#fives x f!reader

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Midnight Masquerade - Fives

Summary: The bottle lands on Fives.

Chapter Warnings: minors DNI; incubus!Fives x f!reader. kinks: edging + double penetration. slight instance of anxiety, seduction (though lbr, it doesn't take much from Fives), alcohol, oral (f receiving), Fives loves to eat pussy, orgasm denial, unprotected PiV sex (cloak before you stroke), creampie, if I missed anything please let me know!

Word Count: 2.9k

Read the intro here! | Suggested listening

...Fives.

The other troopers at the table cheer. Eyelashes fluttering, you glance up at Fives. Heat blooms under your skin at the grin that tugs at the corners of his lips. Rising from your seat, you chuckle as he trips over himself getting away from the table, but the brief moment of levity does little to quell the sudden rising tide of nerves in your stomach. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you haven’t thought about Fives before. Of all the troopers at your table tonight, he is probably the one you’re most comfortable around, aside from Rex—but that level of familiarity is exactly what’s causing you to second-guess yourself now.

Fives’s easy grin smooths into a smirk as he slips his arm around you, hand ghosting over your lower back. You allow yourself to be led deeper into the party. As you brush past myriad other clones, in various states of costume and transformation, something brushes up into your hand. 

You jerk your hand up, eyes wide. A deep blue, nearly black, pointed tail wraps around you from behind, a leathery texture to it. Spinning as you walk, you trace the writhing appendage to its owner. 

Fives quirks an eyebrow down at you. “Hope you don’t mind if I flex my new body, mesh’la.”

“Course not,” you say, maybe a little too fast. Kark, yeah, you’re in over your head. Taking a steadying breath, you glance around at where Fives is leading you, but the fog machines have done their jobs a little too well. Anything ten or so feet past your nose is obscured.

Kriff, what are you doing? In the strobing lights, small, pointed horns gleam where they protrude from Fives’s forehead. He doesn’t touch you with his tail again, but you can nearly feel its presence undulating behind you. Through it all, his palm remains on your back, a gentle pressure, but one that your flailing brain latches onto. 

“I need a drink,” you gasp.

Tearing yourself away from him, you shove through the crowd in the direction you remember seeing the bar before. Breath coming in shorter bursts, you have to hold the rising tide of panic at bay in your chest. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before the crowd breaks and you stumble into open space. The bar stretches before you. Bottles of every kind of alcohol imaginable line the shelves of the wall behind it. 

Several clones already sit on the barstools. As you approach, a few of them receive their drinks and disappear back into the crowd. You sink gratefully onto one of the padded stools. 

The bartender, a nat-born man with short brown hair and a sympathetic smile, approaches. “What’ll it be?” 

“Something strong and cheap,” you say. 

He chuckles. “It’s on the house. Doesn’t have to be cheap.” 

“Fine,” you sigh. “Something strong and not cheap.” 

With a wink, he departs, grabbing a bottle of amber liquid off of one of the middle shelves. You focus on the bartender’s movements as he plucks a clean glass, unstoppers the bottle, and pours your drink. Even when you feel a familiar presence settle onto the stool next to you, you keep your gaze on the bartender until he deposits the requested strong, not cheap drink in front of you. 

Next to you, Fives waves away the barkeep. He remains silent as you down the drink, grimacing at the burn as it slides down your throat and settles in your stomach.

“I’m sorry—” you both say at the same time. 

Smiling despite yourself, you glance at him. His expression is downcast, abashed, and even with the horns, he’s just Fives. You know him. 

“You first,” he says, dark eyes meeting yours. 

“No, please, go ahead.” You turn to face him. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says. “I’m sorry if I came across too forward.” 

“To be fair, I did ask to know what a monster fucks like,” you say. 

“And those poor olives.” 

You laugh, nerves settling into a manageable simmer. “That, too.” 

He hums, his eyes searching your expression. For what, you’re not sure. He says, “Be that as it may, mesh’la. We’ll do whatever you want. Wanna sit here and get plastered? I’m here for it.”

Eyes fluttering, you smile at him shyly. “Thanks, Fives. I guess I just—I dunno. We’re friends, right? So I just got a little freaked out by the idea of...”

“Sleeping with your most attractive best friend?” he finishes, a self-satisfied, smug smirk twisting his face. But there’s a hint of something else in his expression, something more vulnerable. 

You must be imagining it. Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “Something like that.” 

You take another swig of the drink. There’s more that you want to say, more to what you’re feeling. You want to tell him that it freaked you out because you’ve imagined him in certain scenarios before. What he’d look like drunk on your kisses rather than alcohol. Whether he’d be gentle or rough, and what sounds he’d make when—

Clamping down on that thought, you cast your gaze to the wooden grain of the bar.

Fives gently places a finger under your chin and tips your face up to meet his gaze once more. Your lips part in surprise. He’s close—not so close as to completely undermine his previous affirmation of your boundaries, but closer than you’ve been to him before. Has he always had that freckle by his right eye? 

“Wanna know a secret?” he asks, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the thumping music. 

Nodding, you find you can’t speak.

“I’m a little freaked out, too,” he says. 

“Oh?” Smooth. Real smooth. 

He hums, letting his hand fall back to his lap. “They weren’t kidding about this potion. I can feel...so many new things. Everyone’s energy. Do you know what I dressed up as, mesh’la?” 

You shake your head, surveying his horns and gently curving tail once again. 

“An incubus,” he admits, voice dropping lower. You shiver as it washes over you. “A sex demon. What are the odds?”

“Must be pretty good,” you say. “You should play the lottery.” 

He laughs, white teeth flashing in the lights. Kriff, has he always been this pretty? “If only clones were allowed.”

“Then I’ll get it for you,” you say. “And you just tell me the numbers to play.”

Tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, he looks up at you through his eyelashes. In your chest, your heart does this weird tap dance where it both skips several beats and charges through several extra ones simultaneously. The knowledge of his costume should make you feel even more wigged out, but instead, you find a warmth sparking in your core. You feel a little light-headed, but the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing worth looking at, makes you preen. 

You suppose he’s always looked at you like that, because you know for damn sure that’s how you look at him. And in that moment, you make up your mind.

“Fives?” you say, scooting closer to him on your stool. 

He smiles at you. “Yes, darling?”

“Kiss me.” 

Shock flits over his face, followed closely by a smirk. “Are you sure?” 

You nod, resting one hand on his thigh, the other dipping down to lightly ghost over the spike of his tail. He shudders. 

“Kriff, yeah, okay, mesh’la.” He spins his seat to face you. One hand sliding up your leg, his other cups your face and gently tugs you forward. Your lips meet in a chaste, close-mouthed kiss, his beard rubbing lightly against your face. Heart pounding, you pull back. You can’t stop the broad smile that breaks over your face.

He looks at you like you hung the stars. “Can we—?”

“Yes.” You surge forward and claim his lips in a much more heated kiss, mouths moving against one another fervently. You feel rather than hear the groan that escapes him; tingles cascade down your spine at the sensation. His hand on your leg squeezes the meat of your thigh, sending a delicious jolt of pleasure to your heated core. 

A voice forces you to break apart, panting. The bartender fixes you both with a quietly amused look. “There are rooms in the back.”

With a curt, grateful nod, you and Fives both hop off your stools and nearly race each other to the promised doorway. Through it, you find a hallway, which itself leads to numerous other doors. Fives picks one at random. Inside, you gasp; a large, fluffy bed sits under a gauzy canopy lit with twinkle lights. The faint scent of vanilla fills the room, chasing away the faux-sweetness of the fog machines.

Fives’s mouth is back on yours as soon as the door is shut. The two of you help one another undress, clumsy hands getting in each other’s way or tangled in pieces of clothing, making you giggle. But eventually, naked and panting, you press your body against his. Toned muscles flex under his tanned skin, all hard planes to your soft edges. You groan. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, cradling your head to move you exactly where he wants you.

You smooth your hands down his back, relishing in the way the muscles there ripple under your touch. His ass is both firm and squishy; you can’t resist squeezing, earning you a deep groan. Palming his butt in one hand, you reach with tentative fingers towards the base of his tail. He jolts when you brush against it. 

“K-Kriff,” he gasps against your lips. A line of saliva connects your mouths together. For a moment, you remain there, breathing in each other’s breath. Your gentle touch explores the leathery, twisting appendage of his tail. Goosebumps raise all over his skin as you do. 

“Sensitive?” you murmur. 

He nods. Dipping his head, his lips leave a slick trail over your skin where he lowers to kiss the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You gasp at the sensation, core clenching around nothing.

An idea pops into your head. Keeping your hand on his tail, thumb caressing over the pointed tip, you snake your other hand between your bodies and wrap your fingers around his hard, leaking cock. He’s hot and heavy in both of your hands; his length is velvet smooth, where his tail is supple and rough. Fives keens against your throat as you stroke both lengths in tandem. 

“I’m supposed to be th-the sex fiend here,” he pants into your skin. 

You chuckle. “Better get to it then, Fives.”

Your words seem to flip a switch in him. In an instant, he snatches you up from your feet and carries you to the bed, where he deposits you unceremoniously. You flop with a giggle, the mattress plush and soft—but you don’t have long to relish in the pillowy comfort, as Fives’s hot and wet mouth closes around your neglected and aching cunt. Hands shooting to his hair, you grip at the tight curls, your thighs threatening to close around his head. 

His growl reverberates through you as his hands pin your legs open. When you crane your head to meet his eyes, they are dark, pupils blown, as he licks circles around your clit. The coarse hair of his beard burns deliciously against your slick skin. Tugging on his hair, you moan, pussy fluttering. 

“F-Fives,” you pant. “Please. Wanna cum on your tongue.”

You can feel his grin against your skin. He redoubles his efforts, mouth never leaving you for an instant. Kark, he looks so good between your thighs, and the slurping sounds he makes are absolutely sinful. The molten cord of pleasure in your lower belly pulls tighter, tighter, tighter. 

“Gonna—” You groan, tossing your head back, nails digging into his scalp. 

But then he pulls away with a wet pop! Your head shoots back up, a cry of anguish falling from your lips.

“You’ll cum when I’m ready for you to, mesh’la,” he says. There’s a growl to his voice, one that wasn’t there before, and you shudder.

He dives back into your pussy like a man parched. Waggling his tongues over your folds, he tastes you for what feels like hours, days, years—the pleasure never stops. In fact, it simply intensifies when he slips two fingers in to curl against your g-spot, finger-fucking you while he sucks on your clit.

You lose track of how many times you almost cum. You’re sobbing, body wracked with pleasurable quivers, as he fully withdraws and sits up on his haunches. His face and neck are absolutely soaked with your juices, and a dangerous, sinful gleam in his eyes tells you he’s not done with you yet. 

“Fives, please,” you gasp out. “Need to cum so bad.”

“I know, mesh’la,” he croons. He tugs you closer by your hips, lining his swollen cock up with your sopping entrance. “I promise you’ll cum for me soon, okay? Just let me take care of you.”

He punctuates the last word by thrusting into your cunt in one, fluid motion. You cry out, body convulsing with the sudden overwhelming sensation of being full. For his part, Fives immediately begins to fuck you, drawing his length out of you before slamming back in, over and over. He slings your legs up over his shoulders, then his hands find purchase on your chest, squeezing the soft flesh there. 

The room reverberates with the wet slap of skin against skin, the squelching of his cock driving deeper into your pussy, and the chorus of your soft moans and his growling groans. In your belly, your orgasm begins to build again, the tight cord fraying and ready to snap at any moment.

“So fucking tight, kriff,” Fives grits out. A single curl has fallen out of place and bounces against his forehead with every thrust. “Stars, can I fuck you with my tail, princess? Hm? Do you wanna have me in both holes?” 

You clench around him, his words very nearly shoving you over the edge of bliss. “Yes, please, Fives, please, give it to me!”

He slows his pace, resting his thumb over your clit. Though he doesn’t move it, the pressure of his thumb keeps you teetering at the edge of shattered bliss. He gathers excess slick from your cunt and spreads it over his tail. 

“Relax for me, darling,” he coos. Then the tip of his tail presses against your other entrance. You try to relax, try to do as he says, but as he gently works his second length through your tight hole, all you want to do is clench around him despite the burning stretch.

A guttural groan punches from him when you do just that. 

“Fuck, mesh’la, do that again and I won’t last.” 

For a moment, you both remain still, breathing heavily through your noses to catch your composure. Fives flashes you the cheeky grin that attracted you to him in the first place, then very slowly draws his tail back. At the same time, he traces tight circles over your clit; when he pushes his tail into you, he slides his hips back, withdrawing his cock from your cunt partway. You’re never empty. The rhythm he settles into is bone-melting, mind-shattering; your throat feels raw from crying your pleasure to the room. 

That molten thread of pleasure snaps taut in your core. Fives senses it, and, unlike before, he continues his ministrations, never letting up. You babble, not making any sense, as his cock drives directly into that spongy spot deep inside you, his tail stretching you in a way that makes your pussy gush. 

“Cum on me, gorgeous,” he mutters. “Cum for me, I know you can do it.”

Your entire body locks up with his words. In your tummy, that cord of tension snaps—and you scream, body spasming. Waves of molten, white-hot pleasure crash through you again, and again, and again, each one in perfect time with the way Fives fucks you through your orgasm. Tears stream down the side of your face, but you find you don’t have it in you to care. All you care about is the blinding, debilitating pleasure centered in your pussy.

A second orgasm rolls through you shortly after the first. “Fi-i-i-ives!”

“Where can I—?” 

“In me!” you plead. “Need your cum!” 

His hard length swells in your spent pussy, and then he’s groaning, body shuddering as he finishes, painting your insides with ropes of hot, white cum. You barely feel it when he slips both lengths from you, body floating on clouds, mind absolutely wrecked. Fives gently sponges away your combined releases with a wet cloth, then settles onto the bed next to you. Pulling you against his body, he rocks you gently back and forth, whispering against your temple. 

“Did so good for me,” he murmurs. “Did so well. Such a good girl, mesh’la. You’re safe, I’m here.” 

Eventually you find enough strength to talk, your voice hoarse. “Fives?” 

“I’m here,” he assures. 

“How do you feel?” you ask. 

He chuckles, the vibrations sending pleasant tingles across your body. “I’ve just fucked you within an inch of your life, and you’re asking how I feel?” 

You can only nod, too tired to feel embarrassed. 

“I feel...amazing,” he admits. “The incubus thing really made that, um, different. I hope I didn’t take too much energy from you, but kriff, I feel strong. Focused.” 

Humming, you let your eyes slide shut. So that explains why you still feel so out of it, beyond the fact that you just came the hardest you’ve ever done in your life. He took your energy; you’re glad to have given it. “Stay with me?” 

“Always,” he says. You think he presses a kiss to your temple, but your body slips into sleep, cradled and safe within Fives’s embrace.

Ragu list: @the-hexfiles @thorsterstrudle @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebell @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @dreamie411 @bobaprint @originalcollectionartistry @imarvelatthestars (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

#midnight masquerade #mdfm hallowkink 23 #kinktober 2023 #fives x reader #arc fives x reader #fives x f!reader #the clone wars x reader #tcw x reader #rhiwrites #incubus!fives x reader #monster fucker

[clone-anon-after-dark]

Can I request a Fives x fem!reader where Fives is pursuing the reader, a master thief, across Coruscant after she stole Jedi artefacts from the temple?

Thrill

Fives x F!Reader

Word Count: 1102

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI, dom Fives vibes, unprotected PiV sex, fingering, dirty talk, little bit of aftercare

A/N: You and Fives share an attraction and have met before. Reader steals but not compulsively. If anyone would like a m!reader version of this or my take on an aspec reader version of this, let me know!

You liked hanging out at 79's after a long day. Work was tiring, but you could always count on some troopers to distract you before you headed home alone. You didn't just bring anyone home, but you loved dancing with the handsome men and laughing at their antics. You met Fives when he joined the 501st and asked him to dance with you the first time after he made ARC trooper. A soft grin flashed every time he saw you, but you were careful not to get too close even though your heart wanted more.

Today, though, you were running through the streets of Coruscant and trying to get home following a route that always allowed for escape. You felt the kyber crystal through the fabric of your pocket. All this would be for nothing if you lost it along the way. The point was to get home safely with the crystal. Stealing from the Jedi temple was no easy feat, but you'd successfully stolen other artifacts before.

Troopers shouted behind you as you ran. You ducked behind another corner and behind a small apartment. You pulled away a crate covering a small doorway that led to the tunnels. Once there, you headed home. You always lost them at this spot. More troopers shouted above, trying to coordinate their search, and you could swear you recognized some of the voices as the same men you knew from the 501st. You kept running. It didn't matter. You turned another corner and climbed down a level before opening a hatch and reappearing on the street below. You took a breath, but Fives appeared.

"Fives! Uh, hi!" Playing it cool was not the easiest thing to do after running that long.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said. He took in your form and swallowed. His eyebrows narrowed as he noticed you were out of breath and appeared from the very tunnel his brothers were searching.

