Montgomery Gator x GN!Reader (18+ only. Not explicit, but still leaning more mature/suggestive.
WC: ~4.3k
Summary: "Don't seem fair for me to be the only one gettin'—what'd'ya call it earlier? Dental work—done, now does it?"
OR: You're sent in to fix up Monty's shattered teeth. He strikes a deal with you.
CW: None, really! Monty is a bit of an ass but is worn down kinda easily because he thinks you're cute. You literally just showed him human decency, but whatever. Also! I had a raging fever while writing this + it wasn't beta read, so let's just blame any errors on the fever ok!
AO3 Link
Admittedly, you'd been putting this off.
It's not often that they send someone only just hired by Fazbear Entertainment to work on the Glamrocks. Well—considering that you were so recently hired, you can't exactly say that with certainty. It could be something they send all newbies off to do. A hazing ritual of sorts, maybe?
"A fucking stupid one," you huff to yourself, feet weighed down with your reluctance as you amble your way to Rockstar Row.
In what world do they consider it safe to send someone with the least hands-on experience to work on the animatronic rumored to be the most volatile? The AI in these things aren't like the robots you grew up celebrating with in a shady little pizzeria years ago. They're scarily human. Sentient, one might say, if you can look past the hulking metal frames and scarily sharp faux teeth that someone somewhere along the way insisted on putting in animatronics for the purpose of children's entertainment.
It's ridiculous, really, how much faith they put in their code—meant to be used by and around kids—when it's seemingly so faulty. A robot shouldn't eat, a robot shouldn't be vain, and most of all, a robot shouldn't be prone to emotional outbursts that destroy their entire room.
Whatever, you think, belligerent, as if internally snarking to yourself is enough suppress the nervous anger simmering in your gut. It burns a bitter path up your throat, well on its way to giving you heartburn. A bitter expression overtakes your face no matter how hard you try to school your brows into something more agreeable.
You just hope the gator is cooperative tonight and you can get this over with quickly.
Any lingering hopes are squashed the second you hear a loud crash, realizing with a starling clarity that you can't keep putting off what you've been trying to all day. The avoidant part of your brain that makes you feel anxious, like a petulant child who's just been scolded rears its ugly head for a brief moment. You could leave. You could say, fuck this, I'm out, send someone else to deal with the animatronic going against his coding to throw a tantrum.
It'd leave you without a job and unable to pay rent, but you could technically do it.
Funnily enough, it's not the looming threat of losing your shitty little apartment that fills you with enough courage to stand in front of Montgomery's metal door. It's that incessant reminder rooting its way through your skull that you'll look bad if you fuck this up. First job after getting your degree, and you can't even do a measly little part change?
Besides, you try to reassure yourself, you can count on the programmers to at least have coded in a fail safe that doesn't allow him to attack humans, right?
You snort to yourself under your breath, the quiet sound so full of derision it briefly draws the attention of a straggling mother herding her child away from the bangs and clangs reverberating through Montgomery's walls. It's glaringly obvious that your brain is scrambling to find a reason to force yourself to knock, what with all the waivers and NDAs you signed to even go through the interview process.
You smile (though you're sure it must look like you're being held hostage) at the mother-child duo, the older of which looks alarmed at you having stopped in front of the source of all that awful noise you're sure she's going to file a complaint about. You take a brief moment to thank whatever higher being willing to listen that you aren't working in the department handling that.
Seemingly not wanting her child to watch the disaster that's sure to unfold in just a moment, the mother scampers along at a quicker pace, hand held firmly on the back of her kid's head so he can't turn around.
So much for hoping some scared mother would plead with you to leave Montgomery well enough alone and put a ringer in your plans for tonight.
Shaking the tension from your shoulders, you stare up at the door, half wishing you were able to see the damage through the heavy curtain blocking the green room window. Of course Fazbear Entertainment wouldn't deign to let any of their precious visitors they care oh so much about be privy to any malfunctioning animatronics, leaving you shit out of luck along with any nosy customers.
Your knuckles are rapping against the door before you can psych yourself out again, and the silence that follows is almost eerie in how sudden it settles across the vicinity. The sound of him ripping into something soft—plushies, maybe, though you wouldn't put it past him to maim his couch again— comes to a complete halt. There's no tearing of fabric, no shouts, only the subtle huffing and puffing of a pissy animatronic you can hear through the door.
"Montgomery?"
