chimes in heartily before turning to the cook, “Another! Another one of these shawarmas for the doctor lady.” 

“Not a doctor.”, you quip while sending Thor a thankful smile.

Eating your second shawarma, you can feel yourself regaining some energy, but you still need to recharge in the sun for a bit before you start using your powers again. “So,” you look over at Loki, “what are we going to do with him?” Steve leans back and crosses his arms, “Well, Thor is planning on taking him back to Asgard, but S.H.I.E.L.D is trying to keep Loki and the tesseract under their jurisdiction.” You nod, “I think we should keep him here, better to use him to help clean up the mess he made. Call it community service.”

You turn to Thor, “What would he be doing in Asgard anyway?”. Thor shrugs, “Knowing our father, he’d probably have him locked up for a few hundred years for treason, but knowing our mother, Loki wouldn’t be punished too severely.”. “Exactly, my point!”, you start cleaning up the table, taking the others’ empty baskets and throwing them into the garbage, “What’s the use of him sitting in a cell, when we can use his magic or whatever to help rebuild New York?”

“That’s not how my magic works, darling.”, Loki interjects. “Then you’ll do it the old-fashioned way without magic.”, you retort. Loki puts his hands up with a ‘whatever you say’ look on his face. Steve, Bruce seem to be on my side, while the others seem unconvinced. “Wouldn’t it be dangerous to just let him run wild?”, Clint asks with a furrowed brow. “It wouldn’t be unsupervised. I’ll be able to watch him and organize what he needs to do, plus he has those-”, you motion to the chains and cuffs on Loki, “magic erasing thingies on him so he can’t use his magic to get away.” You turn to Thor, “Is there something in Asgard that are like those but less movement restrictive and he won’t be able to get out of?” Thor hums in thought, “No, but I know a blacksmith.” You light up and look at Clint, “See? We could secure him.” You can hear more approval for your idea. 

“I don’t think S.H.I.E.L.D will need much convincing on this.”, Nat pipes up, “I can help win them over on this plan.” 

“And I can go to Asgard to see if I can get Odin’s approval to keep Loki on Earth-”, you pause, “if it’s ok with Thor.” Thor gives me a thumbs up as he downs his glass.

“Alright, sounds like a plan!”

[amanitacurses]

Names

1 2 3

[noblesandsstories]

Venomous Ties

Chapter 1- Did it's people want too much too?

Alpha Albert Wesker x AFAB!Reader

-> ANGST; Omegaverse; I don’t know how old Wesker is in the games, but I’m assuming old enough for this to be labeled “Older Man, Younger Woman”; Age gap; Domestic abuse; Allusions to physical abuse; This get’s dark, especially these first two chapters; Suicidal ideation/thoughts; Toxic, controlling, and abusive stepfather; Neglectful mother; the whole nine yards; Some canon has been manipulated, but it's meant to work with the lore I know about.

AN: Goodness gracious. I haven't edited this, it's barely proofread. This is such an odd project for me to feel passionate about, but nonetheless I do. PLEASE adhere to the tags. This fic starts dark and it gets darker. Take care of yourselves my friends. The world is very cold right now.

Title is from "Nobody" by Mitski

Border made by @sweetmelodygraphics

You opened the door only wide enough to let you slip inside. You were early to the meeting and were not surprised to see only two people there. Both were blond, one being slightly shorter. His coat was a bit more rumpled, and his hair was shaggier. The taller one wore sunglasses, his hair was perfectly slicked back, and his coat was perfectly straightening and clean. They turned to look at you, their faces dropping into scowls.

Better get this over with.

“I’m here to write notes of the meeting for Dr. Edington.” You move towards one of the seats in the back. No point in sitting front and center.

“Why can’t he be here himself? He’s rather needed for this,” the one without glasses snipped.

They had every right to be upset, mad even. Bruno had been the main reason this meeting was called and now he sends some random person in to just take notes on his behalf. You’d be pissed too. But you can’t say that.

“I’m sorry, sir. He didn’t tell me where he went, just to take notes.” At this you sat down, opening your notebook to the next clear page.

“He left?” The man’s voice was almost shrill. You could feel the heat of the other man’s gaze through his glasses. It was time to prepare for the worst.

“Yes, sir.”

The man next to him finally spoke. “We can’t let just anyone sit in.”

“I understand.” You flipped your notebook closed. You’d probably get kicked out, then you could figure your way back to Bruno’s office. He was the one who was going to have to answer for this. No skin off your back. Maybe a bruise on the arm, but not much more. “I apologize that there’s not more I can tell you.”

You look up to find that the man with the sunglasses standing above you. He was possibly the most intimidating person you’ve ever seen. Tall and bulky, but able to move silently with a face and voice that gave away nothing of how he was feeling.

“Identify yourself.”

You give him your first name, not knowing if Bruno would appreciate telling them your last. “Dr. Edington keeps me as a record keeper of sorts. I organize his files, transcribe his notes during his lab sessions, and other tasks like that if needed.”

He put a packet in front of you on the table.

“Then perhaps you can answer the questions we have pertaining to this. Specifically, why it’s written in gibberish?”

You look down and with a few words knew exactly what the problem was. You flip it over to read the code on the back to confirm your suspicions.

“It seems he gave you the coded report.”

“Coded?”

“Yes, sir. I write the notes for the lab session, he writes it in official terms and in code, and when he needs to send a lab report out, I translate it back.” You flip open the notebook again, beginning to go through word by word.

“Do you know it off the top of your head?”

“Yes sir, most of it. Since it’s a shorter one, I can probably get what I can done in 30 minutes.”

One singular eyebrow raised at your statement. “If you can’t complete all of it?”

“It’s a book code, sir. I can go back to the office and pick out what I don’t recall. That might take slightly longer but not by much.”

He only gave a slight tilt of the head in response, standing quietly above you. The other man spoke up.

“This is highly classified information that we are just handing to a random woman, we can’t just give it to her.”

“Edington has already been giving her plenty to work with and she saves us one conversation with him.”

There was more silence as the men hovered, until another person in a lab coat walked in, a few more behind them. The man in the sunglasses turned to them. “This meeting is cancelled for today. Continue your projects as normal and we will get back to you for rescheduling.” The others didn’t hesitate before leaving, not glancing past the man in the sunglasses once. He turned back to you.

“I’ll be by Edington’s office in an hour and a half to collect that report. Be expecting me.”

You grabbed everything off the table and stood. “Of course, sir, I’ll have it done.” You gave a quick nod and “Have a good afternoon” to the other man before slipping out the door.

It didn’t take you as long to get back to Bruno’s office. He was still gone, though he would probably be gone for a while.

You mulled over what candle you wanted to use as you pulled out the books for the code, deciding on a weaker clean scent. Faint enough that, hopefully, by the time the man with the glasses arrived the smell would be gone, but enough to get rid of the sterile smell of the environment. On some level, you understood the need for a lab full of serious science projects to not stink of the various smells that people exude, especially to avoid hormonal nonsense. But it still was harsh on the nose, and you weren’t an official employee anyways. You could feign innocence, and hope that they wouldn’t be too harsh. Or would at least make whatever they did to punish people around here quick.

You got it done easily, with nearly an hour to spare. You blew out the candle and turned on the fan, before picking up the book you were working on. It was a book covering the of basics of virology that Bruno kept. It was dull but kept interest while you waited for…. Anything.

Bruno to return, probably mad at something. That man from this morning, picking up the translated copy. Your mom, whisking you to a new city. As if.

The door opened. It was the second option, as the man walked in. You glanced at the clock on the wall. Early by 40 minutes.

“Enjoying yourself?” He hums, walking into the office.

“Taking in the quiet,” you say, putting the book down and moving over to the desk. “If I may, what’s your name?”

He stilled, before answering “Wesker.”

“Spelt how it sounds?”

He nodded, and you wrote down “Wesker Copy” on the back of the notes.

“Could you not type and print it?”

“I don’t have access to the system, and I don’t know where the printer room is, apologies.”

He takes it, flipping through the pages. “This will work for now. Tell your stepfather-”

You felt like your head was shoved underwater, white noise draining out the rest of his words. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Pardon?”

“He… he doesn’t like it when people call him that.”

A beat of silence went by. Then he slowly replied, “Understood.”

“Sorry, didn’t meant to take up your time. I’m sure you have work to get back to.”

“I do indeed. I’ll be seeing you.”

You really hoped not but kept that to yourself. “Have a good day, sir.”

He lingered for just a moment before slipping out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruno wasn’t happy when he appeared later. He barely said anything except that you were leaving when he entered the office and was mute in the car. Didn’t ask about how the meeting went or what his coworkers said. He didn’t even take the time to list all of the reasons you shouldn’t have been born. Just silent. It honestly wasn’t that bad, except the sour smell of his fury permeated the air. Like the quiet before a volcan erupts.

And erupt it did.

The lamp got it as he sent it flying across the living room when you walked in. Your mom, who seemed like she was going to greet you at the door, vacated the premises promptly. You don’t blame her. You would too if you could. Unfortunately, mercy died long ago.

“What the hell did you say to him, you little snake?” He growled.

The back of your mind tingled, warning you to flee, but you knew better. Running from predators never worked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, keeping your voice neutral and calm. “He asked about the file you sent him, I told him you must have accidentally sent a coded one, and translated it for him as he asked.”

“Bullshit,” he barked. “I met Wesker in the hallway on my way back and now I have him up my ass about irresponsibility and not doing my damn job. So, what. Did. You. Say?”

“I told you, nothing more than that.” You knew your plea was useless, you knew. But silence was worse.

“I’m the alpha of this household, you are to cater to me. And if you think after today, you’ll be fed and cared for, think again. Go to your room and stay there. I’ll tell you when you can leave.”

It’s a more favorable punishment. You don’t argue, don’t whimper, don’t cry. You slink away, briefly meeting your mom’s gaze from where she stands at the kitchen door before she looks down and turns back to whatever she was cooking. And you return to your march to your exile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

The next few days went as they usually do. Taking your pills in the morning to the sound of Bruno yelling at your mom about breakfast or the state of the house or simply because he was mad.

He dragged you to his job, made you do a bunch of work you’re pretty sure was his responsibility anyways, and kept to the status quo. Until you pissed him off royally.

You thought you had written all the data down correctly during one of his lab sessions. Turns out you missed something, because he was furious. Going on about how your mistake cost him reputation with a coworker and so on and so forth. He was never clear when he yelled about something, and it used to frustrate you to no end. (Now it’s normal. And for some reason that thought stings.)

He stormed out around 3 in the afternoon.

Now it was 7 at night and the building was empty.

This isn’t new. He’s done this once before. That time you walked the 5 hour walk back only to find the doors locked and no one up, resulting in you sneaking into the backyard and sleeping in one of the lawn chairs.