"Yes, and uh, why are you here? You looking for my apartment? Trying to visit?" Fives had never been to your home, but you knew he wanted to. Wanted to come home with you. Maybe playing this off like he was looking for you for other reasons would work.

"No," he replied, walking up to you and taking your hand. Your pulse was racing. "Someone keeps stealing artifacts from the Jedi temple. We're out looking for the thief."

"Interesting. Why would someone do that?"

Fives held your gaze and put his blaster away. His careful hands searched the pockets of your poncho.

"You hiding anything from me, cyar'ika?"

"I think you know the answer to that." You were caught. He found the crystal, but instead of taking it, it left it in your pocket.

"Someone's been naughty. Whatever am I going to do with you?"

Your heart started racing again for another reason and before you could stop yourself, you kissed him. He backed you to the door of your home, one hand resting on either side of you. You punched in the code without looking and nearly felt backwards into the main room. The door closed behind him and he started taking his armor off.

"Is this... I want you," was all he could say between kisses. You grinned and nodded as you led him to the bedroom, a trail of armor left down the hallway. You carefully took your poncho off so as not to knock the crystal out of it. Fives helped you out of your clothes and cupped your face. He placed little kisses all over it as if you were the most precious being he'd ever seen.

"I've wanted you ever since that first dance," he said. "Promise me this isn't just you trying to get out of trouble."

"It's not," you said before kissing his palm.

You both got on the bed, Fives hovering over your and lavishing your mouth and breasts with kisses. Each nibble on your sensitive skin pulled a moan from you. You only got louder when his hand made its way to your folds. He pressed two fingers inside you and gathered some slick to trace circles around your clit. You reached for his length but he stopped you.

"It's been a long time," he admitted. "Better to hold off for now. Let me just enjoy you."

He continued to draw moans from you and playfully grinned as your hips bucked into his hand. Between kisses he stole a look around the room and noticed all four of the other artifacts they'd been looking for.

"You have been a bad girl," he growled. Your eyes followed his, realizing what he had found. You looked back at him to find his expression stern, but eyes filled with desire. You felt heat overtake you as you came.

"You like that?" he asked.

"Uh huh," you squeaked.

"You ready for more?"

You nodded.

"Use your words, mesh'la."

"Yes."

He kissed you again and pinned your wrists above your head. Fives was never forceful, but you could feel the strength behind it. You let out a sinful moan as his cock entered you. He wiggled his hips a little as he filled you before fucking you at a steady pace.

"Good girl," he said, still holding your wrists in place. "You take me so well. My good little thief."

The air was a mix of moans, panting, and skin meeting skin. Your body wholly surrendered to him and you came again. Fives watched and licked his lips at the sight, but almost immediately he came buried inside you.

He let go of your wrists and laid next to you, holding you close. You weren't sure how long it took, but you were both able to catch your breath. You kissed his chest and inhaled his scent. It reminded you of those times you got a little sweaty on the dance floor. Just a little heat between you drawing you in for something more. You kissed him passionately and rested your face in the crook of his neck. Eventually, he broke the silence.

"I guess I should comm the team. They're probably still out looking for you. Or looking for me."

"What are you going to do?" you asked.

"We could just return these things to Master Yoda. Say I found them behind a crate somewhere so no one is implicated. Why do you steal these things anyway? Do you need money?"

"No, I don't sell them," you replied. "I just like the challenge and the chase."

"Perhaps I can provide you some challenge and chase instead then," he offered with a wink.

"I think I'd like that."

Tagging: @dukeoftheblackstar @staycalmandhugaclone

#fives x reader #fives x f!reader #fives x fem reader #arc trooper fives #arc trooper fives x fem reader #arc trooper fives x f!reader #arc trooper fives x reader #reader insert #tcw #tcw fanfiction #the clone wars fanfiction #fives anon

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

A/N: I’ve had a day. Fives makes everything better. Hopefully I can get to my requests now 🙃.

Warnings: Extreme softness! Fives singing Five, established relationship. I suggest listening to Five - Got the Feelin’ when reading this 🥹.

Word Count: 1.2k+

“Na na na na na na na nah…” his singing reached you before he’d even opened the front door. His key scratched in the lock and he burst in making you duck down deeper into the nest you’d made on the sofa. “If you got the feelin’, jump up to the ceiling! Ah we’re gettin’ down tonight!” He threw his keys, kicking the door closed and danced his way across the floor, taking your attention away from the tv with his ridiculous dance moves. “1 if you gonna, 2 if you wanna, 3 cos everything’s alright.”

You giggled when he pointed at you, biting his bottom lip as he gyrated to the tune that played in his head. “Ah, we’re getting down tonight, it’s just round the corner, tell me if you wanna…” you could see he was trying to make you smile. He knew you’d had a stressful day and he was doing everything he could think of to make you feel better.

He danced towards you, throwing in a daft spin and pointing at you with a wink. “Fives will make you feel alright.” A squeal left you when he dived into your blanket nest, his body a welcome weight as he burrowed in.

“Where is she?” He murmured, you could feel his hands searching, grabbing at cushions and blankets as he tried to reach you through the layers. “Where is my girlfriend hiding? Ah!” You squirmed when his hand grabbed your t-shirt, sliding up inside your warmth and making you gasp from the shock of his cold his hands were.

“Fives!!” You shrieked, trying to escape him.

“Oh baby! Don’t kick me!” He whined. “I’m cold baby, let me in…” his other hand slipped under the blankets and you gasped loudly, writhing against the chill as your skin pimpled with goosebumps.

“Fives!” He let out a dark chuckle, moving to pin you between him and the sofa. He stretched his neck, straining as he planted a firm smooch on your cheek letting his goatee scratch you a little. You faked a pout but he wasn’t fooled, a smirk alighting his features as he settled his chin on your chest, gazing at you with those gorgeous caramel chocolate coloured eyes.

“You ok?” Fives wasn’t serious very often, it was one of the things you absolutely adored about him, but he knew sometimes he needed to check in with you before he derailed completely.

“I am now you’re home,” you admitted. He tugged you closer, shifting another blanket out of the way so he could kiss you without anything getting in the way. His hands slipped behind your back, shoving them as far into your t-shirt as he could get them. “How was your day?” You asked him, slightly breathless from the kiss that had your toes wiggling with happiness. You stroked his hair, enjoying the way the coarse strands spring back to exactly where they were before and he leaned heavily into your touch.

“Better now I’m here, and you’re doing that,” he groaned. He reminded you of a cat, as he rubbed his head encouraging your fingers to scratch harder. “Oh yeah, like that…” he whispered and you giggled again. “Mmm, I like that sound,” he whispered, pressing forward and placing a wet kiss on your cheek that had you scrunching your face up.

“Oh, Fives!”

“Yeah baby, say my name!” He cried burying his face in your neck and this time you laughed properly, trying to push him away but he was too strong. You felt his fingers move and you froze when your bra unclipped. “Oops.” You swatted him playfully on the shoulder only to be rewarded with a teasing kiss at the curve of your neck.

“Get off me you oaf!”

“Oh!” He cried, rearing up and sliding his hands so he was caging you to the sofa between his arms. “Oaf?? I am hurt.” You didn’t miss the mischievous glint in his eye. “Surely I’m a hulk.” Scoffing loudly, you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, hating the way your bra now felt loose across your body.

“Dream on.”

“Oh I do,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. “I dream about you all damn, day long.” You planted a hand on his face stopping the next kiss that was no doubt coming and arched an eyebrow. “Of course, I could be lying,” he said with a smushed face into your hand.

“Fives, you couldn’t lie to save your life.” He settled back on the sofa, sitting down and pulling your legs over his. He rucked up your joggers, gently grazing your skin with his blunt nails in the way he knew you loved.

“No, but I could lie to save yours.” He rested his head on the back of the sofa, turned in your direction so he could gaze at you. Your feet flexed when he hit the best spot and he smirked again, glancing down to watch his fingers ghost over your skin. “You hungry?” He asked suddenly. You made a face, the elation of him being home slowly ebbing away at the thought of having to be an adult.

“Not really.” His fingers paused briefly only to carry on running up and down your shin.

“Wanna talk about it?” You picked at the blanket, pulling a loose thread in a repetitive motion as you tried to figure out if you actually wanted to talk about it or not. “We don’t have to,” he reassured you.

“Tomorrow?” You offered, glancing up and he gave you a soft smile.

“Sure, babe. In the meantime…”

“Oh god!” You exclaimed with a groan, tipping your head back.

“Na na na na na na na nah!”

“No, Fives no!”

“If you got the feelin’, jump on to the ceiling!” He stood up, pulling at your arms and dragging you upright to dance with him. “Ah, we’re getting down tonight!” He made you twirl but you put no effort in and he cocked an eyebrow at you. “That won’t do.” He twirled you harder, one leg of your joggers falling down at the motion and finally you giggled. “There she is! 1 if you gonna, 2 if you wanna, 3 cos everything’s alright…” he wrapped you tightly in his embrace, tilting you one way and then the other as he swayed gently. “If you got the feelin’, less of the dreaming…” you tipped your head back and he drank in your features, adoration clouding his expression. “Is Fives making you feel alright?” He asked and you nodded.

“Fives always makes me feel alright.”

“Good,” he murmured. “Good.” His lips slotted over yours, teasing you with a gentle lingering kiss that had him exhaling tenderly over your cheeks. He pulled away but you chased his kiss, deciding your weren’t done with him yet and he smirked against your mouth before obliging you with a deeper kiss that sparked a soft moan in your chest.

“I love you,” he breathed, stroking the hair away from your face as you wrapped your arms around his torso.

“I love you too, Fives.”

“Mmmmhmmm.” He grinned. “Shall we get the rest of your clothes off?” You shrieked in fake outrage but he just laughed, hugging you tighter just thankful that he had cheered you up at least.

#fives #tcw fives #fives fic #fives x you #fives x f!reader #fives x reader

[seriowan]

First of all, CONGRATS!!

May I please request a number 8 with my good man Fives. ORR if someone has already requested that, I'll take a number 20 😳 💛💛💛💛💛

(i am sooooo sorry this took so long!! i went on a sabbatical from tumblr and my writing motivation was at an all-time low but i've successfully managed to bring it back with this request! Now i can finally go through my writing celebrations requests! thank you to everyone who has been kind and patient in the meantime 💕)

masterlist ♡

FIVES x F!READER 8. giggling/fun sex w/c: 1.4k

Fives woke in the morning with a smile on his face. 

   For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t waking up to the sight of another bunk above his head or the engine rumble that Echo called a snore. He wasn’t being shocked awake by the ring of a siren or tossed around by Rex’s early morning commands. There was no funky smell, no uncomfortable sleepwear clinging to him like a second skin. 

   Instead, he woke up to the warm sun rays peeking through the curtains of a quaint little bedroom. The smell of your skin and last night’s mingling still lingered in the air, scattered like the clothes on the floor. A phantom ache spread through his muscles as he moved his bare legs underneath the cool, soft sheets. The satisfaction deepened as he smiled and turned on his side to face you.

   “Goodmorning princess,” he rasped, reaching over to bring you closer.

   His smile fell when he was met with empty, tousled sheets. He raised his head, going still with panic. Did you leave? Did someone call you in from the senate building? You were a senator’s aid but you weren’t so careless as to leave without telling him or giving him a parting kiss. 

   But your pillow was still warm and the smell of you still clung to the sheets. A quick lean and peek into your closet showed your uniform had been left untouched; your name tag, unmoved from its place on your dresser. 

   The relief settled. Fives sagged back into the bed, gazing up at the ceiling. He yawned, scratched his chest, and cast the blankets aside to swing his feet over the edge of the bed. Wincing at the soreness of his muscles, he shifted to stand when he felt the awkward stiffness between his legs. 

   A raging erection. 

   He rolled his eyes. Of course. Leave it to Fives junior to wake up before the rest of him, even after being worn out last night. 

   Yet it seemed that little Fives had the right idea. The more he woke, the more Fives started to notice the sound of splashing water, the echoing hum of your voice as you sang along to the music playing through the speakers. 

   Fives couldn’t help but smile with anticipation as he dashed out of the bedroom. He turned the handle to the bathroom door and slipped inside. Steam billowed through the bathroom, hanging in the air like thick clouds and clinging to the mirror. It was hot enough to wake him up even further, sending a twitching jolt of excitement right down to his strained cock. He bit his lip at the site of your naked silhouette through the opaque glass 

   Pushing aside the glass door, Fives wordlessly slipped into the shower, causing you to squeak and leap in surprise. 

   “Fives!” You laughed when he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to his chest while simultaneously stepping underneath the water. It rained down over both of your heads, soaking his hair until it clung to his forehead. Water dripped from his lashes as he grinned, layering kiss upon kiss along the side of your neck. 

   “Already wet for me babygirl?” 

   “Very funny,” you mused, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “Hilarious, actually.” 

   “You know me; I’m a natural comedian.” His hands roamed down from your hips to the globes of your ass, kneading and gripping the soft flesh with greed. His lips hovered over your ear as he rasped, “I thought you left me this morning; wasn’t too happy to find an empty bed, cyare.” 

   You hummed. “Looks like you’ll have to start joining me during my morning showers.” 

   “Sign me the fuck up,” he groaned, causing you to break out into a fit of laughter. The sound was so sweet to his ears, so delicate and full of adoration, that he couldn’t help but spin you around and press your back to the shower tiles. He gripped the sides of your smiling face and shook his head in disbelief, eyes grazing across your face without so much as a peek down below. 

   “You’re so kriffing beautiful.” 

   You brushed the hair off of his wet forehead with a smile, singing in a teasing tone, “Am I?” 

   “Damn right you are.” He gave you a sly look. “But you already know that, don’t you? C’mon, I want to hear you say it. Say, Fives has the prettiest girl in the galaxy.” 

   The water felt warmer than before. It dripped over your lips and down your chin, between your collarbones to the valley of your breasts. Fives’ eyes followed a droplet before flitting back up to your lips. 

   He leaned forward, hovering close enough to feel his breath on your cheek. 

   “Say it.” 

   You licked your lips and sighed gently, the words slipping through as freely as the water gliding down your skin. 

   “Fives has the prettiest girl in the galaxy.” 

   Satisfaction flashed in his eyes. A cheshire grin curled the corners of his mouth, drawing a blush across your cheeks. You shyly dipped your chin as you smiled, earning a pleased laugh from Fives. 

   “There it is,” he purred, curling a finger underneath your chin to tip your head up. “My pretty, pretty girl.” 

   You wrapped your arms around his neck just as Fives hooked his hand underneath your thigh and raised it to his hip. Sharing smiles of anticipation, you both fell into a fit of giggles as he ran his hand up and down your thigh, using the other to cup the side of your face. He tilted your head to access the side of your neck, pecking the softest kisses along your thudding vein. 

   You laughed quietly when he blew a playful raspberry against your wet skin. 

   “Something funny?” His voice was a low murmur, sending jolts of electricity down to the tips of your toes. 

   “Maybe,” you teased, lowering your leg to turn towards the tile. With a slow lean, you pressed the cheeks of your ass against his hips, slipping a hand between your thighs to guide his cock to your entrance. You gave it a slow stroke, drawing a sharp breath from Fives before you pushed yourself back, sliding yourself onto him. 

   You both groaned at the sensation, driven mad by the warmth of your supple skin and the water that wrapped you both in heat. Hands against the wall, you bit your lip, stifling your moans as Fives began to slide back and forth, in and out, pushing himself deeper into you with each thrust and greedy clench of your hips. Water echoed, splashing off of your skin in tandem with the clap of skin on skin. 

   Faster, quicker, needier noises filled the bathroom. Heat blossomed across your belly, burning even hotter where Fives’ hands roamed - from hips to breasts, kneading and pullnig and squeezing like he couldn’t get enough of your touch, your sounds; the musical whimpers that quickly became slurred pleads. 

   “Oh, Fives! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Right there, baby, right there~!” 

   Fives slowed his pace but kept the same brutal thrust, pulling you back by your hips, growling and grunting under his breath as he filled your cunt over and over. Every noise that fell from your mouth was fuel to the fire, dragging out the pleasure until you could feel him twitch inside of your cunt. 

   Looping a hand under your thigh, Fives raised your leg and snapped his hips forward, impaling you on his cock until you were both shaking and tipping over the edge. With a final thrust, he buried himself into your slick cunt to the hilt, rocking his had back as his hips bucked. Every muscle constricted, tightening with the pressure in his gut as he spilled rope after rope of cum.

   You twitched, spasming muscles threatening to collapse as Fives lowered your leg to the soapy shower floor. You clamped your thighs together, tightening even further around his dick as you ground your hips against his, riding out your orgasm in bliss. 

   He gripped your hips in a white-knuckled grip, holding onto you as you clenched around him once, twice, over and over even as he slowly pulled himself back. His cock slipped from your cunt as he took a shaky step back and leaned against the glass. 