You clear your throat before you carry on, cheeks running hot at how unsteady your voice had sounded. "I'm here to replace a few teeth of yours? We had guest complaints about the band—you in particular—not exactly looking up to snuff today, and your teeth were one of the main complaints."
Still no answer, but your whole customer service spiel only served to piss him off even more if the sound of something being launched at the door is anything to go off of. It's not like you meant to ramble on about something that would have your team leader beaming with pride at your professionalism, but years of customer service (and a lengthy Fazbear Entertainment training seminar) leave that an easy state to slip into. It's mindless, really.
It probably would have worked on Freddy, anyhow, but then again, Freddy wouldn't be in a situation like this to begin with if what you've heard about him is correct.
Rocking back and forth from the balls of your feet to your heels, you continue, "It'll be quick and easy, so long as you work with me."
You just barely hold back a snort of laughter at the thought. Montgomery Gator, working willingly with a member of staff? Let alone the fresh meat.
Much to your shock, you get a response that isn't the crash of something being broken.
"Let 'em complain. Not like they're ever gonna be happy."
The response gives you pause, if only for a second.
"While I'm inclined to agree," you reply, "I'll be out of a job if we just let you guys fall into disrepair, so…"
The silence that settles over you both is heavier than before, so suffocating it feels like a physical weight on your chest. Unfortunately for you, the silence makes you act. Your next words come spilling from your lips before you have even a second to mull them over.
"Look, Montgomery. How about this: if you let me in, we can stay in the comfort of your green room? I won't even have you make the trek back to Parts and Services."
Well, shit. So blatantly dismissing protocol is sure to fuck you over if management finds out, and you have a feeling Montgomery absolutely would snitch on you if you're on this guy's bad side. You certainly aren't on his good side, but maybe his lack of response is a good thing? Maybe he's thinking it over? The more pessimistic part of your brain warns you that he could already be sending a message to your team leader, which means you might be fired before you even-
The door slides open.
Stunned, you're left blinking at the now open space. That worked? Montgomery was letting you in? Of course, this could be all some trick, but…
"You just gonna stand there lookin' stupid?" Montgomery barks, the lashing of his tail visible even in the dim green lighting of his room.
You could have sworn you once read somewhere that a gator's tail lashing is a territorial display, yet somehow, despite all odds, he's inviting you in. His voice shocks you out of your stupor and you nod, tentatively stepping in.
Before you can even think about turning tail and running, the door snaps shut behind you.
Anxiety forces your body to move, and before you know it you're plopping your work backpack on the ground and rifling through it for the plastic bag of teeth. Montgomery stays in the corner of your vision as you do, a constant presence that you're all too aware of. Every rise and fall of his shoulders with the simulated breaths he takes, every flick of his tail, leaves you all the more frantic in your attempts at finding the bag.
Really, how hard can it be to find a bag of fangs?
You make a pleased little hum under your breath when one of the fangs pricks you through the plastic bag they're settled in, ignoring the pinprick of pain in order to focus on what you'd accomplished.
It's not until you stop digging through your backpack that you realize the state of the room you're in. Lights shattered, tables overturned, and a massacre of—admittedly cute—officially licensed Montgomery Gator plushies insides turned out around the room.
The couch, at least, seems only half destroyed.
Suddenly bashful at your gawping, your eyes flick back over to meet Montgomery's red ones. "Uh, thanks for letting me in?"
Montgomery only mutters something under his breath in response, tail lashing all the more harshly at your shaky tone.
You gesture towards the couch and he gives you a bewildered look.
"When'd I actually agree to let ya work on me?"
You suppose he's got you there. Indignant, you huff, running your free hand through your hair. Bargaining worked once, but would it again? You don't have anything left to lose, though you need to find an angle to come at this from.
"Sorry?" you mumble, scratching at the back of your head. "You let me in, so I assumed playing dentist was free game."
For a brief second, you swear you can see a flash of humor in Montgomery's expression at your dentist comment, but it's gone as soon as it appeared.
"How'd ya like if I was rootin' around in your mouth, huh?" he spits at you, arms crossed like a protective barrier across his chest. His snout is pointed up into the air where thin puffs of agitated steam filter from his nostrils as he huffs.
The words that slip from your lips are decidedly not what you'd intended on saying.
"I'd probably like it more than having to put my hands in there," you huff, gesturing wildly at his grimacing maw.