This time you decided to cut your losses and stay in the labs. If you were going to sleep somewhere uncomfortable, you’ll save yourself the walk and stay where there is heating.

You made your way to the break room cautiously, hoping not to set off any form of security. Though now that you think about it, at least in jail they feed you. You chuckled to yourself as you walked up to the door, noticing the lights on. There was the smell of something in the air, though you couldn’t put your finger on it. You opened the door as silently as possible, poking your head in…

To find Wesker staring at you.

“Now what are you doing here this late?” He sounded almost amused at seeing you. “Have you decided to make a hole here, little mouse?”

“My ride forgot me,” you tried to add a lighthearted flare to your words to keep the mood light, taking in the room. It was empty except for you and Wesker who was eating, what you assume, leftovers out of a container. He wasn’t wearing his lab coat, instead just the usual button up and pants number that most of the people around here wore, though he lacked a tie.

One eyebrow raised at your answer. “Do you not have a way home?”

“I’ll live.” You began to rummage around the cabinets hoping for anything that could help through the night.

“You’re not convincing me.” He came up behind you, reaching up, opening the upper cabinet, and pulling out something, and putting a bar in your hand. “Can’t have the cornerstone of Edington’s work starving, now, can we?”

“I’m not doing that much. He does research, I write down what he tells me to.” It took some prying to open the package.

“Most of this job is writing things down.” His face remains neutral, almost impossible to read. It’s a struggle trying to decide if it’s terrifying or not. “If he can’t do that without assistance, he needs to consider other careers.”

“Probably an understatement,” you mumble, not paying attention, just biting into the bar. Was it the best thing you’ve ever eaten? No. But it was edible and that was good enough.

“What makes you say that?”

You froze. It felt like you were a deer on the other side of a hunter’s rifle. One wrong move and it was all over. Sure, Wesker seemed like he held as much disdain for Bruno that you did, but if word got back to him, it was a world of misery for you.

The room was silent for a few minutes before he just hummed, “Interesting.”

“What?” you croaked.

“Don’t worry about it. What’s your education level?”

You hesitated. “Graduated Raccoon City High a few years ago.”

“College?”

“I want to go, but Bruno won’t have it. Says it’ll be a waste of money.”

“Yet you do a majority of his work?”

This whole conversation felt like a trap. You look away and focus on the bar, eating it as slow as possible, hoping to buy some time. And wishing you had something to drink. Maybe the fridge has some waters stocked? They’re not for you though.

They’re for the people doing important things with their lives. People with homes. Maybe pets. Probably loving family and friends who’s lives haven’t been so fucked up that they might as well be… dead. No one would notice you missing. No one would care or weep. Sure, your mom might tear up, but if anything, your dead might cause Bruno to chill out.

Fingers snapping in front of your face brings you back to the room, a bottle of water now sitting in front of you.

“There you are, I thought I lost you,” he hums.

Your cheeks flushed. “Sorry, I think I’m just a bit tired. I’ll take this and go back to Bruno’s office.”

“Last I recall, he doesn’t own a couch or anything of that nature.”

“There’s an armchair, I’ve napped in it a few times.”

He shakes his head. “This lab is connected to a manor with plenty of rooms to spare, I’ll escort you to one.”

“There’s no need, I’m sure they’re for something important.”

He huffs a laugh while grabbing his coat. “Hardly, it remains mostly empty, unless Spencer has guests to attend to.”

“Will he not-”

“He’s away and leaves me to look after it. Any mess you leave behind the maids will tend to.” He stood expectantly by the door. You got the hint, grabbing the bottle of water.

You thought the lab was one of the most confusing places you had ever gone through, but after a minute or two of walking through the mansion you quicky changed your mind. Between the winding halls and the turns and staircases, by the time he opened the door to a room, you were convinced you’d never get out.

You stepped in to one of the most lavish and ornate rooms you had ever seen. A large four poster bed sat in the middle of the room, a giant elegant wardrobe to the side, and a desk up by a window. There was a door off to the side.

“That leads to the en suite bathroom. Anything else?”

“Do you have a list of directions out?”

He laughed. It was weird, this man who hardly showed any emotion laughing so suddenly. It was almost off putting. But it was the first laugh you had heard in a long time, and something made it feel special.

“I’ll get you in the morning. I’m sure there will be things to talk about.”

Not foreboding at all.

“Goodnight, Doctor Wesker.”

“Goodnight my dear.”

[t1koy-roll]

Tried to draw Sunspot!

(The reason I drew him black is because he's canonically afro-brazilian in his origin story, which I didn't even know until searching him up.)

[v3lnys]

my love, come back to me

Marco Bezzecchi/Celestino Vietti – 1.4k words

note: not very proud of this, but i wanted to write something not as detailed as i usually do :)

Bezz thinks it's a little hard to understand Cele sometimes. He thinks he should be good at it by now, growing up together and dating for a few years, but Cele can still be so enigmatic, a little closed off. It's not hard to guess the facile emotion he may be feeling, especially when Cele is sulking, it shows up fairly easily. But it's hard to get inside his brain, understand what caused it or how it really makes Cele feel, hard to understand what he's thinking, how he's dealing with it.

None of the guys really suspected anything, not even Bezz, not until Cele started drifting away, fading out of the picture by choice. They were a little too preoccupied with their own shit during the season, trying to make time for each other, but ultimately a little lost in their own stuff.

Bezz would check in, taking the feeble responses and excuses without much thought when he should've dug deeper. Cele always relents if he's persistent enough. And it's not like Cele was dying, or planning to, but he was almost withering away by the time Bezz grew concerned enough to pry. Bezz had every right to pry, that kind of came with the ordeal of a relationship and caring about someone, but Cele was more independent and Bezz was trying his best to respect it. In the end, he felt like maybe he respected it too much, it probably wouldn’t have gotten so bad with more insistent check-ins.

It wasn't until Bezz's routine started feeling void of the Cele shaped presence that he took a more physical approach than just texting and calls or facetime while Bezz cooked for himself and Rubik. One day Bezz just showed up at Cele's place, concerned with the slight reluctance he was met with when he brought up the proposal to come over.

Cele was never particularly tidy with his spaces, liked to keep them 'lived in', but this was just. Different. Dirty clothes on the floor, unmade bed, days old dishes waiting to be washed in the sink. Cele didn't look his best either. Paler than normal, curls wild and grown out, unshaved beard. It made Bezz's heart break, something in his chest tightening at the thought of Cele – his Cele – suffering in silence as they all went about their lives, taking his lackluster excuses at face value.

Bezz wanted to cry, but he couldn't. Not when Cele was fidgeting around like he should've even felt guilty about anything. He helped clean the place up, took the medication off Cele's nightstand with shaky hands. Bezz couldn't even read it properly, thought he really might cry if he read what it really was. But the bottles and weird names were telling enough, Bezz was somewhat familiar with it all. They prescribed him all kinds of different shit when he was having a hard time getting his head in order earlier in the season.

They showered together, Cele practically melting against Bezz's chest the whole time. It must've been so relieving, finally getting to bask in the physical contact, the closeness, the care. Bezz sat him down on the bathroom counter after, gently held Cele's face as he shaved his scruffy beard. It immediately made Cele look younger, a little more alive and Bezz could already see the life coming back to Cele's face, eyes. It was nice. Getting to take care of him, even if he should've done it sooner.

With the blinds wide open, the fall brightness filtering into Cele's apartment, everything was coming back to life. Bezz's boy was coming back to life. Coming back to him.

Cele wasn't that good with opening up about his feelings, clearly, but they talked about it, kind of. Cele was a little more lively after they ate, ordering take out because the kitchen pretty much only housed redbulls and ingredients that Bezz wasn't qualified enough to craft into a meal. They migrated to Cele's bed after, fresh sheets and all, Cele's head pillowed on Bezz's chest, talking quietly about it all, Bezz finally deciding to push a little. He wanted to understand.

A few weeks passed. The guys were clearly happy to have Cele around again, checked in more, Bezz could see that Cele liked it even if he didn't let on. He fucked his collarbone at the last race, Bezz made sure he was there to take care of him. They barely spent time apart, but it was good.

The season's over and they're pretty much glued together, apart from the occasion plans that Bezz's friends make and invite him along, Cele has his own stuff too. But they wake up together and they fall asleep together, they take Rubik out for walks. They meet up with the guys and it's good, it's normal again.

Cele is half on top of Bezz again, one arm around his waist, cheek squished against Bezz's pec. It's pretty fucking cold in Cele's apartment so it feels cozy to be like this, all tangled together like they're one creature. Bezz plays with the curly strands of Cele's dark hair, he thinks he really likes the length. Long, but not too wild. Cele doesn't have to wear the sling anymore, still, his doctor told him not to put too much stress on the injury. Bezz doesn't think Cele will listen to the doctors though.

They've been in this position for ages, talking and just. Enjoying each other. Rubik is sleeping in his fluffy dog bed and Bezz loves this, it feels so perfect and domestic that he could cry.

"Want to go for a walk?" he asks when they've been silent for a while.

"Yeah. Okay," Cele mutters an answer, but doesn't make any move to get up for a while, not until Bezz starts untangling their legs.

He's wearing Bezz's hoodie, soft and clearly loved, big on Cele just like it is on Bezz and everything about it just compels Bezz to draw him closer, kissing him easily, softly.

They go outside and it's cold, a little windy, already dark outside even though it's not even that late. Cele's wearing a light blue puffer jacket, celeste. It matches Bezz's, although his is camo print. They hold hands as they make their way through the quiet street, talking about whatever. Bezz doesn't remember the last time life felt so right.

The skatepark is empty even though it's not that cold yet. Bezz tugs Cele towards the tallest ramp, runs up and sits on the edge, waits for Cele to do the same. Cele tries, but doesn't gather enough momentum, slides back down and he laughs, bright and easy. It's so fucking nice. Hearing Cele laugh like this. The next time he succeeds, sits down beside Bezz and they're both smiling at each other, leaning towards each other for a kiss.

Bezz reaches into his pocket, there's a brand new pack of cigarettes, still in the plastic wrapping and all, that he bought this morning, intending to share with Cele. It's unhealthy, but it's almost like a treat now, not like a good few weeks ago when he was chainsmoking during the early stages of the whole recovery thing for Cele. It was hard. It's better now, so much better. They only smoke together, it’s easier to lose the habit that way.

His lighter has a little scorpion sticker on one side, a wave sticker on the other. Cele holds his cigarettes between his index and middle fingers, palm open – Bezz read somewhere that it must mean Cele's a dreamer. He thought that was fairly accurate. Bezz holds his cigarettes like they're a joint or something, Cele teases him for it. They hold hands, fingers intertwined and resting on Bezz's thigh.