   You turned, hooded eyes bouncing up and down from the spent smile on his face to his twitching cock. Fives followed your gaze, the corners of his mouth slowly curling into a knowing smile.

   “Round two in the bedroom?”

   You grinned and nodded. 

   “Round two in the bedroom.” 

-

@corona-one @eloquentmoon @maulslittlemeowmeow @misogirl828 @theclonesdeservebetter @frietiemeloen @pinkiemme @torchbearerkyle @stcrmhond @ivela3 @kaminocasey @rexxdjarin @littlemousedroid @moonstrider9904 @love-like-poetry @blackyblack @simping-for-fives @twistedstitcher27 @queenquazar @mo-i-ra @cyanide-ghost @discarded-beskar @jedimastersovi @daddykin-skywalker @lucyysthings

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#300 celebration #LONG overdue #fives x f!reader #seriowan requests #seriowan's smutty sleepover

[sinningvin]

So uhhhhhhh ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Fnaf movie goog William aftin hot

#william afton #five nights at freddy's #five nights at Freddy’s movie #fnaf #fnaf movie #steve raglan #william afton x reader #f/o #fnaf spoilers #tw spoilers #mathew lillard #springtrap #spring bonnie

[five-bi-five-mind]

New Addition

Fandom: Marvel

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x fem!Reader

Words: 5.5k+

Genre: Fluff & Smutt

Summary: After things get serious with Wanda, she's finally ready to let you meet the twins. When everything just clicks with all of you, Wanda is even more smitten and so are you. So much so, that she might be getting a little ahead of herself...

Warnings: fingering (r receiving); biting, strap-on use (r receiving); magic strap; mommy kink; praise; pet-names; cum-filled strap; top!Wanda, bottom!r; breeding kink (maybe?); let me know if I forgot things...

A/N: So this was a request I received on another Wanda fic of mine posted to AO3... figured I'd run with it. Also kinda hate both the name and the gif I came up with for this fic but oh well... anyways, yay 1k celebrationnnnn

Another New Addition (Part 2)

“You did so good with them,” Wanda said with a soft smile. Her back pressed against the door as you walked further into her bedroom. “They absolutely loved you.” 

“I loved them too.” You returned her smile before turning around and taking in her room. Never had you stepped foot in here. You were honestly giddy just being in her home and taking in her surroundings, but now to finally be in her bedroom, a place that was so private and intimate to her… Well, you were over the moon.

In fact, you could probably say that you were glowing. In the six months that you had been with Wanda, you both decided to take things relatively slow. Any nights alone with her were spent at your apartment, not hers. You were totally okay with that. With Wanda having two boys, you knew what a big step it was to introduce you to them. That was always the plan though. Wanda had discussed it with you in detail. Once things got serious, if they got serious, you’d be slowly and gently integrated into their family dynamic. 

And of course, things got serious. What with Wanda blurting out how much she loved you within the first three months of your relationship and you immediately returning that sentiment with teary eyes. Still, you spent three months adjusting to that new development before you even thought about meeting her kids.

But then it finally came time to see them. Wanda approached you with a smile on her face, the one she got whenever she wanted something, and you willingly listened to her plea. Maybe the idea of meeting them utterly terrified you, but only because you knew how important it was for you to bond with them. You prepared yourself for some awkwardness, maybe even a little rejection from them at first. Lucky for you, you didn’t even need to worry at all. 

They were hesitant at first, but so were you. Wanda nudged the three of you along for maybe the first hour of meeting each other, but then it was like everything fell into place. It helped that deep inside you were kind of a big nerd. When they talked about their interests you immediately jumped in. That led Tommy to immediately beg for you to see all their stuff and Billy to tug you through the house until you reached their room. They then proceeded to give you a tour of what was quite possibly all of the items they ever owned. You nodded excitedly as they each took turns explaining just about everything in their possession and that just added to their excitement too. It felt like maybe minutes went by, but in reality over an hour had passed. 

Wanda, the whole time, just stood back and watched with the brightest smile glued to her face. The amount of pride and love she had for her boys was so evident in everything she did, but you didn’t have to see to know that. The way she would talk about them for hours with so much happiness in her voice had already told you as much, and you loved to listen to her talk about her family. Anytime she did, you couldn’t stop yourself from daydreaming about being added to their dynamic. It didn’t help that her love for you was also just as evident, making it easier for you to rationalize how easily you could fit in with the three of them. And as Wanda watched with delight at how fast you all clicked, she was filled with those same daydreams you often had. 

When it was rounding on three hours of you and the boys just spending time together, she finally broke the three of you out of your moment. It was probably important for all of you to eat even if you were just as disappointed as the twins when the three of you were torn from their extra detailed room tour. Wanda had to bite her lip to hold back a cheeky grin when she saw you following the boys out of their room with a matching pout. 

What really won you points with them was your insistence on pizza instead of Wanda putting in even more effort to orchestrate this perfect night with a fancy home-cooked dinner. She already worked so hard, she didn’t need to prepare some sort of three course meal too. Plus, the boys were over the moon for the idea of pizza and even more so when you said your favorite toppings were the same as theirs.

After full stomachs and more exciting conversation over just about everything the twins loved, you all settled with a movie. The movie was probably the hardest thing to pay attention to. The boys curled up on one side of the room, their eyes glued to whatever action scenes were unfolding on the screen. You weren’t really sure what the plot was and you didn’t even remember the movie title, not when Wanda had you wrapped up in her arms. 

It was all honestly very innocent. You leaned back on Wanda and she pulled a blanket over you both. Her fingers were innocently running up and down your arms as the movie went on, and while it was nothing inappropriate, it still made your heart race at the intimacy of it all. How could you pay attention to the movie when you were wrapped in the arms of the woman you loved and felt like you were instantly accepted into her family? You couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. 

As the movie continued, you looked across the room at her two boys who were slowly falling asleep while trying and failing to remain focused on the screen. There was a soft smile on your lips that had practically never left since the moment Wanda got comfy with you on the couch. As silly as it might be, you couldn’t help but think that you could get used to this. Your mind wandered to the idea of having weekly evenings like this, quietly spending time with Wanda and her family until they all finally saw you as their family too. Never had you wanted something more strongly than for this night to become a regular occurrence. Maybe it was too fast. After all, you just met the boys and you’ve been dating Wanda for less than a year, but something inside you just said that all of this was right. It was a gut feeling that told you this is exactly where you were supposed to be. With Wanda, helping raise the boys if she’d let you, and spending every day of the rest of your life loving the three of them with everything you had.

You rubbed at your eyes, feeling a little sappy for the tears that welled there from the realization of just how perfect everything was. Wanda took your movement as a sign that maybe you were just as sleepy as the boys, whispering in your ear if maybe the four of you should finish the movie another night. Wanda didn’t buy it when you shook your head and tried to convince her you weren’t that sleepy. 

Of course, no matter how convincing you were, the boys really were not. They were struggling to keep their eyes open, their little heads nodding back onto the couch every few minutes before they jostled themselves awake. While they weren’t in love with the idea of calling the night early, Wanda was so good with them and convincing that they eventually agreed. What really got to you, in a good way, was that Wanda promised you’d be back for another night like this and that’s what finally eased their minds enough to agree to tuck in for bed. 

After she had them all tucked in, they were both in a deep sleep within minutes. You hung back while Wanda got them ready for bed, but you heard the way she cooed at them and cared for them as they settled into bed. While she was doing that, you were sitting alone, waiting for her to guide you to her bedroom. It was at this point in the night that anxiousness crept back in. Both of you had talked about it and planned for this to also be the first time you were to sleep over at her house too. There had been plenty of times where Wanda had got a sitter overnight and stayed with you, but this still felt very new. It was a big deal, and you were getting a little in your head about it.

Eventually, Wanda returned to you, slipping her hand in yours and pulling you towards her bedroom. Her soft smile matched the one you had worn earlier and you tried to match it, but nerves were getting the best of you. If Wanda noticed, she didn’t say much. She just introduced you to her room and motioned for you to walk in before she followed behind you.

And now, here you both were. Her smile was large as she praised you for the day and your nerves had momentarily left your body as you beamed proudly back at her.

They really did seem to get along well with you and it was so important for both you and Wanda that that happened. It was like a dream come true honestly, to be so quickly accepted by her kids and to so quickly accept them too. You were excited about what the future could bring, if the four of you could truly be one big happy family like you hoped. It had been one evening, but suddenly you found yourself wanting that future more than anything else you’ve ever wanted in your entire life. As Wanda smiled back at you, you thought maybe you could confidently guess that she wanted the exact same. 

“Was it too presumptuous of me to promise the boys another family night?” Wanda looked at you with the most hopeful eyes as she spoke.

Family Night. Those words made your heart flutter. It really did seem like Wanda felt what you were feeling about the whole evening. It was like this meant-to-be connection between all of you. You knew Wanda was the one for you the moment you two met, and Wanda had hinted that the feeling was mutual too. Now, since you’ve met her family, that same gut feeling was even stronger. It felt like, not only was Wanda meant to be your person, but the three of them were meant to be your family too. 

“No, no, no.” You were maybe too eager to convince Wanda you were more than happy with that. “It wasn’t too presumptuous.”

Wanda pushed herself off from where she was leaning on her bedroom door. In a few steps, she was suddenly in front of you, her arms wrapped around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. 

“Really?” She smiled and you nodded enthusiastically. Her lips pressed to yours in a gentle, but brief kiss. 

“I’d love to do it again,” you said against her lips, leaning back in for more. “And again…” you kissed her once. “And again…” you kissed her once more. “And again.”

Wanda pulled back to look at you, her smile so contagious it made you forget all about your nervousness that you had just moments ago. “I’m so glad you’re finally here.” Wanda pressed her forehead to yours as she spoke. She placed her hands on either of your cheeks and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into her touch. “I’ve been picturing this since the day I met you and it was all so perfect. You’re perfect.”

You closed your eyes as she spoke such sweet words to you. It was all making you so incredibly happy that you were at a loss for words. Your hands came up to cover Wanda’s and you turned your head to kiss the palm of one of her hands. She hummed softly to herself for a second, her forehead still pressed to yours.

You both stayed like that for a moment, basking in how happy and in love both of you were. One of the biggest things about tonight, other than being accepted by the two most important people in Wanda’s life, was that all of this just made your love for her even stronger. Wanda, of course, felt the exact same way. 

As she watched you, she was in awe of how good you were with them. It was almost like you slipped into a role she had never seen from you, but had hoped was there or would develop over time. As the boys talked to you about their interests and their lives, you showed this almost maternal side; one that knew how to respond to even the silliest of things they said to you. And then you also had this goofy, friendly side to you that matched her boys’ energy so perfectly, it was like a match made in heaven. As Wanda watched you throughout the night, she couldn’t imagine a better partner to integrate into her family dynamic. 

When the movie was playing, Wanda was filled with daydreams of what making you a permanent part of her family would look like. The evenings you’d spend with her and the twins, the adventures you’d all go on, the fun and love you’d share. To Wanda, those daydreams felt very possible to actualize and she planned to do so. Wanda knew, when she first met you, that you would be someone good for her boys, and she felt even more validated as the evening went on.

As Wanda was promising the boys that you would be back, she was consumed with thoughts of how fast she really could convince you to take more steps into a bigger commitment with her. There were quick little thoughts that popped into her mind about proposing, asking you to move in, talking to you about future building in a more real and permanent sense. She had a small worry that she was moving too fast. Not in a way that she thought things between the two of you would go bad, but just that she didn’t want to bombard you with so much so quickly. Except, these little thoughts about a future with you got bigger and louder as she pulled you to her bedroom. In the short walk it took to drag you through her halls, she started having ideas about even expanding the family with you. Seeing you not only become a co-parent to her twins, but carrying and being a mother to another child of hers. 

That last idea was even stronger when she finally had her arms around you in the privacy of her own bedroom. She was getting ahead of herself with all of these images of you becoming her wife and her coming home to you, her boys, and possibly a new addition to her family. The thought of you and her creating a new life together was starting to intrigue her. Maybe a little too much… 

Wanda leaned into you again, placing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. The kind that had you leaning forward for more when she pulled away. She let out a soft laugh at your actions, but continued to deny you another kiss to your lips. Instead, she pressed hers to your cheek and then your other, showering you with soft kisses all over your face and enjoying the warmth she felt rise on your skin from her actions. 

You couldn’t stop your smile from growing as she treated you with such tenderness. Your heart raced as she moved her lips to jaw and then cupped your chin to tilt your head and press her lips to your pulse point. She trailed her lips down your neck then, with feather light kisses as she went. Her hands moved down to encircle your waist again and press the two of you even closer together. Your head swam at the feeling of her lips on you and being engulfed in her warmth. She really was perfect for you. It was like she knew exactly how to make you melt in the palm of her hand. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Wanda murmured against your neck, her teeth lightly nibbling at the skin there. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of her lips on your neck and you hummed an incoherent response. “I love you so much,” Wanda continued, her lips moving back up to your own before placing another kiss to them.

“And I love you,” You whispered into the kiss. Wanda kissed you again at that, but this time a little harder. The kiss was slow, but she was moving her lips against yours in such a way that had you already feeling drunk on them alone. Your lips parted and Wanda’s tongue peeked out, running against yours ever so slightly, but just enough to cause you to shiver. And then, all too soon she pulled away, leaving you breathless in her wake. 

“I’ve been working on something I want to try…” Wanda’s voice was quiet as she pulled back slightly. You’ve seen a lot of sides of Wanda, but this one was a little new. It almost seemed like she was shy, nervous even, for whatever she had in mind. 

You met her eyes, giving her a gentle smile while you waited for her to continue. The arms around you moved, hands slipping underneath your shirt to press flat to your back. She ran her hands up slowly as she nibbled on her lip, you could tell she was hesitant about what she would say next. 

“Wanda,” you urged. “What is it?” You let out a soft, nervous giggle. Whatever she had in mind had you excited already, but the way she was being so withholding about it made waiting for the reveal a little anxiety inducing. 

“Do you trust me?�� Her eyes sparkled as she leaned back in. 

“Of course,” you said breathlessly, waiting for her lips to press against yours once more. This time when they did, her hands pressed your body fully against her own when your lips met. The way she kissed you had your head spinning. It wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t gentle. It was hungry.

When you parted your lips for her, she licked into your mouth and you couldn’t help the soft moan that broke free. This only egged Wanda on further, moving her hands until she was pulling your shirt up and then completely off. In the moment that her actions broke the kiss you took a deep breath before Wanda’s lips smashed back into yours. Your hands tangled in her hair and you pressed yourself against her as if any minuscule amount of space was too much for you. 

“Are you sure?” Wanda mumbled against your lips, but you were too lost in hers to respond. 

Wanda pulled her head back and chuckled at the pout that followed after. “Baby, are you sure?” Wanda asked again, to which you fervently nodded. “Will you let me try something, then?”

“Anything,” you mumbled.

“Good…” Wanda trailed off before pushing you to walk backwards until your legs hit the foot of the bed. “Sit back for me, pretty girl.” You did as you were told, your face flushed a darker shade of pink from her use of pet names. 

Wanda leaned down over you as you scooted yourself onto the bed, hooking her hands into your belt loops. You knew what she wanted and one hand quickly went to unbutton your jeans before she gave them a hard yank towards her. With some awkward maneuvering, you helped her get them all the way off your body, along with your panties, and then looked up expectantly at her. 

Her clothes met yours on her bedroom floor. Both of you stood still for second, each taking in the other’s naked form. Wanda was gorgeous, standing there in nothing in front of you and she thought the same as you sat propped up on her bed. 

After a moment, Wanda lifted her hand up and you watched as she briefly flicked her fingers. Then, when her eyes moved down her own body, yours followed and your eyes practically bugged out of your head. Okay, this was something new. 

Between her legs, attached with straps, was a dark red dildo. It wasn’t small, but you didn’t think it was necessarily too big either. It wasn’t like you weren’t interested in trying this with Wanda, it was just that you two hadn’t even talked about introducing toys in the bedroom yet and suddenly, with a literal snap of her fingers, it was there in front of you. 

Wanda looked back up at you, a subtle swirl of red shining in her eyes. “Is this okay?” Wanda flicked her eyes back down to the toy between her legs before looking up at you again. 

Your mouth went dry, trying to find the words to tell her yes; it was more than okay. But you were also nervous with anticipation for her to finally touch you and use it. You swallowed hard. “Y-yeah,” you struggled, “it is.”

Wanda’s smile turned a little predatory as she took a step towards the bed again. She felt so proud of you, seeing how willing you were to do this with her. You were nervous, Wanda could tell, but she had a feeling once you both tried this it would soon become a favorite for both of you. 

She crawled onto the bed, her naked form hovering over yours and you gulped at the proximity. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been like this with Wanda before, it’s just that there was never the addition of what was in between her legs in the mix. 

