This was requested by the darling @catbeastaisha who wanted a little continuation of my Cryptid Monty fic! Here the reader returns for a little swim with our favorite marsh monster, and he's eager to take them into the water! Enjoy!
Content warning for suggestive themes.
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You never imagined you would find yourself back at the marsh with a swimming suit hidden under your clothes and a bathing towel draped over your arm. The heat, however, is unbearable. It clings to your skin like sweat and each breath you take is thick and clogging, unrelenting thick with summer.
A swim is exactly what you need, even in the darkness that cloaks you like a highschool student sneaking out past curfew. The nervous, excited energy that buzzes through you is too giddy. You square your shoulders and march along a boardwalk, seeking the one you know to be waiting. He invited you for a midnight swim, after all.
The darkness of the swamp clings heavily under spanish moss stuck to trees like gossamer and the night sky is glowing with a full moon. The silver beams touch upon the surface of the marshy water. A little cricket frog hops away from the water’s edge as you pass it by.
You enjoy the comfort of the isolation and the beauty of the swamp too much to be afraid of anything lurking within it. The boardwalk creeks slightly, rippling the water below when dirt or dust or bugs fall off from underneath it. Besides, you know who lurks here, and you have nothing to fear.
Deep into the marsh, after trekking for a good half mile to ensure privacy, even in the dead of night, you arrive at a little outcropping of ground. The boardwalk disappears and reappears further down the dirt path. The solid ground is still slightly damp but free of muck and sticky green water.
You’ve never swam in a marsh before. It is enough to simply gaze over the stillness and listen to a bullfrog grunt or spy a shy turtle basking in the sunlight. Occasionally, bowfin slap the surface and continue on by. The green water never truly tempted you into its ripples until Monty coaxed you into accepting such a new experience.
The water is sleek and dark. You peer around you, and whisper out into the pale moonlight, “Monty?”
The quiet is interrupted with a quiet slosh of water. Goosebumps rise over your flesh before finding the thick, stout creature rising from the marshy lagoon is not, in fact, an alligator, but a hulking demonic cryptid grinning with a long jaw full of razor-sharp teeth.
“You made it, shug,” he croons.
You smile. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” A mosquito buzzes close to you and you slap it away. “Well, maybe for some bug spray.”
He chuckles deep in his chest and it rumbles into the air. You enjoy his laughter, holding a crocodilian like hiss, but it still roars.
“You won’t have to worry about those once we hit the water,” he rumbles, reclining on the edge of the marsh with his thick arms pushing up his upper half, like an enticing siren if the siren happened to be a wickedly powerful and burly monster.
You hope so, and turn around to begin shedding your clothing. Your car keys drop to the ground upon your shoes and you reach for the bottom of your shirt, only stopping at the searing gaze you feel upon your back.
Looking over your shoulder, Monty’s glowing eyes, red with pale rings for irises, gaze with a slack-jaw effect to his mouth. It would have made you laugh if you weren’t so determined to be severe.
“Monty, do you mind?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.
“Not at all, Junebug.” He grins wickedly, his thick, scaly tail splashing the water behind him from the vigor of its wagging.
“Turn around.” You lift a hand to twirl a finger for emphasis.
He chortles though there’s no true disappointment in his tone as he slips down the bank and turns, facing the moon hanging high in the sky. His clawed hands come to rest behind his head, supporting it in the manner of one star-gazing.
“Take your time, shug. I ain’t going anywhere.”
You do not take your time. There’s a flutter in your heart that you wish you could stuff down into a jar and forever contain. Stripping away your outer garments, you’re left in a simple, modest swimsuit, and you wiggle your bare toes for a moment against the damp and lush green ground. Insects chirr thickly in the darkness. The one great thing about the water is that the cypresses don’t crowd it so much, and the onyx shadows are chased away by a stunning, milky full moon.
“Ready,” you announce, your voice steady despite the little wings within you, flitting with anticipation.
Monty turns back around, shifting over the ground before grinning up at you.