He turns to look at you, his expressive gaze somehow managing to look incredulous. It's something in the way his faux brows furrow at you, but you're left reeling for a moment. God, you don't think you'll ever get over how human these things can truly be.
"Okay, fresh meat," he says, voicebox suddenly sounding so delighted it lights the exposed skin of your arms up with goosebumps and snaps you out of your curiosity. "Here's the deal. Let me mess around in your puny little human mouth, and maybe—maybe—I'll let ya near mine."
This is a terrible idea, but you had been looking for an out…
At your silence, Montgomery continues.
"Don't seem fair for me to be the only one gettin'—what'd'ya call it earlier? Dental work—done, now does it?"
You hate this. Hate the programmers who made this stupid gator so eerily human in his mannerism, who made him able to bargain.
On the other hand, the techie, engineering part of your brain is absolutely marveling at the advancements made in these guys alone. Sure, you might not exactly be in programming, but you work closely enough with the people who do to know how insane these guys truly are. The fact that he seemingly wants things is a wonder in and of itself, but the way he's able to bargain to achieve those goals is… impressive.
You suppose you have to hand it to the programming department, even if this habit of his is annoying.
Clenching the bag of pearly white fangs tighter in your hands, you level the animatronic before you with a scrutinizing stare. While you really don't want to be without a job, you also don't want to chip a tooth. Or worse, have the animatronic knock one out. Or rip your tongue out, or-
Shaking your head to clear the graphic images invading your mind, your eyes trail up and down the ornery gator before you. His large, mechanical arms are still crossed, though with one elbow propped up against the other side's hand as he runs a hand through his mohawk. Despite his tail still swishing back and forth menacingly behind him, something in the challenging glare he shoots your way almost seems to suggest that he's enjoying this back and forth.
Despite the gator's temper tantrums, there had to be some programming lodged deep in there to make him capable of being… gentle? While some parents filed complaints about their children being scared by the hulking gator, that had more to do with his… being a hulking gator, not because he'd intentionally scared or harmed the kids. Surely that could extend to you?
You eye his claws warily for a moment before meeting his gaze, shrugging a lazy roll of your shoulders. "So long as you're gentle—very gentle—then… I guess you're right?"
You raise the bag of teeth fitted for him as if to remind him of why you're here. "You're not exactly a dentist, though, and while I'm not either, I am qualified to be digging around in your mouth as a mechanic. You… not so much."
"'M not gonna hurt ya," he growls, chest puffing up in defiance as he saunters closer.
The way he stomps your way seems to suggest otherwise, but you manage to mostly hold yourself in place, body tensing instead of cowering away. Montgomery slides to a stop just in front of you, a hair's breadth between the sharp edges of his clawed feet from the leather of your work boots.
You expected such close proximity to the gator to be more intimidating than it is. It still is, of course, seeing as you're only human. It'd be nigh impossible to squash down the unnerving chill that settles in your bones while being glared at down the snout of a 7 foot tall gator made of metal. But still, you don't feel like you're in immediate danger. After all, if he truly wanted to hurt you, he could have the second you stepped foot through the door, right? Why drag out what's obviously an annoyance to him?
Jutting your chin out in defiance, you stare up at the towering form that is Montgomery with a glean in your eye. A sick thrill radiates from your pounding rabbit's heart throughout your body, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, adrenaline tingling in every nerve lit up in your body. In your proximity to Montgomery, you can feel the irritated huffs of air coming from his nose only inches away from yours as he looms over you.
Why they decided to make these things seem as if they have a respiratory system is beyond you, but it does make an impressive sight when viewed in such close quarters. Perhaps it's to make children feel more at ease with something so similar to them? For all you know, they could do educational science events and teach children about the body and what keeps it going. You don't know the reasons upper management makes you do the things you do, you just know to do what they ask.
Still, Montgomery's hooded gaze staring you down makes you fluster, if only slightly. You can only take eye contact in such close proximity for so long before it becomes awkward. While you wish you could just write it off as an animatronic not being coded with human social concepts ingrained in them, the smirk lighting up the gator's face makes you all too aware that he's doing this just to see if he can make you tick.
Instead of giving him what he wants, you smile. It's shaky and uncertain, but not what Montgomery is expecting if they way the smarmy look on his face seems to fall for a second is anything to go off of. He looks almost vulnerable under the weight of your smile, even as sarcastic as it may be.
You wonder, briefly, just how often people smile at him to get this reaction from something so small.