Wanda kissed your lips again, long and lingering, before she moved to kiss down your chest. Her hands ran from your chest, fingers dancing across your nipples, until they moved further down. She brushed the tips of her fingers across your skin with such gentleness, leaving goosebumps in their wake, until finally she reached between your legs. Her fingers met your wetness already, the kisses she gave mixed with the perfection that is her body had you already in need of her touch. When the tips of her fingers brushed your clit, a shiver ran through your body, and when they repeated their feather light touch, Wanda reveled in the fact that your body reacted so easily to her. 

Lips kissed back up to your neck and a hand pressed to your sternum until you were finally fully laying back on the bed. Your head tilted back to let Wanda run her tongue down the most sensitive parts of the flesh there. By this time, Wanda had started to steadily circle your clit with her fingers, causing soft, breathy sighs to fall from your lips. 

The excitement of all of this was getting to her. To say it was hard to wait, was an understatement. Wanda was so floored by your reactions and couldn’t wait to try what she had planned for you. If you were already this worked up from light touches, she could only anticipate how you’d react when she was inside you in a way she hadn’t been before. But still, she needed to go slow, prepare you. She didn’t want to break you after all. 

Her fingers ran down your folds, tracing your entrance before slowly dipping two in. You let out a gasp that was only made louder by the way Wanda moved to your chest and took a nipple into her mouth. Her tongue ran over your nipples, switching between the two, as she pumped her fingers into you at a leisurely pace. Whines were filling the room and she knew you were frustrated with how slow she was touching you. It seemed you both were excited for the main event. 

When your hips started to move with her fingers, Wanda could tell this was your pathetic attempt to make yourself cum. Her free hand went straight to your hip, her grip a bit harsh as she forced your body to still on the mattress. “Shhh, baby, not yet,” she purred. “You’re not going to cum on my fingers tonight.”

You huffed in frustration and Wanda pulled her fingers all the way out. That had you really whiny. Wanda bit her lip to try to hide the smug smile that tugged on her lips, half considering to tease you for awhile before she really started to fuck you. But then again, she was too excited to wait any longer. 

Sitting back on the bed, Wanda moved your legs until she was between them with either of them hooked over her hips. She sat there for a moment, admiring the sight before her. She knew you were wet from how she was already touching you, but to see your pussy drip with your wetness made her mouth water. 

“Wanda…” you pleaded after a moment passed and Wanda continued to just hungrily stare. 

She snapped out of it with your plea, her hand moving to wrap around the deep red toy before lining it up with your entrance. “This isn’t just a toy. It’s magic,” Wanda said, her body still with the tip of it barely pushing into you. “I’ll be able to feel you.” 

It took you a moment to register what she meant, but she didn’t really give you a moment. Her hips pressed forward and you felt her enter you completely. “Oh!” You moaned as you felt your walls stretch around her. 

Wanda groaned as she entered you, her eyes squeezing shut. She was trying to take in deep breaths, trying to restrain herself, but dear god the feeling of you was intoxicating. 

Your head fell back down onto the pillow as Wanda rolled her hips, her cock hitting deep inside you. She had a hold of your hips as your legs were still propped on hers, it gave her the best angle to hit deeper. The way she could feel every inch of the toy inside your pussy had her head swimming.

Wanda tried to start at a slow pace, she really did, but with each pump of her hips you let out an adorable whimper and she felt your pussy practically twitch around her. It was all too much. With your legs still hooked to her, Wanda fell forward onto the mattress, your bodies pressed together, with her hands barely holding her up. With this position, your legs hooked over her waist, Wanda could fuck you deeper and all her restraint broke.

“Holy shi-“ Wanda cut herself off with a low moan. The way her body was moving against yours had your head spinning, her pace increasing more and more. “I knew- fuck- I knew it would feel good, but not this fucking good.” 

Wanda’s hips were rolling into you in such a way that your whole body rocked back with the power of her thrusts. One hand grabbed onto the forearm by your head. Your nails dug into her skin as she kept pulling her cock almost all the way out of you just to slam it back in. She definitely wasn’t being gentle with you anymore and you couldn’t begin to care. The force of her cock pumping into you had your whole body deliciously shaking.

Wanda was barely holding herself up as it is, but when your pussy started tightening around her cock she couldn’t keep it up. She was fully pressed against you, quite literally fucking you into the mattress. Her face was tucked into the side of your neck as her hands flew back to your hips, moving your body into hers so she could grind you onto her cock while she fucked you. 

Your hand flew to your mouth, balled in a fist. Your teeth dug into your knuckles to try to muffle any sounds that were coming out of you, while Wanda hid her groans of pleasure into your neck. “You feel so fucking good,” Wanda growled in your ear as the force of her thrusts increased. “You’re gonna cum on mommy’s cock, okay princess?”

The way she was talking was also new, but it just added to your building orgasm. You nodded desperately, helpless to do anything but let her continue to fuck into you with abandon. 

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” she groaned. “Wouldn’t you like that? Let mommy cum inside you, paint your pretty pussy with my cum. Tell me you want my cum.”

“Y-yes please,” you stammered. 

Her movements were becoming more erratic and as you were approaching your edge, you knew she was too. The way your pussy was squeezing her tight, mixed with the way you struggled to stay quiet was too much for her. Wanda came and she came hard, her teeth digging into your neck to muffle her moans. 

The second she came you felt her cum hit your walls. A gasp was barely muffled when your own orgasm hit you. The surprising feeling of her warm cum inside you mixed with the sting of her bite had your body quake and tears well in your eyes at the sheer power of your orgasm. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Wanda groaned into your neck, her hips continuing to move and fuck her cum into you. The way she felt your orgasm had her cum again, filling your pussy up and prolonging your own orgasm. 

When you finally came down your body slumped onto the bed, your eyes shut tight as you tried to catch your breath. Wanda pressed her head to your chest, listening to your racing heartbeat as she tried to calm down from her own orgasms. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered in wonder. That was intense. She drew from you what was probably the most powerful orgasm of your life. 

“Yeah, oh my god.” Wanda let out a breathless laugh. Wanda pulled out of you after a moment, a shiver running through your body as she did. 

She sat back up, her cum dripping from your entrance. You continued to lay on the bed, still utterly spent as Wanda trailed her fingers down your thighs. “You look so pretty with my cum dripping down your thighs,” she whispered to herself more than to you. You just hummed, your eyes still shut as you tried to calm your breathing.  “Wonder how many times until it takes…”

You perked up at that, your eyes opening to glance at Wanda. “What do you mean?” You were more curious than worried about her odd remark. 

“I said it was magic…” Wanda trailed off, her fingers continuing to idly trace across your skin. “You’d look so beautiful carrying my child.”

“Wanda…” You sat up fully at this. The look you gave her told her you were feeling hesitant now, but Wanda just met your eyes with a soft smile.

“Don’t worry.” Her fingers stilled as she spoke. “I’m still figuring it out, nothing should happen this time. It took me a while just to conjure up something I could feel. To create life with it intentionally will take work. I don’t think I’m there yet.”

There was a lot of interesting wording in that, but you chose to ignore it. After all, it wasn’t even a couple hours ago that you were thinking similar thoughts about being a part of and maybe even expanding Wanda’s family. If she was really worried about that sort of risk she would’ve told you up front. At least, you hoped so. 

In truth, Wanda really wasn’t sure. She thought, as far as she knew, what she was saying was true. If she was being honest with herself, she probably should’ve given more thought to the whole ordeal and what consequences might come after, but when Wanda had this idea in her mind she was just too excited to postpone it. The sheer need to feel you as she fucked you and to be able to actually cum inside you was too overwhelming. She didn’t want to wait another minute after tonight, so threw caution to the wind. 

If there are results that come after this night, while she seriously doubted it, she did technically tell you it was magic before you two started. Hopefully, you had some understanding of the unpredictability of things like that. Although, the two of you were already on the same page. Neither of you would mind these repercussions, despite the short time you’ve been together. Wanda knew you were meant to be hers, meant to be in this family, so why not solidify it?

“Can we…” You bit your lip for a moment, a blush creeping to your cheeks again as Wanda waited for you to continue. “Can we try it again?”

Wanda’s grin was dazzling as she happily agreed.

Repercussions be damned. 

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[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒

ㅤㅤghostface!mike schmidt x afton daughter!reader

genre: smut, minors dni, dark content, ghostface au

word count: 4.5k

summary: how were you supposed to know one of your closest friends was also the one in desperate need for revenge?

warnings: dubcon (this can also be considered noncon to some since there's the fear of death in place so if that's not your thing please don't read), knife use, manipulation, voyeurism but no one actually sees, daddy kink, piv, blowjob, nonconsensual somnophilia, male masturbation, reader doesn't know what william did, dirty talking, creampie

a/n: a day late but happy thanksgiving everyone 🖤 i am thankful for my josh hutcherson phase (normally I was going to post this yesterday but oh well you get it)

**dividers made by @saradika xx

How long has it been since you came here? How long has it been since you witnessed the clean beige exterior that now looked more suffocating than liberating? 

You observe the dust over the picture frames as you drop the suitcases, the sudden release of weight making your back bend back like a bow. You stare for a while. Your dad had bought this particular vacation home ages ago. Ironically he had done it so the family could spend some quality time together over the summers. That was before the incident. Before your mom left, only leaving you and him. 

Now the dirt outside was muddy from the pouring rain. Leaves turning to mush under the pressure of tires and boots. You hear the faint sound of the car door closing. Moments later Mike stands behind you. You can feel his breath tickling the back of your neck. It soothes you. 

“So this is the famous summer house huh?” he looks around, not bothering to close the door behind him, he takes a step further. “God, it’s cold in here. Please tell me there’s a heater somewhere.” 

“Probably in the basement. Remind you this place wasn’t meant for winter.” 

“Yeah I can see that from the windows,” he turns and finally closes the door. “It’s a bit eerie that anyone might just watch us from down there.” 

You scoff, “Who’s gonna watch? This house is the only one. Besides it’s just a couple days.” 

Your dad was finally selling the place. Meaning you had limited time to pack the things you wanted to keep before the rest was torn out. You knew packing all the old pictures would be overwhelming so you asked Mike to join and he was more than eager to help out—which was a bit surprising but you were grateful nonetheless. He was always kind to you. Always so gentle. He made your heart jump whenever he looked into your eyes, observing, searching them for something more. You never knew what he was searching for. 

Mike walks ahead with just his backpack, he’s wearing all black: black hoodie, black pants, black jacket. . . he’s completely contrasting his surroundings. He turns to you with rounded eyes and you melt a little. 

“So where am I staying?” 

“Let me show you,” It’s odd being in the halls again, you remember them feeling endless when you were a kid. The floor underneath you creaks. “Luckily we have a bunch of rooms. I don’t know what my parents were thinking, it’s not like we entertained a lot of guests.” 

“Well, it worked out in the end. Now I have a place to say.” 

“Silver lining,” you agree, showing his room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to head to bed and we can brainstorm where to start in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he steps inside the room and you can’t help but be reminded of how out of place he looks. “Good night.” 

“Good night, Mike.” 

He stands at the door with furrowed brows and downturned lips. Not that it’s important what his expression is. It’s not like anyone can see it underneath his mask. The mask that he’d bought last second. It is now or never. And this is his chance to avenge his brother, his broken family. This is the solution to all of it. 

It doesn’t help that you’re soundly sleeping. Your lips slightly parted, more skin showing with each rise and fall of your chest. Mike takes a step further inside. The wind howls against the naked windows. Yet, your room managed to stay warm. You turn around to lay on your back and he sees you parting your legs underneath the comforter. His cock grows hard at the sight, he’d love to take you right now. Fuck you until you gasp awake, your sweet cunt dripping with arousal—you’d tell him to stop, not recognizing who he is and he’d go on until you’re creaming around him. Your body becoming sweaty and warm. 

Mike licks his lips and rubs a palm over the outline of his cock. His eyes search your room. You hadn’t unpacked yet. Your suitcase open with clothes pouring out the edges. You probably just picked that flimsy shirt you were wearing and headed to bed. He slowly walks to the pile of clothes, within, he finds a pair of black lace underwear. Mike picks it up. A gloved thumb follows the patterns of delicate flowers. His lips curl upward, just what you were planning on doing with him here? In your old family home where it’s just the two of you?

He stands at the edge of your bed. He’s amazed at how much he can get away with without waking you. It’s amazing how much you trust him without a second thought. 

Too bad he doesn’t trust you. 

With your panties, he fists his cock, the fabric catches against the head prompting the jerk of his hips. He strokes himself fast and hard. Precome seeping into the delicate fabric. His eyes are glued to your lips, the pacing of your breath, your body that’s sprawled underneath the sheets. His cock twitches. Balls tightening as he imagines the sounds you would make for him with a knife against your throat and him deep inside your cunt. 

The smallest of groans manage to escape him as he spills into his fist and the fabric, thick ropes of come staining your panties, he inches closer. Hips stuttering helplessly while wishing to see himself dirty your pretty parted lips. He knows he will soon enough. He sees the way you look at him, how desperate you are for affection and a sense of belonging. Mike enjoys the sense of control he has over you. It makes it all that much more sweeter. 

He’ll take you. Break you. And pull you back together again. 

He’ll ruin William Afton’s precious little girl. 

You’re blessed with a little bit of sun today. Bits of dust sway in the air, boxes upon boxes standing around you and Mike. Two empty coffee cups lay idly on the floor. You slept like a baby last night, which was something you hadn’t expected, yet when you woke up you felt a bit off. Your door was open for starters. And you definitely remember closing it. Mike had just shrugged it off, saying that you were tired and probably forgot. 

Which is likely, now that you think about it. 

Mike picks up one of the framed photos of you and your dad. Despite the sunlight filling the living room, a chill settles over your skin. He observes the photo longer than necessary. Then he traces the engraved name underneath the picture. 

“Afton,” he murmurs. “I keep forgetting you’re an Afton.” 

He doesn’t let go of the picture as his eyes meet yours, you don’t like the look in them. He almost seems angry. 

“What does it matter?” you say in a sheer tone. “It’s not like it means anything whether I’m an Afton or not.” 

“I’d beg the differ. And I know some other people would too.” 

Mike places the photo in a box, eyes dropping to the floor. Heat rises to your cheeks. You’re confused. Very confused. “Are talking about Freddy Fazbear’s? You know I don’t like talking about that Mike.” 

“No need to get defensive. I’m just saying that your surname isn’t nothing,” he gives you a small smile but it does little to calm your nerves. “You were never suspicious of him?” 

“Of what?” 

He gives you a blank stare, “Of the murders.” 

Your mouth opens and very promptly snaps shut. Mike was never interested in this before. He hadn’t even asked about it, not once. Your shoulders drop and your heart feels heavy in your chest—Were you ever suspicious of him? Of your own father? To be fair you never thought about it. You shut your eyes and plugged your ears. You never wanted to think about that wretched pizzeria and all the things that happened in it. 

Your stomach jumps when he reaches out, curling his palm over the slope of your knee. You release a long breath. 

“Sorry for bringing it up,” he says, his eyes now soft. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“That’s okay.” It wasn’t. You get up, feeling the weight of his gaze as you do. “Alright, I think I’m gonna take a brisk shower then we can make pasta or something.” 

“I can start on that,” he answers. “Pesto or marinara?” 

“You can pick. I’m fine with either.” 

He nods and you leave before he stands. You feel icky all over. The dust and the sudden reality check about your father’s pizzeria and his role in all that had happened make you desperate to scrub yourself clean. 

You swiftly enter the bathroom, shutting the door behind you, giving it a hard shove until you hear the satisfying click. The inside smells of lavender. 

You strip and throw your clothes into the washing machine. The water warms up easily when you step inside. You draw the curtain shut and sigh at the clean water caressing your skin. Warm showers are the solution to everything. Even daddy issues. You begin to wash your hair, a soft moan dropping from your lips as you massage your scalp. The water trickles down your neck and between your breasts. With soapy hands, you give yourself a firm squeeze and graze your thumbs over the pebbled nipples. 

“That’s nice,” you sigh, hands moving up to rinse your hair. Maybe after the shower you can lay down and treat yourself until lunch is ready. Your vibrator’s fully charged, and the prospect of Mike hearing the faint buzz of it makes your pussy throb. 

Just as you reach for the loofah a soft click echoes in the steamy room. 

Your body tenses. Your heart suddenly beating a mile a minute. 

Your eyes turn in the direction of the door but you can’t see well with the curtain. All you see is the blurry darkness of the hall thanks to the open entrance. “Mike?” you call out, voice trembling. “If that’s you it’s not funny.” 

Of course, it’s not him. Even from here, you can smell the pasta sauce. Pesto. You desperately search for any kind of weapon you can use but all you see are shampoo bottles and the loofah you’re currently holding. You swallow. Turning back to the curtain, you see a faint shadow. It tilts its head. 

You need to attack. Need to do something before they do. How did they even get in here? 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

But you’re frozen with fear as the stranger curls their fingers around the shower curtain. The rest happens suddenly. The curtain is ripped open and you see who it is—Mostly. You see the mask, two pitch-black eyes staring back at you. Instead of screaming you jump away, the porcelain slips from underneath you, you fall and as soon as you do, you’re swallowed by darkness. 