The ashes fall down the ramp, the skaters will be fine, the wind will scatter them. When they slide down, they stand there for a moment and Cele starts rubbing his hands together, always running colder than Bezz. He takes Cele's hands and blows warm air on them, can smell the lingering smoke on their hands and it's kind of lovely, he finds that he likes the smell.

It's properly dark outside when they get back to Cele's apartment. Bezz puts on a shitty TV drama and they settle on the couch, Cele curling up against his side again like it's his natural position. Maybe it is because Bezz likes holding Cele, sharing kisses whenever he turns his head. Rubik is a warm, solid weight on the other side of Bezz. Cele plays with the frayed strings of Bezz's hoodie, something for his nervous hands to busy themselves with.

Life is good and Bezz really loves Cele. He loves him so much that he could never put it into words. But it's okay, they have some weird silent connection, Cele understands him and Bezz is starting to crack the deeper codes that reside in Cele's subconsciousness.

[misuutira]

“The curse had fallen upon her shoulders, one that she had taken willingly at the time. But her regrets increased with time, much like the threads she added to the tapestries she wove.” ― D.A. Henneman, Web Of Lies: A Goddesses In Love Novella

OKAY LOOK-

HEAR ME OUT-

I have zero clue if anyone's done this concept before for an Akumatized!Marinette, but I think a Spider-themed Akuma based around the Greco-Roman myth of Arachne (Arachnette?) just works too well not to try and sketch out myself. Especially in the wake of the Season 5 finale, where she a.) was forced to weave an elaborate web of lies about her confrontation with Gabriel, the Wish, and his death, and b.) was unable to stop Monarch from accessing the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous to make the Ultimate Wish--the mission she's had since the very beginning of the series. I can only imagine how miserable girly's feeling in the aftermath and the potential Imposter Syndrome that comes with her involvement in all of it.

So, an Akumanette who believes her Akumatization to be divine retribution for thinking that she could have ever been strong or special enough to embody the traits of the gods? It seems rather fitting here imo. :)

The design is a bit busy, I'll admit, but I was having way too much fun trying out brushes that I don't normally use. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out all things considered!

[wispon]

"get your refs ready for art fight!!" buddy i'll be happy if i have a consistent design by art fight

[bratdotcom]

SMALL THINGS I THINK THE BOYS WOULD FALL FOR + CHARLES !!!

( dethklok + charles x reader hcs !! this is my first time writing for them so if its ooc i apologize in advance 😭 )

NATHAN

- Being able to rest with you. He's an overthinker, even when it comes to resting

- He constantly wonders to himself if he's doing things right. Having you there to reassure him and bounce ideas with him makes Nathan feel much more confident about making big decisions for the band when Pickles is busy

- Reminding him to wear his glasses. Most of the time, he doesn't bother to unless the situation really calls for it

- Speaking of glasses, when he's in public with you and he can't see something , you become his glasses. ( When in private, he'll awkwardly tell you that you did a good job and that he loves you )

SKWISGAAR

- sharing

- straight up, just sharing anything

- Skwisgaar doesn't like sharing much of anything at all- you're the exception

- He secretly loves handing you sweets from his plate and watching your face light up when your eyes land on his fork (he pretends like it isn't a big deal, but it definitely is)

- He loves breaking pastries in half just to give the other piece to you

- Skwisgaar has a sense of pride whenever you thank him. He pretends like it's nothing (it's going to be on his mind for weeks)

PICKLES

- lazing around with you

- Pickles loves preparing the living room just for the two of you to watch on the various screens hooked up on the ceiling, snacks, blankets, and all

- if you're up for it, he'll gladly rewatch movies you've both seen a dozen times before

- does the trick where he pretends to yawn so he can wrap his arm around you ( does it because it makes you laugh every single time )

TOKI

- kisses!!

- pecks on the cheek, forehead kisses, butterfly kisses, Toki loves them all!!

- Especially quick pecks on the cheek when you need leave the room

- More than once, Skwisgaar has to tell him to pay attention during practice all because you kissed him

- Toki thinks kisses on the lips are the specialist of them all. He'd rather kiss you on the lips in private rather than in public

MURDERFACE

- listening to him

- due to how often he's overlooked in the band, he doesn't have anyone to share his thoughts with

- that was until you came into the picture

- William absolutely adores you. He knows that you won't ridicule him or cut him off when he's explaining battle facts or ideas he has for his own independent projects

- He also likes laying his head on your shoulder, but he tries playing it off as him being 'tired' from touring

- He tries to act tough but if you kiss him on the bridge of his nose his face will go entirely red (I'm talking about looking away and murmuring to himself type shit)

CHARLES

- calling each other

- even with how chaotic the boys are, Charles still tries to keep a consistent schedule so he can call you at the same times everyday

- Unsurprisingly, being Dethklok's manager is a time-consuming job

- Knowing that you're at home waiting for him with open arms makes him feel better

- He likes hearing you ramble about whatever over the phone whenever he has the time to call you

- On the rare occasion where he has nothing else to do, he often replays the voice messages you leave in his inbox, listening intently as if you were right in front of him. He misses you. A lot

[imagine-darksiders]

On the Ropes - chapter 23.

CYNOSURE.

Summary: You're in trouble. More trouble than you seem to realise...

Montgomery Gator X F!Reader

Slight Freddy X F!Reader

Tags: Jealousy, Protectiveness, Hurt/comfort, Angst, Violence, Anger, Past abuse, Friends to lovers, dialogue.

Please note, I haven't seen anything to do with the Ruin DLC. I'm writing this with just the base game in mind.

---------

If it were possible for a human to retreat inside their own shadow, you'd happily let go of your crutches and sink down into the safety of the darkness stretched across the daycare floor behind you, hiding within yourself where nobody – not Andy, nor Freddy or Monty or Eclipse – would be able to see you.

You want to be small.

You want to be still.

So small and so still that you could slip out of view entirely to conceal yourself amongst the dust and atoms that are naked to the human eye.

You'd only ask for a few hours. A few hours to be unimportant and unnoticeable.

Is that such an outlandish ask?

If it meant you don't have to be looked upon by a man with anger contorting his expression into something cold and ugly, you'd disappear in a heartbeat.

You've wished for similar things before, in entirely dissimilar situations.

“Andy,” you croak, trying not to dwell on how timid and yielding your voice has fallen, “I-I'm sorry, okay? I know I should've gone straight home-”

“So why didn't you?” The speed at which he cuts off your sentence is jarring enough to send you shrinking behind your shoulders and dropping your eyes to a spot on the mechanic's shirt that shifts across his heaving chest, slack then taut then slack with each breath.

He's asked a valid question, you remind yourself, swallowing thickly. And really, what did you expect? He has every right to be angry with you. You were discharged from the hospital and expected to go straight home to rest your broken ankle, but instead, you've returned to the very building where you sustained your injury in the first place not twelve hours later.

Sparing a second to go over the motions in your mind's eye, you start to get a picture of where you might have made a couple of minor errors in judgement.

Gulping past a lump of nerves in your throat, you raise your eyes to the mechanic's again and offer him your excuse, though you can only imagine how feeble it must sound in his discerning ears. “I... just wanted to make sure they... I needed to see that everyone was okay. Monty was half-destroyed, Andy, I couldn't just sit at home and not-”

Abruptly, the mechanic's jaws split around a sharp bark of laughter that causes Eclipse's fingers to cinch several pascals tighter around your bicep.

Even Freddy's ears flinch back at the piercing sound.

“Pah! You needed to know they were okay?” Andy parrots, giving his head a shake and planting his hands squarely on his hips. Seconds later, his face twists up to aim a scowl at you, all traces of false amusement gone. “And why in the Hell didn't you just call me!?” he points out, jabbing a forefinger against his chest, “You have my number! You could've just asked me! I'd've checked on 'em for you so you could go home!” You don't miss how his voice cracks on the final word. “What the Hell were you thinkin', kid?”

And you wish you had an answer for him.

You could counter his query with one of your own. Like whether or not he truly thinks you wouldn't have just gone to plex anyway, especially after he told you what had happened to the attendants.

Something solid bumps gently against your good ankle, and a hurried glance down reveals that Monty's segmented tail has swept close behind you, curling up around your legs as the gator shifts on his hydraulics and leans closer into your side.

It's a subtle shift, or as subtle as a three tonne animatronic can be. Privately, you hope he doesn't say anything in your defence. You can't imagine that Monty speaking his mind will lead to a peaceable outcome between he and the mechanic right now.

But if the ornery gator was on the cusp of formulating a response on your behalf, he never gets to spit it from his voice-box.

Forcing a rough exhale through his teeth, Andy raises a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed firmly shut. “Look, kid, I...” He trails off to sigh again, turning on his heel with a fist clenched at his side. You try not to stare at his bone-white knuckles, all too aware that Freddy's optics are adhered to your face.

“You got any idea how scared I was when I went to the Hospital this mornin' and you weren't there?”

Pressing your lips together, you numbly shake your head, though you're not sure he's even looking for a response.

Without turning to face you, he finally lets out a tired, old exhale, tipping his head back to glare up at a nondescript point on the ceiling. ”... It's been a hell of a long day.”

You have to wonder if he managed to get any sleep last night with how thickly his voice dips.

Although you're conscious you've used it to death, you nonetheless can't refrain from falling back on your typical, knee-jerk response. “I'm sorry, Andy...” you apologise.

“I know you're sorry,” he grunts waspishly without missing a beat as he begins to march towards the daycare entrance, “Now you'd better get your sorry ass to the car park, stat. M'callin' you a cab...”

“But-”

The mechanic's boots squeak on the rubber mats, silencing you when he whirls about to jab a finger at you, ignoring Monty's guttural hum of warning.

“But nothin'!” he snaps, which in turn has you snapping your mouth shut, “I ain't in the mood today, okay? Now get!”

His command echoes out through the cavernous room, disappearing into the rafters hanging high over the daycare.

As Andy stands there, seething, you keep your feet planted firmly on the ground. With Monty's plates quivering on your right, the attendant's fingers squeezing wrinkles into the sleeve of your shirt, and Freddy hovering between you, sending apprehensive glances between you and the mechanic, you take a shaky breath to steel your nerves before you finally manage to rush out, “But what about Eclipse?”

It's funny. Before today, you'd never actually seen a vein bulge in real life.

Andy's temple seems to throb for a moment as he stares at you, jaw creaking open in disbelief.

In another second, his brows are wrenched to the centre of his forehead and he makes a sound of incredulity at the back of his throat, almost a laugh, but a dangerous one.

“Eclipse?” he scoffs, “Who the Hell is-?”

Somewhere overhead, a mechanical 'thunk' rolls across the ceiling.

At once, Andy's question falls silent and he quirks a brow, tilting his neck back to squint at the overhead lights.

Following his gaze, you nearly jump out of your skin when the daycare is suddenly and inexplicably plunged into a jarring darkness.