“You know how to swim?” he asks, offering his hand.
“Yes.” You’ve been swimming in creeks and lakes since you were a toddler, but your excitement towards the water is not due to inability.
Setting your hand into his ridiculous large palm, you move towards the edge of the marsh.
“I’ve taught a kid or two to swim,” he says, drawing you gently down the bank. He wades backwards into the water, his eyes entirely upon you. His thick claws wrap gingerly around your wrist in a gentlemanly escort. “They love the water, splashing in it, getting muddy. They just eat it up.”
You snort laughter. “How long do you usually stay around children?”
The first step into the marsh is thick and goopy between your toes. You shudder at the sensation but refuse to allow it to stop you, and continue until the water climbs up to your waist. It’s warm and soupy, and you wonder if anything would bite your ankle or attach to your flesh like a leech. Another shudder takes over you.
“It depends, especially on the kid,” Monty’s voice is deep and affectionate with memory. “I could stick around for days, weeks, sometimes months until I see to it that they’re safe.”
Monty’s red and wild hair, wet but still spike-like in the silvery glow of midnight, drips slightly as he lowers himself to the water. It reminds you of algae tugged along by a stream. Dipping down, the cryptid floats onto his back with a loud splash. He grins up at you at the disruption. You almost cross arms, feeling a spark of indignation at his devil-may-care attitude but all thoughts within you vanish when his claws carefully hook your waist and plop you into a straddle on his solid middle.
A fierce heat overtakes, first with fury that he would so casually man-handle you, then a different, warming pink blush that bleeds into your cheeks. You lean on the hope that the low light hides your expression, but the hungry swipe of Monty’s tongue gives you little reassurance.
“Don’t you look pretty,” he drawls.
“Is this your idea of swimming?” you demand, the heat fading behind your words as you utter them.
“Sure. You get your own personal boat to ferry you on through the dangerous marsh.” His teeth catch on the moonlight, gleaming wickedly until you must control the urge to snap something between your hands. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Watch it, Monty,” you warn, “I’ll still take you in a fight.”
He is wise enough to not laugh, but he does look at you like you’re the most adorable thing he has ever seen.
You look over his head to see how truly expansive the swamp becomes. The boardwalk circles the water and marshy lands for miles, but you’ve never truly been in the center. His tail gives a flick, propelling you both in a lazy drift through the green water. Bugs sound closer but they never venture close enough to become an irritate—is that because of Monty? You suppose animals could sense his unearthly presence, even mosquitos.
“How do you know where we’re going?” you ask quietly.
Monty’s hand caresses your sides thoughtfully. He hums, and you feel the great vibrations through your arms as you lay them upon his chest. The thick dermal of his body is almost like armor.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” Monty chortles, “Ain’t nothing going to get you while I’m here.”
You roll your eyes and lightly slap his chest. It hurts your fingers slightly to wack his scaly hide.
“I’m worried about you running into a tree.”
“I ain’t done that before!” His protest is fierce and arrogant, which makes you believe that he has, in fact, done that.
You snort again. “Sure, Monty.”
His long mouth pulls back into a snarl, exposing even more of the wicked fangs held within, and you catch a dark and sinuous tongue.
“Listen here, shug,” he starts
You set your elbows on his chin and become attentive, tilting your head in exaggeration and batting your eyelashes until he grumbles a pouting, unbecoming thing.
“Ugh,” he groans, “Humans.”
“Marsh monsters,” you counter, then laugh.
His eyes soften but he still turns his head away. Swimming you deeper into the marsh, you lean lower and start to map out the yellow dermal and the thicker, harder green that covers the rest of his body. There are a few strips of purple coloring him, but those line his shoulders.
He settles, and if he forgives you, he shows it with a gentle sweep of his tail while the water trails softly past you both. You slowly recline until your cheek is pressed to where his heart might be. You don’t hear a heavy drum within him, but you feel warmth and safety all the same when his arms wrap around your lower back, and his claws carefully trace your spine up to the nape of your neck.
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