Your eyes flutter open. There’s a sharp sting against your forehead. 

“Thank god you’re awake.” 

“M—Mike?” 

Your vision stops shaking and you finally see him. Mike, and his two soft brown eyes staring down at you. He’s holding a ball of cotton, the white stained by a bit of red. “What. . .” You attempt to get up but quickly forgo your decision when your head throbs. Mike clicks his tongue and presses the cotton to your head, your eyes tear up as it stings, but it slightly subsides seconds later. Looking down, you notice a towel was thrown over you. 

“I should be asking you that, how the hell did you slip?” 

“I. . . I didn’t.” 

“What do you mean you didn’t?” 

“There. . there was someone in the shower,” Your blood freezes as you remember. “He. . .I think it was a he? He was wearing a mask and he opened the curtain and fuck—I was so scared Mike.” 

Your arms move on their own and wrap around his neck, pulling him close. It takes him only a second to mimic your movement, wrapping his arms around your cold shivering body. His fingers trace your spine. A pleasant shiver runs up your back. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now,” he murmurs. “But. . . the door was closed.” 

What? “What?” You shake your head as you pull away from him, ignoring the towel slightly sliding lower. “There’s no way. How did you see me then?” 

“Well, I shouted for you but you didn’t respond. Then I knocked and you didn’t respond again. The door wasn’t locked so I let myself in.” 

“And you found me unconscious? No one was here?” 

“Only you.” 

You shudder. That’s absolutely terrifying. 

“Come on let’s. . .” he swallows and you notice his eyes lingering where your towel has fallen. The swell of your breasts exposed. Looking away, you pull the fabric up and properly wrap it around yourself. His eyes move up to meet your gaze. “Let’s get you dressed and then we can eat.” 

Your last night here. Finally. 

After the unfortunate fall in the shower, you never managed to shake the feeling of being watched in your own house. You didn’t say anything to Mike but you knew he saw how freaked out you were from your eyes, by the way you would jump at every sound. Every time you closed your eyes you saw the stranger’s mask—those damn black sockets and open mouth staring back at you. It didn’t help that every morning you found your door wide open. You could’ve sworn that you closed it. But without fail, the door was open in the morning. 

And you’re so grateful to be done with it all. 

Stacks of boxes stand tall near the door. You were adamant about having everything ready tonight so that as soon as the sun peaked through the two of you could leave. Which was why you had ordered Mike to pack his suitcase— you’re doing the same, folding clothes with shaky hands and hoping the morning would come faster. 

Throwing your shirt into the suitcase your brows furrow, “What the hell?” you murmur as you lower yourself to your knees. The drawers and closet are emptied out, so why the hell do you only have three pairs of underwear? 

Sweat beads at your forehead. With panic, you rummage through the neatly folded clothes. You don’t care about the mess or the fact that you’ll have to fold them again—why can’t you find the other pairs? 

You’re completely defeated as your entire body deflates. Just three. You remember packing ten. They’re gone. All gone. Stolen. 

Your heart lurches and you feel it beating in your throat. You want to leave. You want to leave. You want to leave. 

The phone rings. 

It’s loud and booming. Your eyes shot towards the hallway. It’s the landline. A phone that hadn’t been used for god knows how long. You weren’t even aware that it was still connected. 

You blink rapidly, forcing the sting of tears to fade. You stand on shaky legs as you head towards the phone in the living room. You vaguely hear Mike mumbling a melody that’s familiar but also not at the same time. 

You stare at your reflection in the widows as you pick up the phone. Normally you’d appreciate the view. The dark sky, the swaying pine trees. But not today. 

You clear your throat, “H—Hello?” 

You hear a faint static, a low internal breathing, then the silence talks back, saying your name. You shudder at the rasp in his voice, fear weighing you down and gluing you to the floor. “Who is this?” you ask. 

“You know who I am,” he murmurs and takes a deep inhale. “We’ve met before remember? That moment in the bathroom.” Your body freezes all over, he chuckles, then speaks as if reminiscing a fond memory. “You looked so amazing. Nipples hard, body wet. Were you touching yourself?” 

You remain silent, eyes glued to the hall that is lit by Mike’s room. You want to call out. You really do. But you’re terrified. 

“Was it him you were thinking about?” 

“That’s. . .” you swallow. “That’s none of your business.” 

“Everything you do is my business,” he snaps but then the harsh baritone of his voice quickly softens. “Fine. Don’t. I know the answer anyway.” 

“What do you want?” 

“I want the truth, Miss Afton.” Your breath catches, your knees begin to shake. “Just answer my question and maybe you won’t die.” 

You remain silent and you hear the smile in his voice, “Good girl. Now, do you know your father is a murderous piece of trash? Yes or no?” 

You close your eyes, shake your head, you can’t answer. “Fine,” he huffs. “Do you think you deserve to live?” 

“I. . .” Your mouth goes dry and your fingers tighten around the phone. “I do.” 

Honestly, you’re not sure if you believe that. 

“Oh, I’m sorry but that’s just not correct,” he answers with a melodic lilt. “You don’t deserve anything. Why should your life matter more than the other kids that were killed by your father?” 

“It shouldn’t.” 

Your voice barely comes out in a whisper now. Your eyes drop to the floor, maybe if you run and get to Mike in time you can save you both? 

“Is your dad a killer yes or no?” then he adds. “You better answer correctly this time.” 

“I don’t know,” you say this time, he clicks his tongue in annoyance. 

“Wrong.” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath you open them again. All you see is your reflection. “I’ve been watching you,” he says. “You sleep like a log. I watched you. Fucked my fist while you were sleeping soundly, dreaming of sunshine and rainbows,” he sighs. “Or whatever the fuck girls like you dream about.”

You’re appalled by the sudden gush of wetness that courses through you. You shake your head, trying to push the images away. “Please don’t do this,” you beg. 

He stops speaking for a good while, for a second you think he hung up, but then you hear his breath in your ear and know that he’s still there. “I keep forgetting.” 

“Forgetting what?” 

“That you’re an Afton.” 

Your heart drops to the pits of your stomach. Every fiber of skin burning and tingling with the realization. You’ve heard those words before. You’ve heard the hidden accusation in them. Your ear burns from the phone pressed against it, you press it harder, not wanting to miss a second of dialogue. Your lips brush against the plastic as you do. 

“Mike?”

The line goes dead. Silent. And you realize you preferred words coming from the other line. Tortorously slow, as if in a dream, you place the phone back in its cradle. You feel him before you see him. Your head turns. You feel every muscle pulling as you do. 

And there he is. 

The man with the mask. 

“Mike?” you say again with less conviction. He tilts his head, not moving, not saying anything. Your body stiffens and your eyes drop to his hands where you see the sharp edge of a knife. You drag your gaze back to the mask, hoping that you’re staring into his eyes, “Why?” 

He takes a step forward and you take a step back. You’re inches away from the wide windows. “I had a brother,” he says, you’re surprised to find yourself relaxing upon hearing his voice. “I’ve tracked down the suspects. Looked at similar cases for years. Every bit of information leads to Afton.” 

“I had nothing to do with it.” 

Another step. The glass is cool underneath your palms. 

“You father did,” he answers. He stands only an inch away now, your stomach jumps when he presses the sharp edge of the knife against your neck. You hold your breath. “The day he took him is the day I lost everything. My family shattered. All because of him. And now. . .” Mike presses the knife harder, a hint of pain blossoming from where he’d cut. Your eyes snap shut. “Now I’ll take his little girl. Eye for an eye.” 

“Mike, please,” you whisper. Then you say something that surprises you both. “Take off the mask. If I’m going to die, I want to see you.” 

He tenses but obliges anyway. The mask falls to the floor, his hair mussed, soft curls fall over his forehead. A bit of stubble on his chin from not shaving at all since you two arrived. He doesn’t look scary, not at all. He looks vengeful, yes, but the softness in his eyes is still there. 

“What are you going to do to me?” 

Mike’s nostrils flare as he inhales, he exhales through parts lips, you feel his warm breath on your skin. “I’m going to ruin you.” The knife is replaced with his hand, he squeezes your throat, pulls you away from the glass, and slams you into it. “You’re mine now. I own you.” 

You shudder as he lets you go, his hands fumble with his jeans, and the fabric pools at his ankles. “Get on your knees and suck daddy’s cock.” 

You stare at him, wide-eyed but do as you’re told anyway. You drop to your knees. His cock achingly hard in front of you. He holds himself and drags the wet tip across your lips. He slides the underside of his cock against your face and without thought you dart your tongue out, tasting him. Mike groans, the sound rattling in his chest. With no warning given, he slips his cock between your lips and stops halfway. Your eyes water at how thick he is. 

When you look up you see he’s holding his phone, camera directed at you with his cock in your mouth. “Sorry,” he says with a faint smirk. “I need a souvenir to remember how good you look with my cock in your mouth. Who knew Afton’s precious daughter was such a slut.” 

Your eyes flutter as he shoves the phone back into his jacket pocket. He cradles your head and starts fucking himself deep into your mouth. “You know,” he rasps. Mike pushes himself especially deep and smiles broadly when you choke around him. “You really should be thanking me for not slitting your throat during all the nights I watched you.” 

He suddenly stops and pulls out until it’s only the head between your lips. His cock throbs on your tongue, he forces your gaze up to him, “Thank me for not slitting your throat.” 

“Thank—” It’s hard to speak with him still between your lips. You swallow and try again, your nipples tight. “Thank you for not slitting my throat.” 

“Such an obedient girl,” he muses. “I’m going to fuck you in every corner of this house. Get up—” 

He says that but lifts you himself, impatient, he presses you against the window, your cheek smushed against the clear surface. Your neck strains a little. His breath caresses the back of your neck, his lips on your ear, “Time to pay for your father’s sins.”

Mike lifts your shirt and pulls down your sweats. His cock lays heavy above the small of your back. Warm and wet. You clench as he pushes you forward, your breasts fully pressed against the glass. He kicks your legs apart, holding your arms back, Mike slips inside you with ease. Your breath halts in your throat. You only feel pleasure. You drip down his length, and with a groan, he buries himself to the hilt. 

“I knew you’d been waiting for this,” he groans. “So fucking wet—” 

“M—Mike—” 

He clicks his tongue and cocks his head to the side, his forehead brushing against the back of your head. “Not Mike.” 

“Daddy,” you moan as he pulls out and slams back in. You choke. “Daddy—” 

Mike fucks into your harder, the sound of skin against skin echoes in the room, wet squelches following. Your knees shake as you find yourself completely immobile against the glass. His fingers curl around your neck and he yanks your head back, hips relentless. 

“Look at that, anyone could see you now. I wish we had an audience.” Your cunt squeezes him like a vice, his hips stutter forward, a sharp moan rattling in his throat. He laughs. “Does that turn you on?” Helpless, you nod. “That’s it, take it. Daddy’s whore.” 

“Kiss me—please—” 

The plea takes him by surprise, he stops, hand tensing around your neck, you feel the pulse of his cock deep inside you. He drags his hips down your neck and teases you with his teeth. Goosebumps rise over your skin. And finally—finally—those perfect plush lips meet your own. It’s cruel really. The red strings of fate that tie you two together. You’re still not sure what to make of it all. Or of him. But you surrender. You surrender to his mouth and tongue. Mike swallows you whole. His tongue moves lavishly over yours, sliding and sucking as he presses harder inside you. 

“Gonna come inside,” he breathes into your mouth. His hand drops between your legs, your body shaking as he draws tight circles around your clit. 

Mike’s lips meet your throat, gentle then ravenous, making their way to the blankets of your clavicle, scraping the delicate skin. You arch against him, pleasure building, craving more. He thrusts harder, deeper, the pleasure increasing with each movement. His fingers grab your hips, and you can feel yourself tightening around him, his cock slamming against your core inside of you. Obscene sounds come from where he’s playing with your clit. You feel like a rag doll. And soon the coil snaps, you’re falling. 

Your entire body goes tense, his name leaving your lips in an urgent plea as the pleasure overtakes you. You shake and tremble, Mike continues to hammer into you, hand leaving your core and bracing itself near your head. Briefly, you manage to look outside. See the darkness that looms over the forest. Then you notice his reflection in the glass, eyes meeting yours. 

He smiles. 

Mike moans loudly, lips parting, his hips stutter over and over, spilling himself inside. Your eyes roll back, a whimper falling from your mouth as you take all of it. He holds himself there until his come starts to drip from where he stretches you. Your forehead finds purchase on the glass. Cold and soothing. His lips brush the back of your neck. 

“You look so tired already but we’re not done yet,” he parts your lips with his fingers and pushes them inside. Teary, you find his eyes in the reflection once more. He’s pleased. “I was serious in what I said, Miss Afton. I own you, now.” 

“Mike. . .” 

“And no matter where you run off to,” he murmurs, cutting you off. A hint of annoyance in using his name.  “I’ll always come back.”

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x fem!reader #mike schmidt x f!reader #dark mike schmidt #ghostface au #ghost face!mike schmidt #josh hutcherson character fanfic #fnaf fanfic #five night at freddy's fanfic #tw daddy kink #tw dubcon

[bleuu-moon]

john price who gets you a mother’s day card, hands it over all sheepishly with a smirk on his face. and obviously you’re all confused, even more so when you open it to see what’s inside the envelope.

“john? i’m not a mother?”

“no, but you’re about t’ be.”

before bending you over the kitchen table and infact, making you a mother.

#yes in another universe i’m celebrating mothers day with five of mine and price’s children around me ❤️ #captain john price #captain price x reader #price x f!reader #price x reader

[morallyinept]

Five Days - A Joel Miller Series (Complete)

Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Mostly told from reader's POV, but you get Joel’s thoughts occasionally too. I've also introduced some of my own original characters along the way. 

Word Count: 40k approx. Each chapter varies in length as this is a multi-chapter novella.

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶 “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me.” 

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Eventual Smut - Sloooow burn romance. Joel being his grumpy ass self. Hot smut eventually occurs. Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) fingering/oral sex, both giving and receiving/love making/mild dirty talk. All the good stuff.

Triggers - Feelings of angst, unrequited love. Depression/trauma. Mentions of death/violence/suicide attempts (failed)/pining/longing. Use of guns. Attacks by infected. Mentions of blood/injury/gore/wounds. Descriptions of panic attacks.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned. 

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy reading this lil’ angsty/romance story of mine with our favourite contractor, Joel Miller. 

SERIES COMPLETE

Enjoy! 🖤

Ch 1 - The Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse

Ch 2 - Lucky Charms

Ch 3 - The Goose To His Maverick

Ch 4 - Hello Fate? Are You There?

Ch 5 - Loser

Ch 6 - Day One: Passing Time

Ch 7 - Day One/Two: Endure And Survive

Ch 8 - Day Three: Thunder

Ch 9 - Day Three: Punching Glitter

Ch 10 - Day Four: Old Habits

Ch 11 - Day Five: Look For The Light

Ch 12 - When We Were Young

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bound - A Five Days Christmas Drabble 🎄

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller tlou #joel miller romance #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #jett's writing #five days series

[rowanswriting]

eddie will call you whatever you want 🩵

#eddie munson #joseph quinn #joe quinn #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x f!reader #stranger things #stranger things five

[yuanf3]

VIXEN — HAN SEOUL-OH

A/N frustrated about there being not enough fics with this man, so i took matters into my own hands

PAIRING layla spilner (oc) x han seoul-oh

TW/TAGS soft, sometimes a little bit of angst, mature (cursing, blood, 18+)

FIC SUMMARY layla spilner is brian's younger, half-sister, who is dragged into her brother's world filled with fast cars, reckless driving and people that just can't stay dead.

LIST OF CHAPTERS:

chapter one — "rat poison"

chapter two — "heart-to-heart"

chapter three — (coming soon)

#han lue #fast & furious #han lue x reader #dominic toretto #letty ortiz #brian o'conner #roman pearce #tej parker #fast x #deckard shaw #owen shaw #tokyo drift #fast five #f&f #mia toretto #nissan skyline #mazda rx7 #street racing

[imagine-darksiders]

On the Ropes

Chapter 25 - Uninvited Guests

Montgomery Gator X F!Reader

WARNING:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…. Could he…?

… No, no. Definitely not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, he is.

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

Another tear spills over to clump your eyelashes together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the gator, despite his best efforts, flinches.

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

You’ve fallen back on his show title.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This isn’t anger.

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

You’re afraid.

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

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

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

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

‘Knock.’

‘Knock.’

‘Knock.’

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mick!?” you burst out.

What in the name of God...

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

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

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

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

Unless…

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But… Mick is here…

So how else?

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not sure you even own a vase…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But just as your head starts to feel light…

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

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

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

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

“Doing some redecorating?” he comments.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bad business, or bad for business, you wonder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right there on the sofa, your heart seizes up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-It’s Mick, doll. Just Mick.”