Barely a fraction of a second passes before Eclipse's hand on your arm goes ramrod stiff, and in doing so, turns their grip on you damn near tight – tight enough that it hurts, which instantly sets alarm bells ringing in your head like claxons.

Neither Sunnydrop nor Moondrop, in all your history of service as a cleaning lady here, have ever once caused you even a sliver of harm, not by accident or otherwise.

Putting aside the fact that their programming is irrefutably air-tight given their proximity to children, Sun and Moon have informed you repeatedly that they'd rather tear out their own circuitry before they'd ever harm a friend.

So to have their grasp on your forearm turn borderline painful isn't just surprising, it's downright unfathomable.

In another blink of an eye, the darkness bearing down on you evaporates as the lights overhead promptly buzz back to life, flicker once, then finally stabilize in the familiar, steady hum, glowing brightly down onto the daycare.

But still, Eclipse's grasp doesn't shift.

Oblivious to your sudden wince of discomfort, Monty raises his snout to peer at the ceiling, optics narrowed uncertainly. “A power surge?” he hums.

“You gotta be shittin' me,” Andy growls, ignoring the little burst of static that leaves Freddy's voice-box at his vulgarity, “First the animatronics go haywire, now the lights're on the blink. What's next?”

None of them seem to have noticed the eerily motionless giant looming at your side, nor the look of trepidation you're sending the large, spindly fingers encasing your arm.

“Uh, Eclipse?” you utter tentatively, giving your limb an experimental tug. You don't like the way they're staring at Andy, their once luminous optics as dark as tar pits and their head locked at a rigid, right angle, sun rays extended to their maximum length.

Silicone fingers tighten a fraction when you try to reclaim your limb, prompting a soft hiss to seep in through your teeth.

You may as well have let out a bloodcurdling scream with how violently Monty tears his optics off the lights and whips his head in your direction, fast enough that you can hear his motors whirring noisily to try and keep up with the movement.

Oh no...

“Wait, Monty –” you start, but you already know by the wrinkling of his snout and the dilation of his aperture pupils that he's seen the source of your trouble.

Crimson optics lock onto the vice-like hand secured around your arm.

There's a single second where you see the gator's processor scan over the pressure that Eclipse is exerting before, in a snap, the daycare explodes with the sound of a furious, thundering bellow.

“HEY! GET OFF'A HER!”

Before you can even flinch, one of Monty's purple servos stretches across your body to latch around Eclipse's wrist.

“Monty!” you shout, alarmed, “It's okay, stop!”

At the sound of your voice, the attendant's faceplate tilts down, apparently unfazed by the gator's grip, and you can't do a thing to combat the visceral shudder that crawls up the back of your neck when your eyes meet their dark, unlit optics.

There isn't a trace of the irradiant orange light that had once glowed behind their casing, light that had given an impression of real life beneath the plastic shell.

Now, they're black as pitch, save for two, nearly imperceptible pinpricks of... of purple light...

At the base of your neck, tiny hairs shoot upright, prickling at the sense of a danger you don't quite yet comprehend.

The overheads must be shining through the back of their faceplate for a moment, there and gone in a flash, because as soon as you blink, the violet pupils wink out, yet Eclipse's grasp on you remains stubbornly in place.

“Hey!” Andy hollers from somewhere behind you, “What's goin' on back there!? Thought I told you to get to the car park!”

“I'm trying!” you retort, placing a hand on Eclipse's and attempting to gently coax their fingers from your arm. At the same time, several tonnes of gator grabs the collar of your shirt and gives it a rough pull, which sadly only results in nearly strangling you when Eclipse's grip doesn't budge an inch.

“I said let 'er go!” Monty snarls, giving your shirt another yank, throttling you in the process.

Rather than continue to play the role of 'rope' in this impromptu game of tug-of-war between two powerful animatronics, you hurriedly blunder out, “Monty! Please! Let go, you're making it worse!”

“I'm tryn'a help!” he insists.

Looming over you like a dark sun, Eclipse twists their faceplate in a full rotation, their beaming grin far more menacing than you recall.

At your back, Andy's scowl disappears in a blink, his mouth falling open in abject horror.

Quick as a flash, he snatches his stun baton from his belt and skirts around Freddy, barking, “Get out of the way, gator!”

Throwing a glance back over your shoulder, your eyes zero in on the prod in his white-knuckle grip and you let out a gasp, whipping your head back to Eclipse and pleading, “Guys! What's wrong? Please, talk to me! I-it's okay!”

They lean forwards, twisting their hand into your shirt until your knees buckle and tears spring to your eyes.

Something's wrong.

Deeply wrong.

You're trapped.

It seems delayed, but at long last, a creeping terror begins to sink its gnawing teeth into your stomach.

Sucking down a wobbly breath, you fill your lungs and let everything go again in a desperate shout, hurling out the words you never once assumed you'd have to use in their presence. “Sun! Moon! Stop, you're hurting me!”

And as if it's a shut down switch, as if that's what gets through whatever has momentarily assumed control of their processor - more than your struggling, more than Monty's crushing hand on their wrist - Eclipse turns their head a click to the left, and their optics flicker, orange, then black, then back to orange again.

“F..friend?” they rasp, their voice-box laden with static.

Monty freezes at your side, the plates on his neck flared like a spitting cobra as Eclipse shifts their gaze down to the hand still wrapped around your arm.

Then, in a sudden rush of movement, the attendant all but rips their appendage from you and staggers backwards, all four of their limbs springing up to catch their head, and in doing so, you're sent toppling backwards on unsteady legs, clutching at your aching arm.

“Gotcha!” Monty grunts triumphantly as he releases Eclipse in favour of planting his hands on your waist and lifting you into the air in one, swift movement, spinning his torso around to place you gently on the floor behind his tail before he whirls back to face the attendant, chest puffed out and teeth bared, giving him the look of a bristling wall of metal and plastic.

You have to lean around his splayed arms to see Eclipse is still clutching at their faceplate, babbling incoherently until they give an abrupt, violent jolt, their knees collapsing out from underneath them.

“Eclipse!” you cry, hobbling around the gator, who only throws an arm out to catch you in the stomach, halting you in your step.

Andy appears in your peripheral, his hand still clamped around the prod.

“What in the goddamn shit is goin' on with this thing!?” he hollers.

You nearly gasp when two gentle paws land on your shoulders and coax you backwards, dragging your crutches along the ground.

“Miss Y/n,” Freddy's voice thrums over your head, “Please, don't get too close!”

Eclipse's optics flicker to life once again, only to dim a second later as that eerie, violet light sparks into existence and swivels in your direction.

There you stand, half hidden behind Montgomery Gator and engulfed in Freddy's shadow, one hand gingerly cradling your elbow, staring back at the attendant with downturned lips and upturned brows.

Drained of fight, beset upon by pain and confusion, you forget to hide your expression.

You forget that they know the look of fear all too well.

“F-Friend!” they sputter, peeling one, quivering hand away from their face and stretching it out towards you, their fingers seeking a connection with you, even metres away, “Friend? I-i-i t ' s m – m e...”

Before you can utter even a whimper in response, the animatronic suddenly throws their mechanical neck back and lets out a gut-churning shriek, three of their four hands scrabbling erratically at their faceplate.

“NNNGH!!!! GET OUT!” they howl like a wounded animal.

It's a horrifying thing to watch. And yet you can't tear your eyes off them as they rock forwards, peering through rigid fingers that cover the upper half of their face.

It's rather telling that even Monty steps back when the attendant once again buzzes and jerks as if their system is roiling with far too much electricity, a live-wire dropped in a puddle of water.

“GET! OUT!”

Their shout extends, growing and swelling in volume to an awful crescendo, until suddenly, at the apex of their cry when you're sure your eardrums might burst, the sound cuts out, as if their voice box has been inexplicably disconnected by unseen hands.

And for a long, heart-wrenching moment, they go entirely, frighteningly still....

Stricken, you let your jaw hang open, gaping at Eclipse's stiff frame as it starts to teeter over like an enormous obelisk falling slowly to the earth.

With an awful cacophony of rattling parts and scraping metal, they come crashing to the ground, none of it muffled against the soft-play mats underneath them. To your horror, a trail of smoke drifts up from the back of their head, beneath the little, black box where their CPU is housed.

Several long and tedious moments seem to drag by at an excruciating pace before finally, finally, you release the breath you've been holding for the last twenty seconds.

It escapes you in a rush, letting you know just how long you'd kept it trapped inside your lungs.

That single breath has a ripple effect, spreading outwards and touching Freddy first.

“Oh dear...” the bear mutters, his hold on your elbows going slack.

At once, you lurch forwards on your crutches before he can re-secure his grip.

“Guys!” you belt out, limping past a startled Monty, only to find yourself drawn up short by a heavy hand falling on your shoulder.

“Hold up, lady” the gator barks, easily keeping you in place even as you try to duck out of his grasp.

“God damn, shit,” Andy rasps, carelessly hurling his baton back onto his belt, “What is goin' on with these machines!?”

The mechanic once again bulldozes over Freddy's sputtered comment about refraining from vulgarity in favour of approaching the downed animatronic, moving past you and the gator to nudge the toe of his rubber boot underneath Eclipse's elbow, giving it a half-hearted kick.

“A-are they-?” you begin, craning your neck to see over Andy's shoulder.

“Offline,” he responds brusquely as he rakes a hand down his face, tugging at the wrinkles that lay under his eyes, “But looks like they fried their CPU.”

“WHAT!?” you blurt.

You might have gone on to spiral into a frantic mess of sentences, but at that moment, you're swiftly yet carefully spun around by a pair of large, tentative servos until you find yourself gaping listlessly up into the maw of Montgomery Gator.

Wasting no time, the enormous bot presses himself as far into your personal space as he can physically get without bowling you over and darts his gaze up and down your body, his optics working on overtime to scan you from head to toe.

“You okay?!” he rushes out urgently.

“What?” Mind whirling, you shoot a glance down at the lifeless attendant on the floor before returning your wide-eyed stare to Monty. “Wh-... I – yes? Yeah, I'm fine.”

A rapid shake of his head indicates his disagreement. “But they hurt you!”

“They didn't do it on purpose. It was an acciden-” you start to say, only to find yourself cut off.

“Stop sayin' stuff was an accident!” the gator blurts, his stare locking onto the spot on your arm where Eclipse had left his mark. Lips of silicone peel back to expose the full length of his teeth. “Sure didn't look like an accident to me...”

“Need I remind you that this-” you jerk your chin down towards the cast encumbering your injured leg. “-was an accident as well.”

“That's-!” The gator's voice-box sputters with fuzz for a moment as he tries to push his processor towards the words he's looking for, eventually settling on, “That's totally different!”