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

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

“Unfair?” he deadpans.

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

Mick’s beady eyes narrow at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure it has,” he remarks.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not angry anymore.

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

You’re scared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s looking for a reaction.

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

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

Flowers…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bingo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, he sees it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have to know that.

Please know that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morose yet resigned, you swallow back your admission.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asks, apparently oblivious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This behaviour is so out of character for him.

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

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

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

Impulsive, Freddy might call him.

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

It’s never been an easy thing for Montgomery Gator to admit that he might have been wrong. Even if his protocols thrum with a newfound urge to guard a member of Fazbear Co.’s faculty, his processor knows all too well that his coming here put you at the most risk.

The gator’s tail drops to the ground with a dull ‘thunk’ of plastic and metal on the carpet. “I just wanted to do somethin’ right for once,” he utters to the stillness, his truest desire finally spoken aloud.

He doesn’t look at you this time, but his audials pick up your gentle intake of breath and wonders what happened to the animatronic who would have bitten your head off several days ago just for looking at him the wrong way.

At least if that Monty did something wrong, it was usually deliberate. Somehow, as he’s quickly coming to learn, it’s so much worse trying to do something right, and getting it wrong anyway than doing something wrong in the first place.

Hurts more, he concedes.

The gator is too busy discovering the scope of his regret to notice you push yourself off the door, leaning hard onto your crutch as you squint up at him, cocking your head to one side like he’s a puzzle you’re still figuring out. Admittedly, you absolutely are. You’re not an engineer or a programmer. You can’t begin to fathom the depths that Monty’s learning algorithms can reach.

All you can see is an animatronic condemned by those who made him, trying to be better than he’s told he is. So, while you can’t condone his being here, for his own sake, you realise that he - much like yourself - has likely had more than enough of people telling him off.

Sucking down a long, thick breath, you release it all in as weary a sigh as you’ve ever expelled.

“You’re doing fine, Monty,” you say, and it’s kinder, warmer than you’ve sounded all evening, “You’re doing just fine. I mean, this was a little…” Pausing to gesture loosely at the overturned coffee table, you let out a soft laugh and continue, “Uh, overzealous. But your heart was definitely in the right place.”

‘Your heart.’

Slowly, hesitantly, Monty’s tail lifts from the ground, rising with the edges of his crocodilian smile. You might never know how much it means to him that you don’t point out how he doesn’t technically have a heart. And it means even more to hear that you know his intentions came from a good place.

“But,” you add, inhaling, like you’re bracing yourself, “I’m still not happy you’ve put yourself in such a precarious position just to check up on me.”

Monty’s metal framework groans as he slumps again.

“Ugh. Listen to me,” you chuckle, rubbing your temple, “I’m starting to sound like Andy.” Starting forwards, you begin limping for your room, stifling a wide, clumsy yawn behind the back of your hand. “Now, I have had, like, the longest day. And I’m going to bed before I keel over.”

“…But… what about your food?” he asks, sparing a glance over at the saucepan sitting idly on the countertop. The water inside has long gone cold.

Your footsteps pause as you draw alongside him, reaching out to lay a palm on your bedroom door. “I’m not hungry,” you murmur after a second. It’s not entirely a lie. For some reason, the meagre appetite you had for cheap noodles and tea has evaporated, leaving you hollow, yes, but not nearly as hollow as you were rendered by the touch of Mick’s hand on your leg.

Giving your door a shove, you push it open and reach around the corner, sliding your fingers along the interior wall until you find the light switch, flicking it on and illuminating the bedroom with a warm, yellow glow. Monty is frowning at you, you can feel his crimson optics boring into the side of your head, but you ignore him to say, “I suggest you go back to the Plex before you run out of charge.”

You must have mistaken the gator’s earlier acquiescence for a willingness to leave.

“I got plenty of charge,” he deflects.

As it is, Monty’s optics rove over the top of your head, widening significantly behind his glasses as they land upon the contents of the room that he’d been standing in just minutes ago. He hadn’t bothered to sate his curiosity then, far more apprehensive about what was happening on the outside of the space, but now, without oppressive darkness cloaking every corner and without a potential threat to contend with, his protocols take a backseat to his inquisitiveness.

He observes closely as you shuffle into the new territory, your territory, where you immediately make a beeline for the nest – bed, his CPU corrects – that’s set against the furthest wall.

Swinging his prodigious bulk around, the animatronic trails after you, ducking underneath the doorway and raising his snout to the air.

You don’t even have to look over a shoulder to know you’re being tailed. The heavy stomps are proof enough of the gator’s proximity. “Monty, come on,” you whine, “You’ve gotta go home.”

The gator only offers a gruff hum in response, otherwise distracted by the simple yet pivotal revelation that he, for the first time, is seeing your private, recharging chamber. Immediately, he’s struck by how much more lived-in this humble space is. Out there, in your kitchenette and the adjacent living room, everything seemed so much more bland. Less you.

In here, there are pieces of you scattered into each corner of the room, from the pile of unwashed clothes sitting in a nearby chair to the row of house plants lined up like soldiers along the breadth of your windowsill.

Curious, his optics roam towards a desk in the corner, upon which sits - to his immediate intrigue – a large, square tank filled almost to the brim with crystal-clear water, and lit from above by a cool, fluorescent light bulb. He knows what it is at once, though he’s never been privy to one in person before.

At his back, you reach the bed and promptly collapse onto your rear at the edge of the mattress, dropping your crutch to the floor and listening to it land with a sharp clatter of plastic.

“Ohhh,” you groan tiredly, leaning forwards to balance your elbows on your knees and drop your face into a palm, trying in vain to rub away the bags underneath your eyes with numbing fingertips.

Your whole body aches ferociously, all stemming from the sharp twinge of your ankle that lays protected behind a thick, white cast.

Six Weeks…

Day one has been hard enough. How are you supposed to make it to day forty-two? The question remains; is it uphill from here, or down?

Glancing over a shoulder, you restrain an impromptu smile before it can spread as you spot Monty creeping up to the fish tank on your desk, his head hunched low to peer through the glass at your little corydoras sifting eagerly through the substrate in search of hidden food.

“Hey, little guys,” the animatronic murmurs, his optics casting the water in a gentle, pinkish glow.

Fish are a novelty for him. He knows of them, of course, has seen images of them depicting many various shapes, sizes, and colours. He knows they can’t survive for long outside of water, and he knows they’re covered in scales.

But to see for himself how those scales flash under his scrutinous, crimson LEDs, to watch their barbels twitch as they playfully chase one another along the floor of the tank…

There’s a strange kinship there for the creatures who share the waterways with his real-life counterparts.

He likes them, he decides. He likes that you have them. It speaks to an apparent affinity for aquatically-inclined animals…

For several moments, you merely observe the gator from your bed, wondering why he’s stalling. At least, you assume he’s stalling.

“Monty,” you yawn, pretending not to notice how his purple shoulder struts jump in response to your voice, “What are you doing?”

The gator’s head twitches towards you briefly. “M’sayin’ hi to the fish,” he states simply.

Shooting him a deadpan glare, you retort, “You know what I mean. Why are you still here? You need to get back to the Plex before you’re missed.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna miss me,” he shrugs, “Sides, I’ve still got a couple’a hours of juice left in the tank. Don’t worry.”

“But I am worried, Monty,” you squeeze out - and oh, there’s that pinch of tenderness to soften the hard, brutal metal hidden under his casing – “If I wasn’t worried about getting caught, I’d haul you back to the Plex myself… How did you get here unseen anyway?”

“Came over the rooftops,” he replies proudly, cocking his head at a fish that approaches the glass, lured by the glow of his optics.

“The rooftops!?” you sputter, “How on Earth did you get up there!?”

Flashing a cheshire grin, the gator gives the casing on his thigh two hearty slaps. “Got the best pneumatic cylinders in the business. These things’ll carry me distances you wouldn’t believe. Sometimes I use ‘em to get from one side of the catwalks to the other. This is the first time I’ve seen what they can really do.”

Collapsing backwards on top of the covers, you splay your arms out on either side of you, letting a long, appreciative whistle pass your lips. “You jumped…. All the way here?” you realise aloud.

“Beats walkin’.”

“… And you’re going to jump all the way back?”

“Can’t exactly take a cab, can I?”

You don’t respond for a long while… So long that he turns himself all the way around and rises to his feet, half expecting to find you fast asleep on the bed.

Your eyes are closed, and you’ve gone very still. Your chest rises and falls with even, steady breaths, though your legs are still dangling over the side of the mattress, toes brushing against the carpet.

Monty frowns. A hum of machinery gives him away, not so silent as he paces around the bed towards you and lowers himself down onto one knee, reaching for your legs with the intention to lift them up to the bed so you can lay flat.

His first-aid protocols are nowhere near as advanced as Freddy’s, but he’s skimmed enough medical files in the last twelve hours to know that you should keep your damaged leg elevated.

With gradual movements, the animatronic’s fingers flex and stretch for your cast. However, his purple claws barely make it within a foot of your appendage when your body goes absolutely rigid, as though you’ve turned to stone right there on the mattress.

At once, Monty stops, glancing up to see one of your eyelids crack open and swivel over to peer at him, blinking slowly in the glow cast by his optics. “What’re you doing?” you ask guardedly. Something in your voice quivers. He catches it right away.

“I… just – I was gonna put your legs on the bed,” he explains.

The clock on your bedside table ticks quietly ever onwards, and it’s only when you remember to exhale that he considers your expression for another moment and finally ducks his head, asking, “… Can I touch you?”

Stuffing your teeth into your bottom lip, you clutch a fistful of the duvet beneath you and slowly shake your head from side to side. “Not… Not yet… I’m not…”

You falter, swallowing a painful lump that sticks in your throat like guilt. Monty didn’t do anything, after all.

But for an animatronic, his response comes far too softly.

“Okay,” he nods, pulling his hands away and returning them to his lap.

And that’s… all he does for a long time.

Sniffing, you lower your gaze, tugging yourself backwards using the duvet as leverage until you can haul your heavy cast over the side and stretch your legs out towards the foot of the bed, sighing in relief.

"Better put a pillow under there," Monty pipes up, jutting his chin towards the fluffy, white cushions spread out behind you.

Clicking your tongue, you stretch behind yourself and snag the first pillow your fingers grasp, hauling it over your head and tossing it haphazardly near your leg. After taking a moment to brace yourself, you lean back on your elbows and bite your tongue to keep down a cry as you lift the leg up and onto the pillow.

Through it all, Monty says nothing further. He does stare at you though…

You’ve noticed he’s being doing that a lot lately. What was it Mick said?

‘It’s no secret that it’s taken a real liking to you.’

You don’t want to think about Mick.

Finally, when the gator’s staring starts to grow a little too… intimate, you swallow thickly and peel your lips apart to mumble, “Monty, why don’t you want to go back to the Plex?”

He perks up at his name but loses his enthusiasm as he registers the question.

“I’ll go back soon,” he grumbles.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Monty’s vents hiss as he simulates a pensive sigh - like yours - and begins folding his legs up underneath himself, his plates sliding over each other as he settles himself down onto his rear, arms draping loosely over his knees. He knows.

“Six weeks…” he mutters, cautiously lowering his long chin until it brushes the duvet cover beside you. When you don’t protest or move away, he gives his head a little more rein to droop, and the framework in his neck no longer strains to keep it aloft.

Confusion lays its mark bare across your face. “What?”

Six weeks,” he repeats, “That’s how long you’re gonna be gone for. That’s a long time to…” Static clings to his voice-box, stifling his words. With a grimace, Monty thumps a fist twice over his chest until something clicks audibly into place. Then, forcing a laugh, he falteringly adds, “S’a… long time for a bot to go without having his room cleaned, yeah?”

“You could always let the S.T.A.F.F bots help you,” you point out.

“Nah, they wouldn’t do it right.”

A weary smirk toys with the edge of your mouth as you reply, “Well, have you considered – and this might be a bit outlandish, but bear with me here – have you considered just… cleaning it yourself?”

“Course I have,” he retorts, “But… c’mon, it’d be more fun with you, wouldn’t it?”

He should have known when your smirk recedes to leave him looking at a flat, sombre line that you weren’t fooled for a moment.

“Monty… Is the truth really that embarrassing?” you pose.

‘Yes…’ he huffs wordlessly to himself, ‘It is.’

 “It’s all gonna go back to the way it was before,” he mumbles into the duvet.

“What is?”

“Everythin’,” he suddenly exclaims, wrenching his head back up, “It’ll go back to how it was before you came along. You’ll be gone for six weeks! What if I start gettin’ angry again? What if I forget about what you taught me, ‘bout accidents n’ stuff?” That thought brings on another that’s even more dreadful, and he curls his hands underneath his chest, leaning into them against the side of the bed. “What if you forget about me?”

You blink at him, bewildered, studying the jarringly human behaviour he’s exhibiting, and wondering, not for the first time, if it says something about you that you see humanity in so much of what these animatronics do.

“Hey,” you offer, giving him a sympathetic smile when he slides his nose further along the duvet until it almost touches your arm. Almost. “You might be overthinking things, Monty. I’m pretty sure I could never forget you.” You laugh at that, causing him to blow a whuff of air against your forearm. “And besides,” you add, “Six weeks is… like, nothing, okay? It’ll go by faster than you think.”

Far from convinced, the gator only grumbles unintelligibly into the duvet and casts his optics to the other side of the room. The bed underneath you rumbles as the rich bass growls out of his speakers.

“Listen...” you sigh, flopping your head down onto the pillow to blink up at the ceiling overhead, “When I was younger, one of my best friends moved halfway across the world with her family.”

Immediately, the gator’s jaw clenches at the mention of your ‘best friend’ before he catches the action and berates himself for behaving like a toddler being asked to share their favourite toy.

“We haven’t seen each other for… Oh boy, ten years, maybe? I still call her sometimes… Probably not as often as I should... And you know what?”

“…What?”

You roll your head over to peer at the animatronic beside you, finding his focus has returned to your face.

Pulling your mouth into a sleepy smile, you let out a hum before murmuring, “Every time I ring, she’s always so pleased to hear from me. I bet if she were to walk through my door right now, it would be like no time had passed at all.”

Monty’s optic shutters click open and shut. “How come?” he prompts quietly.

“Well, do you think I love her any less now because I haven’t seen her for ten years?” you reply, “Friends can’t be together all the time, you know. Even if they might want to be. Life gets in the way. Families, jobs, fatigue, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still friends. So, you don’t need to worry about not seeing me for a few weeks, okay?”

You can’t help but find this conversation very reminiscent to a similar one you had to have with Sunny after he learned you were leaving for a week of summer vacation.

“I ain’t worried,” Monty lies through his teeth, “Just wonderin’ how you’re gonna have any fun without me around.”

“Fun was not the doctor’s recommended treatment,” you yawn, letting your eyes slip shut and keeping them closed, bogged down by a cumbersome weight that’s been heaped upon your shoulders. A myriad of hurried little thoughts swirl around inside your head, too numerous to pin any single one down. Mick’s arrival and subsequent behaviour, whether you’re trying to read too much into what might have been nothing more than a friendly gesture, Monty’s escape from the Plex and the sudden responsibility you have for an animatronic you’ve barely known a week…

You just need to sleep.

‘It’ll all make sense in the morning,’ you try to tell yourself…

You’d make a shit salesperson.

For some time, the quiet gurgling of your tank's filter provides a soothing backdrop to the silence cast between you and the animatronic.

“Can I stay here?” Monty’s question breaks through the fog of flitting thoughts, his volume barely a digit away from being entirely mute, “With you? Just for a lil’ while?”

Prying your eyelids apart to blink tiredly at the gator, you let your chest fill with a slow, heavy breath, blowing it all out again through your nose.

“… Just this once,” you whisper back.

The gator’s optics brighten, then flit towards the movement of your hand on the bed.

You’ve raised your forearm, inching the appendage closer to Monty’s snout. Fingers worn dry and abrasive from chemicals and labour touch down on top of the animatronic’s nose, followed by your palm, spreading a pleasant flood of warmth down through his teeth and onto his tongue.

In response, some of Monty’s systems backfire, kicking errors codes to his HUD that tell him he’s overheating, and should release excess coolant to the affected areas. He ignores the alerts. He ignores everything. Everything that isn’t your hand is left by the wayside, forgotten in favour of soaking up a touch that he knows would never cause hurt.

Letting his optics click shut, the gator draws his silicone lips up into a lax, lazy smile.

The muffled ‘thumps’ of a heavy tail fall and rise from the carpet over and over, and Monty’s frame seems to purr as he relaxes his massive head onto your mattress, contented and committed to this spot until his battery hits zero and his limbs rust from underuse.

He knows he has to leave, but for now, just pretending… It��s the happiest he’s been in…

It’s the happiest he’s been.

“Just this once.”

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

[hellishjoel]

every rose has its thorns

1.6k / pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

← masterlist | notifications blog

summary: mike really likes your white panties with the pretty rose on the front.

warnings/information: soft/sub!mikey whilst still being on top (king), thumb sucking, pet names (angel!), mike using reader to unwind, panty play, size kink, coming wherever he likes ;) 

A/N: holy hell just realized this is my first non-pedro-universe-character piece! woohoo! I finally watched fnaf with a girlfriend of mine and with inspiration from a naughty twitter video, I wrote this! I have to give @cupofjoel a huge thank you, please read her entire mike schmidt masterlist, you will not regret it! I wrote this very ill with covid and on mikey brain rot (it's so bad I might have typed mark schmidt instead of mike x.x) so if there’s any errors, apologies are stated now. also thank you to @saradika-graphics for the fnaf banners!

It all started with a pair of panties. A simple brief-style pair, the material rounding around the curves of your ass and ducking pretty between your thighs. White cotton. A small rose embroidered on the front. Untouched, perfectly clean, pristine. Just like you. Unlike Mike. 

Mike was all dark boxer briefs, the kind that clutched onto his thick thighs and cupped his lower half for dear life. Or the plaid purple and black boxers he was wearing now accompanied by a bowl of cereal that he was eating after a late night at work, now an early morning. Often shirtless when he was in the privacy of his own room, you had the opportunity to admire his dark, curly chest hair that was speckled across his chest and thinned out across his torso before filling out again at the start of his happy trail.  

“Thanks for taking care of Abby,” he said with his mouth half full of Trix, “did she get on the bus alright?” 

You nod weakly, gently nudging the back of your hand against your tired eyes. 

“Yeah. But I think she misses you at night. I can never soothe her like you can when she has nightmares.” 

You watch as Mike sighs and tips the cereal bowl back, the sweet milk dribbling at the corners of his mouth and making small trails around his pretty pink lips. The ceramic bowl chimes as he sets it down on his bedside table, watching from the pillows as he crawls up the bed to join you. The early morning light peaks through his curtains and highlights his dark eyes amber. Your thumb traces his lower lip, and he truly can’t wait any longer. He needs you now.

He spent all last night fantasizing about you. Head down with his arms folded along the security desk, eyes previously on the security monitors now heavily closed as he listens to the sounds of nature. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about you, he had more important things to dream about. But you kept appearing, enticing him, wearing those pretty little panties that he can’t get enough of. The white pair with a rose on the front. The pair he comes home to most mornings once Abby has left for school. The pair you’re wearing now. 

Knowing how desperate you both are, you let him guide you how he pleases on the bed. After long night shifts, his routine is to come home and fuck you in the comfort of his dark grey sheets before he falls asleep with your body cuddled in beside his. He pulls you by the ankle to the edge of the bed, legs spread and bent as you nip at your lower lip with a certain eagerness unfolding in the base of your belly. 

Mike’s thumbs hook into his plaid boxers, pushing them down until they do the rest of the work, naturally falling and looping around his ankles. He’s already half hard just from looking at you, dreaming about you. He wouldn’t last long looking as wrecked as he was. Tight jaw and fixated eyes, drunk on need and just a little bit of control with his tornado of a life. 

“Mike,” you whisper, cupping his cheeks and letting him fold over your body as you feel his hips rest heavily between your thighs, “s’okay, want you to get off however you like.” You cradle his face and kiss the tip of his nose while his long eyelashes flutter in comfort. 

“I know, angel. I’m here with you.” His voice is like heaven, drenched in a sweet honey that you’ve found yourself addicted to. You sit up on your elbows as Mike helps navigate your shirt off, admiring the curve of your breasts and the embellishment of your collarbones. So perky and pretty. He praises them with his warm mouth and tongue that can’t help but swirl around your taut peaks. He grunts softly against your soft skin as his hips lightly rut into yours, making your head drift back and forth in his sheets with bliss. 

“Fuck, I just,” he mutters quietly against your goosebump-riddled skin, “I love these.” He whispers as he slowly moves to stand up straight once again, his cock resting over the material of your white panties. He’s entranced by the red petals of the rose, the two dark greens that make up the stem and its thorns. Your eyes trail down to his beady red tip, leaking precum that you desperately yearn to kitten lick. 

“Every rose has its thorns,” Mike whispers, a raspy edge to it from the lack of sleep he desperately craves. You run your hands down your delicate body, hooking your thumbs in at your hips to your underwear, but Mike stops your movements. 

“However I like?” He echoes your statement from earlier, to which you give him a soft nod.

Mike’s always been soft with you, gentle, caring. You think he gets it from being an older brother, the type that has to be the parent most times instead of an actual brother. But when he steps into the bedroom, and Abby is elsewhere, his mind can drift away into being whoever he likes, however he likes. Merciless, rough, desperate, needy, sweet. Everything that made him unwind was all shared with you. And for that, you felt thankful. You could be the key to his lock, the one that kept his head up from drowning with the overflowing responsibilities he always managed to juggle at the final second. You were the one person he could fall apart with, and everything would be completely fine. 

So when his hand started to stroke up and down his cock, making your mouth water for a certain desire, you were eager to help him unwind. Lose his mind in a little slice of heaven. The pad of his thumb slowly begins to stroke up and down your clothed center, eliciting a desperate whimper from your lips as he circles over your sensitive nub. He could see it through your underwear with how aroused you were growing. Your clit swelled for affection. 

A small wet spot starts to grow, an embarrassing little pool that shows through the white cotton of your panties, just at the sprout of the rose. You let out a shaky breath as Mike traces the looping pattern with his forefinger. He then peels the material gently away from your sticky center, laying his thirsty cock between your folds before he lets the underwear blanket you both. He barely fits inside the dainty material. His cock swells with volume and makes your panties stretch to accommodate. He was large. And all yours. 

You whimper in need, hoping for more but realizing you could get off just like this. 

His breaths are already labored as he starts to thrust, feeling his tip nudge your clit with every beat. You fist the sheets, letting him use you like a wet little toy. He’s not sure what to do with his hands at first. They start on keeping your legs spread at the underside of your thighs, before one settles on your hip and the other is cupping your cheek. Not long after, his thumb pushes past the plushness of your lips, forcing you to suckle and moan around the intrusion. 

Your eyes stay connected, a silent bond between you both. This is a safe space for you, come unraveled before me. 

The next time you look down, the pooling of liquid from his cock has stained your panties. And he has no remorse. Your lips part at the truly dirty sight. He’s leaked so much that your panties have become nearly translucent. You can see the pink of his tip with each thrust and the curve of his shaft.

You grow even wetter, feeling him slip up and down your arousal-filled heat, each thrust making you moan weakly. A shiver rolls up your spine, your walls squeezing around nothing as the coil inside of you twists tighter and tighter. 

Mike cages you with his body as he leans down and kisses you in a distracted way, one that leaves his lips parted against yours as he airs out a few soft grunts while his thrusts slowly falter. 

“Mike, please,” you moan softly against the stubble that lines his cheek, your nose gently gliding against it as you tilt your head back into his mattress, feeling yourself come undone to his thrusts. 

His forehead clustered with sweat sinks desperately into your neck, sponging kisses and moaning weakly as he rids himself of his latest dirty fantasies. He gasps and grunts against your throat as he finishes with hot spurts against the material of your panties, making your jaw drop as you feel the seething warm cum spill and dribble along your stomach and inner thighs. 

Your hearts race in sync, feeling the post-orgasmic high that you catch every morning these days. His cock is still buried in your panties, your hole untouched, and your clit singing with fresh sensitivity. You kiss his earlobe and smile against his skin. 

“You’ve been wanting to do that for a while?” You ask curiously, coiling a dark curl around your finger before it springs loose. 

“Shit,” he mutters weakly, hazy eyes meeting yours as you sweetly kiss his parted lips once more. “M’sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” 

You simply shake your head and wipe the small bead of sweat that neared his eyebrow. “Don’t have to apologize for anything. You already know that.” 

He sighs weakly, but it’s of appreciation. He smiles despite how tired he feels, sponging your cheeks and chin with gentle kisses as he interlocks your hands by your head. “I love you. Mean it.” 

“With all your heart?” You ask.

He nods tightly and pulls your clasped hands to his warm chest. “With all my heart.” 

hellishjoel masterlist | notifications blog

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x f!reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt fanfiction #mike schmidt x reader #fnaf #five nights at freddy's fanfiction #fnaf fanfiction #five nights at freddy's

[mangoshorthand]

Love your fics so much good lord 🫶🏻 especially your latest smut one. Which made me remember how S3 had some kinda unnecessary sex jokes.. like when Klaus told Five about Lila and Diego doing it one the stairs and Five said yeah I get it everybody was banging everybody last night 😭 kinda had to imagine Five and his wife drinking and spending the night together as well and getting the love he deserves. Not sure if its a smut request you’re interested in but i loved the wedding episode.

Awh- thanks. You're a sweetie! ❤️ I stuck a little twist on this one- I hope that's ok! I have a quirk as an author in that I don't like to explicitly contradict canon plus I would like Five to be physically 18+ canonically when I write about him. We have fluff and mild, romantic smut. Schmaltzier than I'd usually produce, but we all need a little schmaltz now and again.

If Tonight Was Our Last | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 2.4k words, Rated M

All in all, Diego and Lila’s wedding had been like them: informal, loud and chaotic. The ceremony part was executed in the courthouse as quick as humanly possible in order to get to the important part: dancing and partying in the punk nightclub they’d hired for the evening. 

Five hovered awkwardly by the bar. He was wearing what, on reflection, was an entirely inappropriate tuxedo and was becoming uncomfortably sweaty. He watched the crowd dancing to The Sex Pistols, Lila jumping and headbanging with a crazed look in her eye and Diego drinking shot after shot with Luther. He himself ordered a martini and was stirring it with his olive awkwardly, wondering when he could justify leaving. 

There was a joy in being part of this family that Five didn’t always appreciate: it presented him countless opportunities to exercise his brain with a conundrum. He knew that spending over forty years in the apocalypse was preferable to both, but whether Lila and Diego's wedding was worse than Luther and Sloane’s, he couldn’t yet decide. 

But when his eyes found you, screaming along with Johnny Rotten about how the queen of England wasn’t a human being, he knew that this sweaty, musty club was the only place in the world he’d choose to be right now. You caught his eye, face lighting up and worked your way across the dancefloor towards him. On the way, you stole a tequila slammer off the tray beside Luther and presented it to Five. 

Before you pulled him onto the dancefloor with you, he knocked back the shot and chased it with his remaining half martini. Perhaps it was the booze or maybe your hyperactive vibes were infectious, because Five let loose and spent the rest of the night dancing along with The Clash.  He got bashed and buffeted by the crowd and his siblings. Since then, Five had drunk heavily. Even if he had a slow start, he more than caught up with the rest of you. 

He kissed you several times throughout the evening, when his adrenaline was high and the music pumped with it through his veins. The kisses were hard, boisterous and joy-filled. Once, he lifted you off your feet with the force of it, earning him a small shove from Diego for ‘lowering the tone of the evening’. 

Viktor, the only one of you who stayed sober enough to be responsible, had shepherded first Lila and Diego to their hotel room, and then everyone else back to the Academy. He left you and Five still drinking in one of the lesser-used sitting rooms that was occupied by Reginald in years gone by.

A large order of fries and the journey home had sobered you up, but Five’s hand swayed as he tried to pour a glass of his father’s cognac, spilling it all over the side table.

“Ah shit. That was Hennesy,” he murmured, regretfully, wiping it up with a bar towel. He’d already discarded his jacket and now his hand fumbled at his bow tie, removing it and tucking into his pants pocket.

“You shouldn’t have any more,” you said, from the armchair. Your voice was slightly hoarse from having to shout to be heard all night, “you’ve been drinking like it’s your last night on earth.”

Five returned to the handsome chaise lounge with the little drink he’d managed to successfully pour, laughing softly.

“No I haven’t. That was the last wedding I went to.”

“Luther and Sloane’s?” you asked, tentatively. 

Five nodded. 

He didn’t like to talk about it often. The period following his return to 2019 was a chaotic tumble through timelines and apocalypses. You knew Luther and Sloane got married under the impression that they would all die the next day, but you hadn’t ever asked Five for details. Tonight, however, he seemed open to it. 

“When you got twenty-four to forty-eight hours left to live,” he said, laughing reminiscently,  “there’s no point in holding back.

I sorta remember making this…punch out of vodka, gin, coconut rum and god knows what else. I drank the whole bowl," he laughed, "Well, wouldn’t you? ” he asked, catching your disapproving eye.

You rocked your head from side to side, weighing it up.

“Probably,” you admitted, “I just don’t like to think about it. As it turned out, you all survived anyway. But that would have been no good if you died from alcohol poisoning.”

He took your hand in the gap between the two pieces of furniture. 

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t, but right then it seemed like a good option.”

You caught his eyes, deep tonight, and saw that he wasn’t as drunk as you thought. His lips twitched into a sad smile as he continued.

“I guess I had nothing else to do. They were all pairing off: Luther and Sloane, Lila and Diego, Klaus and alternate Ben-” he caught your expression and amended himself, “-I don’t mean boning, necessarily…” and then he looked nauseated, “oh god, I really hope not, anyway.”

“You’re a weird family,” you said, matter-of-factly.

“That we are.” he agreed, “At least four of them were going at it, anyway, and there I was trapped in the body of an extra from Bugsy Malone: hormonal, horny as hell and living the last few hours of my life. What is a self-respecting guy supposed to do?”

“Drink and jerk off?”

“Drink and jerk off, correct. You know me so well.”

You smiled, leaned over and poured yourself a small cognac.

“Sounds lonely for your last night on earth.”

He shrugged, reciprocating your raised glass to him before you took a sip. The honey-smelling warmth of the cognac went down nice and easy, even after the tequila and fries.

Five looked into his drink.

“What would you do?” he said, almost too quietly to hear, “on your last night on earth, I mean.”

You don’t hesitate, “I’d spend it with you.”

He smiled down into his glass. It’s one of his arrogant smiles masking the real emotion beneath.

“Of course you would.”

You could always tell when he was hiding emotion by the spots of  delicate color he developed high in his cheeks.

“And what about you?” you asked, gently.

He considered, the smile still playing around his lips.

“I’d probably drink and jerk off.”

You laughed and stretched out in the chair, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of being there with him. After a quiet minute, his voice sounded again.

smut below cut

“I’d make love to you.”

You turned your head to look at him, still starting into his drink. It’s not a term you’d ever heard him use before. In day-to-day conversation, he referred to sex as ‘boning’, ‘banging’ or occasionally used a trite metaphor like ‘making the beast with two backs.’ Even in the throes of passion, you’d only ever heard him say that he wanted to ‘fuck’ you.

He looked at you, eyes speaking a depth of feeling you hoped you would never be able to fully share. The look in his eyes brought home the weight of what he was saying: Five knew what it was to face the end of everything. He was saying this with that experience behind him. 

“If tonight was our last, I’d want you to know what you mean to me…except words can be blunt instruments, so I’d want to show you…”

He trailed off.

You put down your drink and, drawn like a magnet to his bared vulnerability, joined him on the couch. Eyes not leaving this, you raised your hand to cup his face. As he closed his eyes, you kissed him on the corner of his mouth, hoping that the touch of your lips against him conveyed what you were feeling. 

With his eyes still closed, he leaned into your touch almost wearily, rubbing his cheek against your hand and letting out a long breath through his nose.

“Show me now,” you whispered, “as if tonight was our last night.”

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and he fixed you with his unwavering gaze. Though the room was dimly lit, what little light there was reflected in his eyes. Without another word, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to yours in a soft, tender kiss. His warm lips brushed yours, feather-light. You responded to him eagerly, meeting his affection with your own and wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. 

He deepened the kiss, hands beginning to roam. He caressed you, palms exploring the contours of your body; the landscape of hills and valleys. Though he’d done this countless times before, his touch felt somehow new: sending trembling, fluttering energy across your body. His breath was sweet, tasting of the cognac: you felt and savored the warmth of his mouth on yours 

As the kiss reached its peak, you felt a rush of emotion you hadn’t expected: though he was gentle, cherishing and loving, you could nevertheless feel a flavor of desperation behind this kiss. It was as if this really was it; as if tonight really was the last night. He was right: words weren’t enough, and this was the most important thing you and he would ever say to each other. 

His fingers became more urgent, slipping beneath your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin beneath. You raised your arms and he lifted it carefully over your head, unable to resist leaning in and peppering your newly exposed skin with kisses before he fully removed it.

Meanwhile, one of your hands popped open the buttons of his shirt while the other traced the lines of his chest and pectorals. When his stomach was revealed, you pulled the fabric apart and snaked both hands in, reveling in his warmth and the soft smattering of hair disappearing into his pants.

Your hands moved in unison, undressing each other with sensual eagerness: not too fast, not too slow, only keen to feel each new inch of flesh as it was exposed. As he reached around to unhook your bra, you worked on freeing him from his pants. You could already feel the arousal beneath. 