“Is it?” Stuffing your teeth into your lip, you fall quiet for a moment, gathering your brows into a hard line and drawing in a deep, slow inhale through your nostrils, partially to soothe your agitation, and partially because your ankle gives a sudden, searing throb, as if it had at last grown tired of you ignoring its frailty. “If I thought for one minute that they'd ever do something to hurt me, I might agree with you,” you concede, casting a troubled glance down at the eerily still attendant, your knuckles white on the crutch handles, “But this... I don't know... It's like they didn't even realise they were doing it... Something isn't right.”

“I'm sure it's nothing our fine mechanics can't fix,” Freddy pipes up.

“Agreed,” Andy jumps in, “Whatever happened, we'll deal with it down in Parts. New tech guy's comin' in to go over the security systems anyway.”

“Okay...” You nod your head, flexing your fingers around the crutches and sifting through your racing thoughts to try and formulate a plan of action, one that'll get Sun and Moon the help they clearly need. You're only glad that this has happened to you, and not one of the kids. “Okay. Okay, right. I'll help you get them down to Parts and Services.”

You should have known you wouldn't get away with that.

Sharp as a whip-crack, Andy cuts you off, shooting you a steely glare. “Not on your life, you ain't. You're going straight out to the car park, I'm gonna call you a cab. And you're gonna go home.”

You open your mouth to offer a feeble argument only to fall silent when Monty's hand finds your forearm and he leans down to place his mouth near your ear, grunting, “Maybe it's for the best, y'know? Can't do much for 'em if you're on the verge of collapse yourself.”

“I'm not on the verge of-... ugh.” You puff out your cheeks, teetering sideways before you manage to catch yourself on a crutch and shove yourself upright again. Scowling down at your cast, you mutter, “Not exactly making a good case for myself, am I?”

Rumbling a note of acknowledgement, Monty gives the back of your shoulder a guiding nudge with his snout. “C'mon. I'll help you get to the entrance.”

“God dammit, NO! NO! Monty, you're gonna carry the attendant down to Parts,” Andy exclaims, jabbing a finger at the gator and puffing like a runaway train as he throws an arm out at the animatronic bear hovering to your left, “Freddy'll take her to the entrance.”

Dutifully, the bear straightens up on his struts and returns his hat to its rightful place between his ears. “It would be my pleasure,” he says cordially, reaching out a paw for you to take and lifting his muzzle to flash you a charming smile. “May I?”

Letting out a disgruntled sigh, you take a single step towards the cordial bear, only for a clawed fist to clap shut around the collar of your shirt and keep you in place.

A growl reverberates through the air behind you and you're rudely tugged back a fumbling step, allowing Monty to slink around in front of you, releasing your shirt as he petulantly snaps, “Nuh uh, you may not!”

“Montgomery,” Freddy scolds, flicking his ears back on their hinges.

Snapping his optics over to Andy, the gator blunders on as if his co-star had never spoken. “Why him? Huh? How come I can't take 'er?”

Holding you breath, you cast a nervous glance around Monty's bridling shoulder to peer at the mechanic, who looks to be about three seconds away from pulling out his electric prod and reenacting the harrowing scene from last night all over again.

Peeling his lips apart, you catch a glint of his gritted teeth as he slowly drawls out, “Because I trust Freddy a damn sight more than I trust you to get her there in one piece.”

At that, you feel your eyebrows twitch inwards of their own accord.

It's only small, but a flicker of indignation spurs you to stick out your chin and fix Andy with a stern look, missing the way Monty's immense frame seems to grow inexplicably smaller at your side as he wilts.

“Andy, come on,” you say, “That's not fair...”

One of the old man's eyelids gives a volatile twitch, a clear indication that his patience isn't just wearing thin, it's damn-near threadbare. Yet still, you stand your ground, etching a frown onto your face that grows deeper and deeper as the silence stretches on.

Andy's lips thin, and despite his agitated temper, he spares the gator a more thorough once-over.

The mechanic has been around for a while, long enough that he was there when the switch was flipped and Montgomery Gator's processor first whirred to life. Ever since, Andy has amassed countless reports of Monty proving himself to be a nuisance, a hinderance and a downright danger to the company, the staff, the guests... To you.

The damnable bot broke your ankle, for Christ's sake...

And yet... God... And yet you've gone and done it. You've gone and buried a tiny seed of guilt right in the centre of Andy's chest. It isn't much, but it's enough...

He can't deny that you and that poor kid may very well have died yesterday if not for Monty coming to your defence.

Andy might not have believed it if he hadn't seen the feedback with his own two eyes.

The gator had protected you.

Glancing down, he doesn't fail to note the tail curled up around the back of your legs, nor the hulking animatronic casting you in his shadow - ironic, considering the bot has been doing nothing but shadow you for the past few days. People are noticing the changes...

Andy Flowers knows what loyalty looks like... He just... never thought he'd see it in a bot like Monty.

“Hhh... M'gettin' too old for this job,” he sighs, lifting a thumb and forefinger to massage gingerly at his forehead.

It's a tough pill to swallow, admitting that you have a point - that Andy isn't, in fact, being fair. He may remember, in gruesome detail, the bite, the blood, Mick's harrowing screams, but - and call him biased - he can't ignore that he trusts your judgment. Nor can he disregard the tiny kernel of gratitude he'd felt when he watched, through Monty's optics, how the bot guarded you from that 'intruder' with startling ferocity. The fact that you're the one willing to vouch for the bot means something to Andy.

So. Is it fair of him to suspect that Monty wouldn't get you to the front entrance without incident?

Andy's eyes squint sharply and he peers at you for a long moment, feeling the weight of three stares boring back into him, apprehensively awaiting his next words.

After a little while longer spent in silence, you nod your head and gently prompt, “It's okay, Andy. Monty can get me there safely. I trust him.”

You and Freddy are so busy watching the mechanic, neither of you notice Montgomery twisting his head to regard you with wide, glimmering optics, plastic brows pinched together and tilted towards the ceiling. And then the man's gaze is drawn to movement behind the gator, movement that he at first attributes to the daycare attendant stirring back to life. So it comes as a surprise when all he sees is the gator's segmented tail swinging back and forth silently at the back of your legs.

'Huh,' he muses to himself, 'That's a new one.'

Aloud, he has to summon every ounce of his willpower to do what he's about to do...

Concede.

“Goddammit, fine,” he spits, slumping his shoulders in defeat and breaking the spell of tension he'd cast over the daycare.

At once, Monty perks up and you start to smile, opening your mouth to give a word of thanks, but before you can, the mechanic jerks his chin at Freddy and adds, “Fred, go with 'em. Make sure there aren't any more detours.���

Almost as quickly as it had lit up, your face promptly falls slack. “Seriously?”

“We don't need an escort,” Monty chips in, throwing a haughty side-eye at Freddy, who only appears all-too happy to fulfil the request.

“Freddy goes with you, and that's final,” Andy retorts, squinting at you sharply, “You're in enough trouble as it is.”

It... shouldn't bother him as much as it does how quickly you back down from him, lowering your eyes and huffing out a quiet, “Fine. Fine.”

As you start to shuffle past him, you can't help but turn back to peer down at the lifeless animatronic on the floor behind you.

“What about them?” you ask quietly, pausing beside the mechanic, “Who'll help you take them to Parts if Freddy comes with us?”

“I know a gal,” is all he grunts in return as he raises his wrist and taps on his Fazwatch. The screen lights up, and a chipper voice buzzes through the speakers.

“Andy!”

“Chica,” the mechanic replies in a far less enthusiastic tone, stepping past you to stand over Eclipse's body, “Need a favour. You up for a little heavy lifting?”

Curious as you are to hear her response, it's only worry for your attendant friends that keeps your feet stuck fast to the play mats, and it isn't until Freddy's paw lands on your back that you allow yourself to be gently ushered towards the daycare entrance, tossing a last, lingering glance over your shoulder as you go.

Andy looms over Eclipse, still muttering to his wrist whilst his free hand wraps around the back of his neck, rubbing at the short, grey hairs that grow there, his whole body slouching forwards as if it can no longer bear to keep itself standing upright.

You think you can understand how he feels...

Freddy's guiding paw only manages to stay on your back for all of a few seconds before Monty slips his nose between you and the bear, giving the latter a shove with his powerful jaws.

Thrown, Freddy stumbles sideways at once, emitting a sound of surprise as his footfalls clatter clumsily on the linoleum for a moment, a moment that gives Monty ample time to move his hefty bulk between you and his co-star.

You remain deaf to Freddy's grunt of disapproval as he's forced aside, shooting the gator a reprimanding huff before reaching up to right his hat from where it had been knocked askew.

In the meantime, you continue to limp forwards whilst your head remains twisted over one shoulder, your gaze locked onto the gangling shape that lays on the floor of the daycare, round face-plates half obscured by Andy's legs.

Dark, blank optics bore into you as you're ushered beyond the wooden entrance and out through the red, swinging doors that close in your wake with a firm 'bang,' cutting off your view of that ominous, sightless stare.

Frowning softly, you turn your head forwards again and give a noiseless sigh, emptying your lungs and readying yourself for the walk to the front doors of the Plex. It's to your own shame that you look forward to collapsing on your bed and resting, while the attendants are carted down to Parts and Services where a perfect stranger will poke and prod at their CPU.

You can only hope they'll be okay when they wake up...

And so, in silence, all three of you – human, gator, and bear – begin to amble along the corridor adjoined to the daycare, not a sound passed between you except for the heavy 'clunks' of the animatronic's footfalls.

You keep your eyes on the ground ahead of you, wincing now with every other step, but keeping your expression rigid, sensing the vigilant optics of two bots assessing you from above.

You've almost reached the end of the corridor by the time Freddy breaks the silence.

“How are you feeling, Miss Y/n?” he voices softly, leaning forwards to try and catch your eye.

Exhaling a long, arduous breath through your nose, you raise your head and consider your response.

Somehow, you have enough sense to know that saying 'I'm about three seconds away from pulling my hair out and having a little cry right here in this corridor' to a worry-wart like Freddy wouldn't be the wisest choice of words.

The poor bear is already peering down at you as though he expects you to fall over at a moment's notice. So, in lieu of the truth, you plaster on a reassuring smile and aim it up at the star, telling him, “I'm all right, Freddy...” And then, because you're aware of the skeptical twitch of his plastic brows, you add a safe truth. “I'm just... really, really tired...”

You don't notice Monty's head lower to squint at you discerningly.

“Ah, that is quite understandable,” Freddy nods sagely as he presses ahead and holds open the lobby doors ahead of you, leaving Monty to linger behind and watch you through them with a careful optic, “You've had a very exciting day.”

“Excitin' ain't the word I'd use,” the gator huffs, sliding through and reclaiming his spot at your side before Freddy can bustle in to take it.