Before you could remove the fabric around him, he leaned in and captured your newly bared nipple, gently licking and sucking on it. You couldn’t help but moan, even despite the necessity of keeping your voice low. His hand came to rub and softly press your other breast, feeling your shape in the palm of his hand. 

At last, you pulled him from his pants, stroking his shaft gently and feeling him grow even harder at your touch. His breath stuttered around your breast. 

At last, you sat beside each other naked. His kisses felt like moths’ wings across your breasts, your collarbone, your neck. He leaned towards you, urging you gently backwards until your back hit the velvet of the chaise. You pulled him to you and kissed him again, caressing his lips with your own. When he pulled back, you were surprised to see tears pricking the corner of his eyes. 

When he spoke, looking at you with those earnest, sad eyes, it was in a whisper. You had the sense that he didn’t trust his voice any louder.

“If tonight were our last night, I’d want to kiss you like that.”

You stroked his face again and he briefly closed his eyes, one of the tears forming into a drop and running slowly down his cheek. When he opened them, he shifted his kneeling position and you spread your thighs to accommodate him. 

“What else would you do?” you asked, your own voice not much more than a whisper. 

He lowered himself so that your bodies were pressed together, skin on skin and warmth on warmth. 

“I’d want you like this,” he said, “I’d want to be inside you.”

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him gently to you and entwining your body with his. He entered you slowly and you let out identical exhales. It was a feeling like coming home after a long day. Five gave a pleasurable wince as the clenching of your walls had its effect on him: perfect intensity.

As he moved in you, as you moved together, every caress was a whispered affirmation of love; every twinge of pleasure a promise kept. Each of his slow, sensual thrusts was a pledge of undying devotion. The slow build of your orgasm was a life of love and loyalty spent together.

He buried his head in your neck, simultaneously breathing you in and hiding his tears. Your arms wrapped themselves over his back, your hand finding the back of his head and holding him safely to you as, inside you, the twin heats of love and of pleasure bloomed.

“I’ve got you, baby.” you whispered, inhaling the clean smell of his hair. 

With your arms and legs wrapped around him this way, you met his hips with your own, giving him the same promises he gave to you. You kissed his temple, wrapping yourself around him more snugly. Wrapped in the warmth of your shared love, your bodies writhed together. From his stuttering breath and increasing tension, you could tell he was nearing his peak. You could feel his heart beating against your chest like that of a small animal. 

He gave an ecstatic cry and exploded inside you, body shuddering in the current of his release. As he came, he kissed and licked at your neck, unrefined and uncontrolled but desperate to taste some part of you. Finally, he collapsed onto the couch, his full weight upon you, trying to catch his breath in short gasps. 

“If tonight was our last night,” he mumbled, after a few moments to compose himself, “I’d want to savor it. I'd hope not to come after two minutes like that.”

You smiled into his hair.

“Lucky tonight isn’t our last night,” you said. 

Responding to the pang of shame in his voice, however, you continued more seriously.

“If tonight was our last night, I’d die happy after that. No, really,” you said, responding to his disbelieving snort, “that was…”

You didn’t need to finish. The awe and love in your tone was enough of a balm.

You could lie here forever with his warm weight on top of you, your bodies still connected with him still inside you. You could be happy here, with his breath in your ear and your hand in his hair. If tonight was your last night, you would have lived a whole lifetime in it.

Request Masterlist >> HERE

NOTE: I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See masterlist for request status and more.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy smut #the umbrella academy five #umbrella academy number five #umbrella academy five x reader #umbrella academy five x you #five hargreaves x you #five hargreaves x reader #number five imagine #five hargreeves imagine #number 5 imagine #number 5 x reader #number five x you #five hargreeves x f reader

[vodika-vibes]

True Love

Summary: Fives is a man on a mission. His mission? Remind his riduur that she’s the only one for him.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Fives x F!Reader

Word Count: 828

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So, full disclosure, this was supposed to be the event request for @l0nesome-dreams but I only read the first part of the request and went, yes, ideas, and only realized I went off the rails when I finished writing it, lol. SO. That will be properly written at a later point in time. So, uh, have a random Fives story?

The worst part of having a secret wife, is the fact that he can’t be as blunt to the people flirting with him as he’d prefer. The second worst thing is the fact that his brothers think that he’s lonely and needs help getting dates.

That leads him to this situation. Where an, admittedly pretty, woman is leaning into his personal space, and his mind is racing for what to say that won’t be too insulting, but also won’t out the fact that he’s a happily married man.

She leans further into his personal space, and Fives takes a half step back, keeping some distance between them. He glances at his chrono and his heart sinks. He’s late. 

His poor riduur is probably wondering where he is.

The woman leans closer to him, and Fives moves quickly to keep her from touching him, “Aww…you’re shy.”

“Look, I’m flattered, but I’m really not interested.” He says.

“Your brothers said that you would say that.” She smiles at him, it’s a pretty smile, but Fives really isn’t interested in her. “I can go as slow as you like.”

“Again,” Fives says slowly, “I’m flattered, but not interested.” He glances at the chrono one more time, maybe, if he’s quick, he can stop at the bakery that his riduur likes so much and get her a lemon bar.

The woman huffs, “Do you have somewhere to be?”

Fives grabs the chance with both hands, “Yes. Actually. And I’m late. If you’ll excuse me.” He almost makes it to the entrance of the Club before Rex flings his arm over his shoulder, “Son of a kriffing-”

“Where are you going, Fives?” Rex asks.

“Cap, Rex, I’m late. I have to go.”

“Oh? Have a hot date?”

Fives doesn’t answer, and he averts his gaze from his brothers, it’s a damned shame he isn’t a better liar, “I just have to pick something up before the store closes.”

“We went through all of this trouble to help you find a date, vod-”

“I’m not interested.” Fives blurts, “Not in her. Not in anyone you’ll ever pick for me. Rex, I have to go. I’m late.”

Rex presses his hand against Fives’ chest plate, “Late for what?”

Fives flounders, and then he sighs, “I was supposed to meet my wife half an hour ago, and if I leave now I can bring her a lemon bar from her favorite bakery to make up for being late. Can I go?”

“You’re married!?”

“REX!”

“Yes! Go.”

Fives pushes past his brother and out of the club.

He’s lucky, the bakery is still open when he arrives, and he’s able to get a whole box of the lemon bars his riduur prefers, before he runs home. He takes the stairs two at a time and impatiently keys in the door code before he stops in the front hallway.

Home smells like her. Like vanilla and flowers and everything good and nice in the galaxy that he never thought that he’d have. Home also smells like stew and fresh baked bread.

Fives quickly pulls his armor off, with one hand, and he heads into the kitchen. His riduur, his perfect beautiful Riduur, is still making dinner.

Thank the Force.

“I’m home,”

She turns and a bright smile crosses her face when she sees him, “Fives, welcome home.” She lays her spoon over the pot and turns to greet him with a hug, “You stopped at the bakery?”

“I know that I’m late-” Fives replies as he sets the box on the table, “So I stopped and got your favorite dessert.”

She giggles and presses a hand to her mouth, “I got a late start too, honestly. I’m sorry dinner isn’t ready.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind.” He settles his hands on her hips and leans in to lightly press his forehead against hers, “Rex and the others dragged me to 79s.” He admits, “They think, thought, that I was lonely.”

“Oh?”

“They set me up on a blind date,” Fives adds.

A glimmer of uncertainty crosses her face, “Was she pretty?”

“I suppose. I wasn’t paying attention.” He brings one hand up to brush her cheek, “I was thinking about you.”

She ducks her head, a blush crossing her face, “You’re a sap.”

“True.” Fives kisses her gently, “I had to tell Rex about you before he’d let me leave.”

“Oh, Fives-”

“It’s okay. I doubt I’ll get into much trouble.” He kisses her one more time, “Don’t you worry about it. You won’t get into trouble, I promise.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“I know. Don’t worry, Rex is reasonable.” He kisses her again and again, “Now, how much still needs to be done for dinner, and how can I help?”

“Um…a lot. How about you go shower and change, and you can help after?”

“Deal.” He catches her lips in one more kiss, “Love you, riduur.”

She sighs, a dreamlike smile on her face, “Love you more.”

#star wars #tcw #arc trooper fives x reader #fives x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic

[grugruel]

Fun at Fazbear's

Parings: William Afton x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: Mr. Raglan has had to work some long and hard hours the past few weeks, and you just want to help the poor man winde down. But when you sneak into his office, hes on a call. So naturally, you decide to test his limits.

Word count: ca 2k

Warnings: established-secret relationship, age-gap (reader over 20), choking, semi-public sex, pinv sex, rough sex, A slap, creampie, slight praise (used "good girl" once.)

I opened the door quietly, slinking in before anyone looked my way.

I knew he would be working late today, as he had been for a while. So I wanted to chear him up, to leave him with a pleasant memory of me for later.

He sat at his desk, leaned back in his chair with the phone in one hand and forehead resting in the other as he supported himself on the armrest.

'No, no. That wont work.' He spoke into the phone, shaking his head, clearly sick of the conversation. Perfect.

I stepped inside, turning my back against the door so that I faced the room. I grabbed the doorknob behind my back and carefully pulled it shut, making the door click softly as it locked. Steve looked up at the sound, noticing me and immedietly sighed. He was not particularly pleased that I had interrupted him, and even less so for entering his office without permission. But I would not be so easily discouraged.

Smiling sweetly I clasped my hands behind my back and sauntered toward him, swaying my hips seductively with each step. He let his hand fall onto the desk and mouthed 'What is it?' As he listened to the voice on the other end, furrowing his brows in annoyance, not really in the mood for my usual antics.

I shrugged my shoulders innocently and a pleased expression crept its way ontl my face, it could not be rubbed of even if I tried. My hands slid up my body, stopping at the bow of my blouse which was tied around my neck, and undid it.

The annoyance in his features reshaped into uncertainty as he raised his eyebrows in surprise, 'Uh huh, well. . . Go on.' He answered the person on the phone, but looked at me as he said it. I obliged.

I twirled the blouse ends between my fingers, then traced my hands along the bare skin of my chest, slowing as I reached the buttons and undoing them one by one, very slowly. A wicked smile crept onto Mr. Raglan's face as he sat up in the chair and leaned onto the desk, nodding approvingly and urging me to continue.

I stopped wasting precious time that couldve been spent close to him and walked up to him briskly, lust sinking its claws into me. I rounded his desk, stepping into his proximity and he moved his arm to make room for me. As I moved to sit down his desk, he grabbed my waist with his free hand and pulled me close to him. I stood between his spread legs, almost close enough to touch his growing bulge. He laid his chin on my ribs looking up at me, then kissing the skin under the ribcage in gratitude. He had needed this, and he would be taking complete advantage of it later, fully letting go of his stress as he came deep isnide you.

I smiled down at him, knowing that hed yet to expercience the full extent of my plan. I sat down his desk, opening my legs slightly. He sighed again, but this time happily. His hand fell to my thigh, rubbing it purposefully and I hummed appreciatively at the feeling. Spreading my legs wider, letting my skirt hike up over my thighs to reveal my unclothed core. He stopped rubbing and froze, looking at my center with an animalistic desire and squeezed my thigh real fucking hard. Id have fingerprint shaped bruises in the morning, thats for sure. He fought hard to control his breathing as his hand fell down the inside of my thigh and moved to my clit.

But I grabbed his wrist an inch before he made contact and his eyes snapped to mine, furious that I would dare stop him. But I only smiled, very pleased as I was in control, which was only infuriating him further. I raised my hand to his face, pinching his chin between my fingers and meeting his eyes through my lashes. I leaned close to his unoccupied ear to whisper, 'You cannot touch, not while on the phone.' And smiled wickedly, very happy with myself. I was chearing him up and he'd get his prize, but I wanted to have some fun for myself first.

I leaned back again, giving him a quick kiss on the lips to prove that I could still touch, then moved my gaze to his as I pulled the blouse over my heaf and removed my bra. I stood up swiftly, unzipping the skirt at my back and let it fall to the floor. I sat back down and put on a show for him, my hands roamed my body, squeezing, pinching, kneading. Breathlessly moaning, loud enough for him to hear, but low enough to avoid the caller hearing. He snarled at the sight, holding on to the armrest agressivly, almost ripping through the material. I heard the voice on the phone go, 'Mr Raglan, is everything alright?'

I raised my eyebrows in mock surpise and whispered 'You'd better answer that.' But Mr Raglan's reaction was not what I was expecting. His expression changed from fury to calculated grinning, then answered the man 'Sorry about that.' He drawled, 'Im not feeling to well, would you mind if my assistant answered your questions instead? Shes more than capable.'

My eyes widened in fear, eyebrows remained raised in what was not mocking anymore. I had, had the crontol for a second and he ripped it away from me. I heard a muffled agreeing from the man, 'Great, I'll go get her' Steve told him, then handed me the phone.

I took it involuntarily, as if forced by my own body, knowing there would be hell the second I put it to my ear. I Hesitated, as he was staring me down, waiting to pounce on me like a predator luring its prey. As I contemplated my choices, he began unbuckling his belt. I swallowed hard, anticipation and fear prickling my skin in equal amounts, then answering 'Hi, this is his assistant speaking.'

And then, rightly so, there was hell. He zipped down his jeans and pulled it out. I gasped at the sight of him, huge to say the least. 'Mhm, Yes thats right sir' I answered the man on the phone with a shaky voice.

Steve hooked his hands under my knees and dragged me closer to him, then moved my legs to stradle his hips. His cock teasing my opening, he met my eyes hastily and put a finger to his lips. A clear warning, truly threatening if anything and then shoved himself inside of me. I grabbed the end of the desk for support as his thrusts rocked my entire body and bit into my shoulder to keep from screaming. He grabbed my hip with one hand and pushed my upper body against the desk with the other, then grabbing my breast rougly. I squeezed my eyes shut as I tried to focus on the callers voice, but it proved hard as pain and pleasure coursed through me. His pounding was vicious, no doubt punishing me. But I was loving every second of it. He moved his hand to my throat, grasping it gently and stroking my jugular in soothing motions, then yanking me toward him, meeting my lips in a hungry kiss. I moved the phone to my shoulder, holding it firmly against my skin, hoping it would be enough to muffle the disgustingly carnal sounds of wet slapping and kisses. He released my lips and kissed his way down my shoulder and chest, stopping at the breast he'd previously attacked and took it into his mouth, sucking and kissing feverishly. I threw my head back in pleasure, moaning loudly. His hand squeezed my throat in warning, reminding me of the man on the phone. My eyes flew wide, I put the phone back to my ear 'Hello, miss? Are you there?' I covered the phone, sighing in relief as he had not heard us, 'Im sorry- sir' I managed, stopping myself mid-scentence from moaning again, 'Im not quite sure what happened there.' I lied, rushing through the words in the most normal voice I could muster. Mr Raglan chuckled against my skin, his breathing strained. He let go of my throat, pulled out of me completley and stepped back. Confusion hit me for just a second before his hands were at my hips again, pulling me off of the desk, turning me around and thrust me back over it, all in one quick motion. He nestled his hand in my hair and shoved my face into the desk and then slammed back into me. His pace quicker and harder than before, the sound of slapping skin mixed with him filling me perfectly had me close to my release. 'Mmh, close.' I mumbled, earning a hard slap on my ass in punishment. I bit into my hand, trying hard not to make another sound. 'I- I uhm. . I only ment that we're close, to. . .' I paused, trying to think of am answer as my mind was clouding with thoughts of my realese, spots were specking my vision and a knot tightening in my stumache. 'Close to-' I began but stopped myself, 'Close to meeting our goals for the month.' I tried, but had no idea what I or the man was actually talking about, but he sounded pleased.

I was quite sure however, that he left our conversation more confused than before he had called. He finally wished me a good evening and hung up. A pent up moan escaped me that same instant, 'Good girl' I heard breathed from behind me, and I smiled happily. Glad I had managed relatively well despite the circumstances. His thrusts were becoming unfrequent, close to his release aswell. He snaked his free hand under me to rub my clit and It tipped me over the edge, with him close behind me. I almost screamed, had he not stopped me. He yanked me toward him, my back flush against his chest and moved the hand to cover my mouth, muffling my screams. In our exhaustion, Mr Raglan fell back into his chair and dragged me with him, settling in his lap with his dick still inside me and his cum oozing out of me. I leaned my head against his shoulder, and he stroked some hair of my face as we just enjoyed the sound of eachothers breathing.

'Am I still coming over later?' I asked him, and he smirked, 'Youre coming later, your coming tonight, tomorrow morning, again at work and again in the evening, and so we shall repeat.' He breathed, and I smiled 'Good, because im not sure how well that call ended and we both might need some chearing up after that.'

#william afton smut #fnaf smut #five nights at freddies smut #William afton x reader #fnaf movie #matthew lillard #william afton fic #steve raglan fic #steve raglan smut #steve raglan x f!reader #william afton x you #fnaf imagines #william afton imagine