Apparently oblivious to his co-star's comment, Freddy simply settles into a steady lope on the opposite side of Monty and peers around him to continue addressing you. “I noticed you were looking a little peaky during the performance...”

Now you know he's being polite. You can't imagine that spending a sleepless night in the hospital without any opportunity to clean yourself up has left you looking your best. In response to the bear, you merely give a non-committal hum.

Once again, you all fall silent, although judging from the frequent glances that Freddy shoots down to you, you think it's safe to presume he has something else on his processor that's just bursting to get out.

Sure enough, after taking a few steps towards the lift...

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Did I... What?” you blink, turning to raise a quizzical brow at the bear.

“The performance,” he reiterates, tapping his fingertips together hopefully, “What did you think?”

Well, you muse, aside from the impromptu shoutout...

“You guys were fantastic,” you tell him with a genuine smile that only grows wider when Freddy's ears wiggle in delight, jangling his little, red earring.

Turning to Monty, you add, “You though, Mont, you stole the show!”

Clenching his fists, the gator has to focus hard on the creaking plastic to keep the pneumatic actuators beneath his casing from pulling his lips into a proud smile. There's a pressing question that's been nagging at the front of his processor, one that's been burning a hole through his chip ever since he looked up at the concert and found you missing, and he'll be damned if he's going to let a little compliment from his... from you distract him.

“Liked it, did'ja?” he mumbles.

You're still aiming a tired grin up at the side of his snout when you reply, “Of course I did...”

“Then why'd you leave..?”

Ah... There goes your smile... He almost pierces his plastic palms with his claws in some kind of self-imposed admonishment for erasing it.

But... he has to know.

Swallowing, you turn to face forwards again, dimly registering that Monty is has begun to turn himself towards you little by little, subtly herding you in the direction of the lift behind the photo booth.

Your crutches click noisily on the tiled floor. The answer to his question is precisely what you'd been hoping to avoid. And now you're stuck between a rock and a hard place. Do you tell him the truth and cause he and Freddy to worry, or do you tell a white lie and potentially insult them with a lacklustre reason for ditching the show early?

… God, your eyelids ache with the effort of holding them open.

Defeatedly, your shoulders droop and you ask, “You want an honest answer, or an answer that won't upset you?”

“Well... Honesty is my favourite policy – Oh. Watch your step,” Freddy chimes in as he moves ahead of you onto the lift before turning to face you, taking your wrist in his enormous paw and keeping you steady as you step on after him.

“Thanks, Fred,” you murmur gently.

Though he makes a show of rolling his optics at the bear, Monty concurs. “We're big bots, lady. Reckon we can handle it.”

The lift shudders when the gator steps on after you, dipping slightly with a groan of metal. You pause long enough for the sound to stop before you reach out and jab a thumb on the button for the bottom floor, blowing a noisy sigh through pursed lips.

“Doctors gave me some pain meds after the operation,” you finally confess, “But only enough for today. I was meant to go straight to a pharmacy after I left the hospital to get some over-the-counter anti-inflammatories. But...” Your voice trails off as the lift slows to a smooth halt, dinging once before the doors slide open to let you leave.

“But you didn't,” Monty points out, his voice nearly a growl.

Watchful of your every move, the bots linger behind whilst you swing the crutches forwards and haul yourself from the lift. You don't bother to wait for them, fully aware that they could catch up and overtake you in just a few strides.

Dipping your head towards your shoulder in a sideways shrug, you glance around the lobby, relieved to find that most of the foot-traffic is concentrated inside the gift shops. There are very few guests milling about around the open space, just a few tired parents chatting with one another near the turnstiles and a group of teenagers perched on the edge of the enormous, bronze statue that has pride of place at the centre of the lobby.

Only a few glance in your direction as you hobble past, sparing Freddy and Monty vaguely curious glances, but nobody seems altogether inclined to get up and greet the stars of the Pizzaplex. It's likely they've been here more times than one can count, and the novelty of walking, talking animatronics has worn off.

Perhaps you're just more impressed because you've seen these bots behind closed-doors, but you find that it's a sad world where impressive feats of technology like the Glamrocks are regarded as mundane, as if they're little more than a passing fad.

As you suspected, it isn't long before titanic footfalls tromp heavily up to your side once more, neither bot willing to let you stray too far ahead, apparently. You appreciate the vigilance, though you still find it a little overdramatic.

“Started feeling the meds wear off during your performance,” you continue softly once Monty's big, green nose appears in the corner of your vision, “And I got worried that if I didn't get to the daycare soon, I wouldn't be able to hide my pain from the attendants, so...”

“... So you left before the pain got too much to bear,” Freddy finishes for you, his ears tipping back in sympathy.

The gator, however, picks up on something else entirely. “Does it hurt real bad'?” Bristling, he takes a glance down and begins to scan your leg for the umpteenth time.

You reply with an exasperated shake of your head, though the motion is still fond. “It's my own fault, Mont,” you tell him, taking the lead and bringing them through the open turnstile that allows guests to leave, manned by a single, motionless S.T.A.F.F bot.

The gator stomps through behind you, grumbling something under his 'breath' that you miss beneath the S.T.A.F.F bot's generic, blaring address.

“Thank you for visiting Fazbear's Pizzaplex. Please, have a Faz-erific day.”

“Likewise,” you respond automatically before turning over your shoulder to address Monty again, “And it's not so bad-” Liar. “- If it was really hurting, I might've asked one of you to carry me.”

Freddy is the last to leave through the turnstile, tipping his hat politely to the smaller bot before he hurries up to your side again.

“Flowers was right,” Monty rumbles, lowering his optics to the cast on your leg, “You should'a gone straight home....”

With the main entrance mere steps away, you let out a sigh and draw to an unsteady halt in front of it. Beside you, the heavy animatronics do the same, their footsteps stopping in near-perfect synch. Hesitant, Monty turns his head towards you, his optics clicking open in surprise when he sees your hand rising steadily towards his face. He doesn't move a piston, holding his metaphorical breath as you lay a gentle palm on top of his snout and give it a slow, soothing stroke, right from his glasses to the tip of his nostrils. He has no throat to gulp, but his gears whir as he swivels his gaze from your hand to your eyes, vaguely registering the warm hum emitting from Freddy's chest.

“I'm glad I came here first,” you tell him, resolute, “For my own peace of mind, if nothing else. I wanted to see for myself that you were okay. That endo nearly ripped you to pieces.”

It takes the gator's sensors a moment to recognise your touch.

And when everything clicks into place, it takes all of his processing power to refrain from sagging like a big, green balloon with the air let out. This is the second time today you've willingly put your fragile, little hand close to his crushing jaws...

Worry. You'd described worry. You wanted to see that he was okay? He almost finds the notion inconceivable.

After all, he's Montgomery Gator. He... He doesn't worry about anyone, and nobody worries about him. That's the way it's always been...

He wants to smack Freddy with his tail when the bear announces pleasantly, “You were worried about him.”

As you turn to face the star, your hand still resting lightly on Monty's snout, the gator settles for whipping his optics up to glare at Freddy from behind your head -

- But he's stopped when you say, plain and simple, “Of course I was.”

Of course you were...

Of course.

“Well” you announce suddenly, drawing your hand from Monty's snout and returning it to the handle of your crutch, “I suppose I'd better get going before any else turns up to tell me I've made some bad decisions.”

The warmth from your hand disappears too fast, too soon, and Monty has to catch himself before he leans down to try and keep your palm attached to his nose.

Freddy's head dips in concurrence, regarding you with a soft fondness that sets the gator's fingers twitching. But at last, the bear drags his optics away from you and turns them instead to the open entrance and the carpark beyond. All at once, the easy-going lift of his jaw falls, his brows sliding together into the centre of his forehead as a troubled hum spews from his voice-box.

Following the line of his gaze, Monty soon discovers why.

The afternoon is slowly bleeding into the first touches of a cold, dark evening, and the sky overhead has grown heavy with grey clouds. Snow falls lightly from above, not enough to be of any concern to the traffic on the well-gritted roads, but enough that they can several humans meandering back to their cars, rubbing their gloved hands together and wrapping brightly-coloured scarves around their children's necks as they exit their vehicles.

“Looks like we're in for another cold one,” you remark, drawing Monty's attention down to you.

Shifting on his actuators, the gator casts a fleeting look between you and the world beyond the Plex's main entrance.

This is it, he supposes. You'll be going home now... To a place that's entirely foreign to him, filled with unknowns and unpredictability.... A place where anything could potentially happen to you, and he'd have no idea until word eventually reached him from the staff gossip chain...

Why has it only just occurred to him that the outside world might be a dangerous place? He's never considered that possibility before, not once.

“You comin' in tomorrow?” he finds himself asking before he can mute his voice-box.

Puffing out your cheeks, you blow a noisy breath through your lips before giving a wince and replying, “Not sure I can, big guy. The doctor said that fractured ankles take about eight weeks to heal.”

Eight weeks?

Now, Montgomery would never claim to be a scholarly type of bot, especially in the realm of mathematics, but he does have the advantage of having a computer for a brain.

Eight weeks? That calculates to fifty six days. Roughly thirteen hundred and forty four hours...

Damn. That's... a long time for you to be absent. Why, anything could happen in eight weeks...

“You, uh...” the gator starts fumblingly, half distracted by Freddy's stare that refuses to shift away from the side of his face. Still, he manages to cough out the rest of his question in an awkward mumble. “You gonna be okay? You got someone lookin' out for ya at home, right?”

“Well, my fish haven't let me down yet,” you laugh, though the sound quickly peters out into a hum once you catch both Monty and Freddy peering down at you, neither quite as amused as you seem to be with your own little joke.

Sharing a look between themselves, Freddy is the first to return his attention to you and tentatively ask, “You live alone?”

Balking, you offer the bear a hesitant chuckle and reply, “Bit of a personal thing to ask someone, isn't it?”

Plastic brows click down into a long, stern line, like a father on the cusp of gently scolding his brood.

“Y/n...” he starts.

“No need to make it sound so dramatic,” you interject lightly, “Lots of people live on their own.”

“Hmm... I don't mean to pry,” he says, raising a large, careful paw and laying it down on your shoulder, a warm gesture that puts a brief ache of longing deep inside your chest, “I only ask because I'd like to know that there's someone there who can take care of you.”

Slowly, your eye swivels sideways to peer at the inhuman appendage engulfing your shoulder. Something in your ribcage shifts, like a blockage coming unstuck and letting clear, healthy waters run freely for the first time in a while.

You have to squeeze your eyes into a hard blink before they can grow too misty.

Sniffing up at the towering animatronic, you raise your own hand and lay it over the top of his, giving the smooth, sturdy plastic a pat. “You're a good sort, Freddy, I hope you know that.”

The bear's ears twitch forwards and his upper jaw lifts slowly, sending your smile right back at you.

“But,” you add pointedly, “You don't need to worry. I'm sure Andy will stop by every now and again to make sure I'm still in one piece.”

“I certainly hope so,” he utters warmly, right before he throws another blow at your quivering heart, “You're part of the Fazbear family. We take care of our own.”

Unseen by either of you, Montgomery stands a few feet away, observing the interaction with a growing sense of disquiet. Deep in his innermost circuitry, he can already feel that familiar, old monster raise its ugly head, it's hue a sickly green that's awfully reminiscent of his own paint-job. It growls inside his stomach hatch, bulging outwards threateningly as Freddy's paw remains on you.

But at least this time, the monster isn't given too long to fester.

In another second, Freddy slides his hand from your shoulder and steps back, returning his optics to the car park outside. Gradually, with a subtle creak of metal, Monty's jaws unclench and he twists his head around to follow the bear's line of sight, listening to the rumble of a distant engine creep closer.

Through the wintery gloom, a sleek, black car turns off the main road and passes beneath the neon sign that welcomes visitors to the Plex. Monty squints at it, his eye drawn to the illuminated, white box sitting on top of the roof that simply reads, 'Taxi.'

“Reckon that's your ride,” he mumbles.

Humming through closed lips, you bob your head in a nod. “Looks like.”

Admittedly, it's a relief to see the car pull in. Your legs are beginning to quake under the effort of keeping yourself upright for far longer than you really ought to have.

Movement at your side draws you back to the animatronic bear, whose friendly, blue optics are shuttered half-closed, his broad shoulders slumping dolefully as he bends himself down and opens his arms, paws upturned in invitation.

The gesture is so plain and comprehensible, entirely human in its execution.

He's asking you for a hug.

And, well... Who are you to deny the face of Fazbear Inc. a farewell hug?

Freddy regards you with a hopeful waggle of his ears when you smile, hobbling across the meagre distance between you, well within the circle of his arms. Uttering a pleasant hum, he loops his hands behind your back and gently scoops you into his chest. Just like that, you're surrounded by the bear's convivial warmth that does wonders to chase away the biting wind slipping under the Plex's entrance to chill your cheeks and fingertips.

Sinking into Freddy's chest, you let out a contented hum, pinching your eyes shut as he does the same, his baritone voice thrumming through the ear you've pressed to his casing.

“Take care of yourself, won't you?” he rumbles, his chin alighting delicately on top of your head, “The better you do, the sooner we get to see you again!”

It never ceases to amaze you how an animatronic can inject so much humanity into even their most mundane of actions and words. Freddy's expressions of genuine kindness are as authentic as any human's. Of course they are. The AI that was implemented into him was designed to learn from the very species that created it. How can anyone say his compassion is only artificial? Kindness doesn't care whether the one wielding it is human or robot.

Breathing a deep, sigh, you sink deeper into Freddy's embrace, selfishly indulging in a comfort you've been desperately seeking since the trauma of last night's attack.

Of course, with a certain animatronic alligator in the vicinity, this peaceable moment was never destined to last very long.

“A'right, a'right,” Monty complains loudly, his claws sinking into the hem of your shirt to ease you backwards out of Freddy's grasp, “That's enough. You're gonna squeeze the air outta 'er if you keep that up.”

Rightfully aghast, the bear reels his head back as if Monty had struck him, exclaiming, “I would never!” Yet even still, his arms slowly peel open from around you, allowing the gator to pull you free and nudge you towards the open entrance.

“Not to worry, Freddy, you were very gentle,” you tell him kindly before throwing Monty an expectant look, eyebrows raised and arms held in much the same way as Freddy just had, “What about you, Mont? Can I interest you in one of these?”

A very small, hidden part of the gator that he doesn't want to examine too closely is immensely pleased that you'd been the one to offer. He isn't sure his pride would be able to stomach it if Freddy were to witness him admitting that he wants a hug before you leave. Despite popular belief, Monty is a hugger... He just... doesn't get as much opportunity to do so as the other animatronics.

Still, he exactly show his hand so publicly, especially with Fazbear breathing down his neck. Folding his arms across his chest, Monty gives a dismissive snort and shrugs his massive shoulders, mumbling, “Sure, fine. If you wanna, I guess.”

He doesn't know if his faux-reluctance fools you or not, but in the next few moments, he finds he doesn't much care, not when you hobble close to him on the crutches and topple forwards into a hug that forces him to the throw his arms out to catch you with a soft 'oof.'

Startled, the gator stares down at the top of your head as you sink against his inflexible frame, moulding yourself to him as if he was designed to perfectly accommodate you, and you alone.

Now, Monty has hugged children before, those that have been brave enough to ask the massive gator with sharp fangs and even sharper claws. But this, he realises, might just be the first time he's ever hugged an adult. It feels... different.

Your hands aren't sticky, for one.

Worn, calloused palms wrap around his midsection, as far as your arms can reach, and the gator's core nearly overloads when you turn your face to the side and press your cheek against his chest.

Dimly, he registers that he has yet to actually lay his hands on you.

The gator's optics swivel between each of his raised appendages, fingers splayed out as they hover over your shoulders without direction. He notices his claws. They look... sharper than they had before. They look dangerous, especially now that he's seeing them against a backdrop of soft, fragile skin.

He would never hurt you...

But that's what he thought last night, and still, he'd been the one to fall upon your leg.

It's only when you start to pull away that he suddenly realises that this moment – this wonderful, overwhelming moment – is about to end. Desperation to keep you to himself for just a few more seconds gives the gator enough courage to curl his claws into his fists and press his knuckles into your back, his head tipped low to nudge his chin into the back of your neck.

The only sound you emit is a subtle huff of amusement before you return to your original position, giving him a firmer squeeze.

“Thanks, Monty. I needed this...” you mumble against him, giving him the out.

Working his jaw silently a few times, he eventually manages to reply, “Don't, uh... don't mention it.”

And then, just like that, it's over.

You pull back, and he lets you this time, his knuckles sliding carefully across the back of your shirt until you lean back far enough that he loses his grip, and his arms flop back to his sides with a creak of metal.

“Right!” you announce, blinking rapidly and shaking a weary smile onto your face, “And on that note, I'll see you guys soon.”

You start to turn towards the exit, raising a hand off one crutch to return the little wave that Freddy gives you, but before you can limp another step, the gator once again gives you pause.

“Hey... Before you go.. I, uh...”

You stop mid step, easing yourself about to face him again and sending him another expectant look.

For some time, he hesitates, yet when your eyes start to flick between he and the taxi outside, he balls his hands into fists and eventually mumbles out like a petulant teen, “I wanted to... to thank you, or whatever.”

“Thank me?” you echo, knitting your brows together, “For what?”

'For what...' He almost huffs in dark amusement. How can he sum it up in a few words, all the things he has to thank you for?

Monty's large hands fiddle idly with one of his spiked wrist-bands for a moment as he tries and fails to look you directly in the eye, hiding behind his glasses. “I spoke to Flowers...” the gator eventually sighs, “He said he wouldn't'a checked my visual feed if you hadn't told 'im it wasn't me that attacked you.”

“What else was I going to do?” you huff, giving him an amused smile, “Let you take the fall for something you didn't do?”

For several, quiet moments, he doesn't respond, merely drops his gaze to the floor between you and gives his shoulder struts a halfhearted shrug. It occurs to you, suddenly, that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have been surprised if you'd done exactly that.

“Oh. Monty-” you start, reaching out a hand.

“Ah, s'nothin',” he says gruffly, though he doesn't stop you when you touch your fingertips to the side of his dangling arm, taking care to avoid the spikes on his wrist band, “Just... Just... Thanks. Y'know? For havin' my back.”

The worry on your face stays for a few more moments, just long enough that he catches it when his optics find your eyes again, but soon, you allow your expression to soften, pressing your fingers a little more firmly against his casing. “Thanks for having mine first,” you shrug, lips quirked, “I mean, what are friends for, right?”

Quick as a flash, one of the gator's brows slides up his forehead. “Friends?” he parrots.

“Oh,” you fumble, casting your mind out like a net searching for the right word, “I mean... what, colleagues?”

Leaning back on his leg struts, Monty regards you coolly for several seconds, peering at you over the rim of his glasses before he snorts softly, one side of his mouth tugging up into a smirk. “Nah...Friends is fine. 'Sides, reckon you've earned an upgrade.” He drops an optic in a lazy wink.

Taken aback, you consider the bot in front of you, recalling the ferocious sight of the colossal animatronic who bore down on you in his green room not so many nights ago. Montgomery Gator, Monster of the Pizzaplex, has just claimed you for a friend.

Perhaps a few days ago, you might've been perturbed by such a revelation, but now, despite the agony working its way up your leg, despite the heavy cast and the stinging ache behind your eyes, and your worry for the daycare attendants, Monty's little acknowledgement sits like a bubble of light in your chest.

Gratitude swelling, you cock your hip and fondly reply, “Lucky me.”

The tender moment is ruined in an instant when, from outside, a loud, blaring horn blasts across the car park, causing you and the two animatronics to whip your heads in the direction of the taxi, whose driver has his arm sticking out the window, beckoning to you impatiently.

“Whoops,” you laugh, “That's our time. Andy must have told him to be on the lookout for a girl on crutches.”

With that, you're once again shuffling through the building's wide exit, only this time, Monty doesn't attempt to stop you, perhaps realising that he's gleaned all the extra time from you that he can.

“Oh, before I forget!” Twisting back to face the bots who're still standing vigil by the entrance, you call out, “Monty, can you let the DJ know what happened? And Triple M too! I don't want them thinking I've forgotten about them again.

Standing to attention, the gator knocks off a quick salute and shouts back, “Consider it done, lady!"

You throw him a wave in response before you turn back to the taxi and continue making your way over the frost-covered tarmac, away from the Pizzaplex, and away from the gator who stares after you with tilted brows and a mellow longing worming its way through his wires.

Together, he and Freddy watch you throw your crutches into the back of the car, then clamber in after them, and all the while, Monty finds himself stewing over how the driver hadn't stepped out to assist.

Grumbling to himself, he crosses his arms over his chest, tail lashing in agitation behind him.

"I don't like to think of her dealing with this by herself," Freddy murmurs at his side, ears tilted back at an angle conveying his worry, "I do hope she'll be all right..."

For once, Monty finds that he actually agrees with the bear.

"Yeah..." he utters, his optics tracking the glowing, red tail-lights of the taxi as it swings around the car park and turns right onto the main road, "Me too..."

[becca-alexa]

Don't Stop

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie doesn't hear you use your safe word.

Word Count: 821

Content Warnings: p in v sex, overstimulation, general smut, accidental ignoring of safe word, aftercare

Author’s Note: This was supposed to come out for Valentine's Day, but my day was ruined, so you can all have it today! Feedback appreciated 💗

    He's rough - wild - as his hips pound against you, into you, his hands trailing bruises over your hips with how strong his grip is. The bed groans beneath you, the aged thing threatening to break, a symphony of creaks all but gone to the sound of his moaning.

    His head is thrown back, hair blown out behind him, and he's panting open-mouthed as he desperately clings to the frayed edges of his control, the feeling of you fluttering around him quickly becoming his undoing.

    "Fuck, baby…." Eddie's voice is hoarse, lips parted as he gasps for air - for release, but refusing to reach his crest before you. "[Y/N]... Christ-"

    Beneath him, drowning in the faded depths of his blankets, your body writhed - whether or not in blinding pleasure, you couldn't tell anymore. With your eyes clenched shut, you gnawed at your lip to the point of bleeding, yet the sharp tang of metal was lost on you. All around you, overwhelming you, everything suddenly became too much.

    The soft covers felt like sandpaper against your sensitive skin.

    The warmth of Eddie's hands felt like coals, charring, scalding you.

    Once, twice, you'd tried to move, to reposition yourself, chasing the pleasure you'd had at the start of it all. But, it was a futile effort, and all you were left with was discomfort, aching, pain.

    It was too much.

    "M-Maiden…" You mumble, somehow remembering your safe word through the haze of your thoughts. Your voice evaded you, your tongue feeling like cotton as it stuck to the roof of your mouth.

    He didn't hear you.

    "Maiden, Eds…!" You tried again, your chest beginning to heave in your desperation to stop. Still, he continued with his tortuous pace, the deafening music spilling from his speakers drowning out your words. Tears run rivers down your face, dripping into your hair, soaking into the pillow beneath you.

    Your vision starts to darken, your stomach rolls, and with a sob, you shriek,

    "Maiden!"

    Eddie's eyes snap open, his body stilling the instant he'd heard the urgency in your voice. He pulls away, out of you, watching with tears of his own as you roll onto your side, arms wrapped protectively around yourself as you weep into the pillow, body trembling from the lingering overstimulation.

    "Sweetheart?" His voice is small, breaking as he shifts toward you, his heart shattering as you curl away from him, your head pressed to your chest. "Baby, talk to me, please…"

    "H-Hurts, Eds…" Your words gut him; he swallows against the lump in his throat - the last thing he'd ever want to do was hurt you.

    He leaves the room, returning quickly with an armful of supplies - a warm cloth, two Tylenols, a bottle of water, arnica gel for the bruises dotting your skin. You flinch as he brushes your thighs, but you slowly relax at the feeling of his hands moving over you.

    His lips trace over your thighs, your stomach; you feel more so than hear his apologies, painting them over your body in streaks of golden warmth. You hiss at the cloth running over your core, but Eddie soothes you with yet another kiss to the underside of your jaw, gentle and lingering. You melt into the bed as he continues his worship of you, the pain once so glaringly apparent now but a fading memory…

    Eddie eventually pulls away from you, his fingers pulling and twisting as he stares at you, unsure of what to do next - of what you'd want him to do. To his relief, you hold a hand out to him; he's quick to slide into bed beside you, throwing a blanket over both of you, his arms gentle as he pulls you to him.

    "I'm so sorry, princess…" he mumbles into your neck, voice quaking as though he were on the verge of tears. He kisses your forehead, his eyes falling shut once more. "I'm so, so sorry…"

    "Eds, I-"

    "[Y/N], I swear to God, if you try to apologize-" The quiet warning in his voice made you pause. "The safe word is there for a reason." He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. "I'm proud of you for using it."

    You can't help the tired smile you give him. "Yeah?" His chest rumbles with a chuckle, and he presses a kiss to your lips.

    "Yeah, I am." He presses into you, ever so slightly, relief blooming in his chest as he feels you melt in his arms. "Anything else I can do to make you feel better, sweetheart?"

    You nod, and nuzzle your face into the spattering of hair on his chest. "Mhmm." Your voice is muffled, yet he hears it all the same. "Stay with me."

    "Always." His words come out as a sigh, and he sinks into the bed, taking you with him, the two of you slipping away into a loving, blissful slumber.

[johnentwistlesbassguitar]

Pairing: John Entwistle/Pete Townshend

Rating: explicit (sorta not too much sexual stuff)

Word count: 1k

Was introduced to the idea of feeder towntwistle but with swapped roles (Pete being the one getting fed) and I couldn't stop thinking ab it so...

John noticed that Pete hadn't been eating much lately, he was too consumed in his most recent project to remember. It made him dissapointed to see Pete so thin and sad looking he had to fix this. Walking up to Pete casually he decided if Pete wouldn't eat on his own then John would make him.

"Have you eaten today?" John asked, staring down at Pete, who was bent over some sheet music.

"Hmmm -" Pete was about to say he was fine, but he was cut off by a loud growl from his stomach. Maybe he was hungrier than he thought.

Seeing the way Pete flushed in embarrassment made John want to laugh. "C'mon, you should have something, I can cook for you"

Pete seemed a little surprised by John's offer, but he accepted, being cramped in his tiny home studio was starting to make him claustrophobic. Letting John help him up off the floor, they went down to the kitchen. Immediately, John started rummaging through Pete's cabinets, trying to figure out what to cook. Pete decided to just sit down and watch. He wanted to comment on how cute John looked, but he kept it to himself.

John made sure to find the biggest pan possible and choose the most calorie dense ingredients. Luckily, Pete had a lot of unused food lying around since he didn't cook much. It was making Pete anxious just how much John was preparing, I mean, he assumed that John was making it mostly for himself, right?

It didn't take long for John to finish preparing and slide his creation into the oven. Pete could practically smell how greasy and fatty whatever John had made was, he was off put but didn't say anything. He could tell that John had put on weight recently, and this was probably why. Not that Pete was unhappy about that. He just wasn't interested in picking up those same eating habits.

John set a timer and then joined Pete at the table. Looking Pete over, John could tell he hadn't washed his hair or changed his clothes in a while. Reaching over John started to comb his fingers through Pete's hair trying to make it look a little nicer.

Pete flinched, John felt a bit guilty for not warning Pete beforehand. "I'm just trying to make you look pretty for dinner," He grinned. Pete tried to keep calm as John ran his hands down his torso, smoothing the wrinkles in Pete's shirt. He could feel the warmth in John's strong hands. Leaning back, John gave Pete a once over. "Looking good," he nodded. Pete couldn't help but blush even if John's behavior was a little odd.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the timer John had set. He set dinner down on the table and scooped a large amount onto Pete's plate. Instead of eating, Pete just poked at it with his fork, trying to make it look like he was interested. He couldn't eat this, but on the other hand, he didn't want to make John feel bad. Also, he was fully aware he hadn't eaten anything for an unhealthy length of time. Unfortunately, John noticed his reluctance.

"Is my cooking not good enough?" He asked, trying to get sympathy from Pete even though he really didn't care what Pete thought.

"No, no! It looks fine...I'm just not very hungry, " Pete shrugged, trying not to meet John's eyes.

John had an idea. He picked up Pete's utensils and cut off a large chunk of his messy food. "Open wide," John asked as he held the fork up to Pete's mouth. Pete struggled to conceal his grossed out expression, John couldn't care less, though.

Hesitantly, Pete parted his lips just enough for John to fit the fork through. Pete was shocked that it wasn't as disgusting as he thought it'd be, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to eat much.

John smiled at Pete's compliance. "Good boy," he always had the overwhelming urge to praise Pete for everything. For some reason, John's words made Pete want more. It made John happy, so maybe it wasn't so bad.

Pete enjoyed the attention and the feeling of a warm meal in his stomach after barely eating for longer than he cared to remember. It was clear that John was loving feeding Pete and watching him eat. 

After finishing his first plate, Pete already felt full, but John seemed so eager to feed him, and he'd made so much food a little bit more couldn't hurt. Without saying a word, John pulled the entire dish in front of them, Pete wasn't aware that John intended on making him eat the whole thing.

Pete only realized just how much he'd been fed when he felt like his pants were about to pop. He could've sworn they'd been too loose just a second ago. Either way, he wasn't interested in stopping. It disturbed him that it felt so good to be stuffed to the point of not wanting to move.

John reached down to press his hand into Pete's swollen belly. He couldn't stop picturing how adorable Pete would look with a little more weight on him. Maybe he'd have to make a habit of cooking for Pete. He moved his hand to squish Pete's expanding waist, Pete groaned and leaned into John's touch. Humiliation made Pete want to pull away, but John's hands just felt so amazing.

"So cute," John muttered, then picked the fork back up.

It was obvious that Pete was starting to get too full to do anything, but John didn't seem to mind he was willing to take care of Pete for the night. John continued to shovel food into Pete's mouth. He couldn't help but stare at how the buttons on Pete's shirt were barely holding together, parts of his pale belly visible through the gaps.

Soon enough, John finished up feeding Pete everything he'd made, Pete seemed slightly relieved at this he didn't think he could fit anymore in his stomach. John placed a kiss on Pete's tummy and squished it tenderly. Pete hiccuped and blushed. He was horribly embarrassed by his current state of helplessness.

John was still able to lift Pete up with ease despite his increased weight. Holding Pete tight, he brought him to his bedroom and laid him down on his back. Once he started to undress Pete, John noticed that he was rock hard. His eyes widened he couldn't just leave Pete like this.

"Awwww," John cooed pawing at Pete's crotch "would you like some help with that?" He made his voice sickly sweet.

Pete didn't have the energy to form words, but he moaned and pushed his erection further into John's hand. Slowly, John undid Pete's pants and slid his underwear off tossing both articles of clothing aside.

John gripped Pete's cock and tugged on it roughly. Pete couldn't help but let out a loud whine. It didn't take long for John to find just the right way to touch Pete, every stroke of his hand had Pete gripping the sheets and whimpering. Pete's panting got louder as John squeezed and pulled harder. It was embarrassing how quickly he came but with how tired he was he couldn't hold back. Hearing Pete moan his name made John so proud, nothing felt better than giving Pete any form of pleasure.

John bent down to kiss Pete's soft belly and sink his teeth into it. He adored the sight of his own marks on Pete's squishy body. The idea of showing off and worshipping Pete's belly made him excited. He'd have to remember to do that. It didn't matter to him that Pete would hate it. To John, Pete was the prettiest boy in the world and deserved more attention.

Feeling too tired to support himself anymore, John slowly lowered his body on top of Pete. At first, Pete seemed nervous, but John's heavy weight felt surprisingly pleasant. Despite not being able to move, Pete was completely comfortable underneath John. It was also comforting to know that however large Pete got John would always be bigger. John just tucked his face into the crook of Pete's neck. He was satisfied to know that Pete was finally getting the food and rest he needed.