To his credit, Montgomery at least has the decency to hold his paw out for you to slot your chin into as opposed to just yanking your face towards him. You're almost shocked with how easily you come to rest your face in his giant hand. Obedient, a nagging voice seems to say at the back of your mind, but you shove that thought down deep before it can get its bearings.
Clearing your throat, you slowly open your mouth, jaw hanging open wide enough to expose your teeth and tongue to the gator before you. Montgomery looks almost startled that you're actually going through with this despite your previous compliance, brows shooting up in… shock? Embarrassment? You're not quite sure, but the expression almost looks cuteon him.
If anyone were around to see you shiver when one of his clawed fingers comes up to tap against your canine, you'd vehemently deny it.
Montgomery freezes, voicebox shaky when he finally rasps out, "Even yer bitin' teeth are small. Just like you."
You move to pull away and respond, but the gator grips your jaw tighter, locking you in place. He wags a finger in your face and you (feeling much like a child being scolded) furrow your brow in annoyance, but let him continue. Montgomery lets out a quiet hiss.
"I'm only just gettin' started. Ya've got plenty of time to talk me into low power mode when ya fix my teeth."
Rolling your eyes, you relax in his grip once more. Montgomery seems almost lost in thought as he trails a claw along the front of your teeth, gaze locked on your tongue and how it tenses with each accidental brush of his finger against it.
You're so soft. Pliable. Tender. Montgomery doesn't know why that realization has an unexpected spark of warmth shooting through his wires. It comes as a surprise when Montgomery jerks back, releasing your jaw and pulling his finger out of your mouth as if burned. You're left unable to do anything but tilt your head up at him in confusion as you regain your bearings.
"Was… that all you wanted to do?" you ask. You aren't particularly sure why you're asking—you should be glad to no longer be poked and prodded by a clawed finger. Still, if Montgomery thinks your exploration of his mouth is going to be so short lived, he's sorely mistaken.
The only response you get from Montgomery is a growl and a tense nod of his head yes.
"Okay…?" you trail off, confused by his sudden change in temperament.
"Just—uh, realized I've got better uses of my time than diggin' around in some stupid human's mouth."
Huh. If you were talking to a human, you'd almost say he seems flustered. Yeah, these things are programmed to be emotive, but not that in tune with emotions, surely.
Fortunately for Montgomery, you aren't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. You clap your hands together, ignoring the phantom weight of his paw against your jaw.
"Well, good!" you exclaim.
It's honestly unbelievable how well this is going. You aren't quite sure why your coworkers all wished you good luck when seeing this was on your schedule. Sure, the gator is stubborn, and there's rumors about a much darker side to him,but you're starting to believe they're just that—rumors and gossip spread to keep the work days interesting and newbies scared.
You gesture towards the half torn couch behind the animatronic. "Do you mind sitting for me? It'll be easier for me to get in your mouth from that angle, and then I'll be out of your hair, promise."
Montgomery looks like he wants to argue, hissing and spitting much like an angry cat under his breath, but acquiesces much to your surprise. You smile in response, digging through the bag previously clenched tight in your hands and pulling out a few metal teeth.
You're just about to rest a hand under his jaw when Montgomery mutters, "Don't go gettin' any ideas about me 'cus of this. I'm only lettin' you do this because I want you goin' on your way."
Smiling, you cup a hand under his jaw as you nod. "I'm sure you are, Montgomery."
He says something so quiet it leaves you straining to hear it. You breathe in deep, forcing yourself to build up the courage to ask, "What was that?"
His voice comes out glitchy, but coherent. "I said you can call me Monty. You even listenin' with those stupid ears of yours?"
Now there's a shock. You freeze, hand faltering on the edge of Monty's mouth.
"Oh!" you exclaim, smiling down at the gator beneath you. "Well, thank you, Monty."
Monty grumbles something low and unintelligible, suddenly interested in staring at everything else around the room if it means avoiding eye contact with you. You pull your hand back, tapping at your name tag. It seems to do the trick, Monty growling out your name so quickly it's as if it might choke him if he chews on it any longer.
"Open up, big guy," you say, tapping at his mouth. Monty's hands grip at the couch hard enough to tear a brand new set of tears in the beat up thing, but slowly releases the pressure in his jaws and allows you to reach inside.
He's almost shocked when you only hesitate for a brief moment. You must really, really need this job if you're willing to stick your hand in his mouth. He's not stupid, he knows word about his temper has spread to all corners of the megaplex. You must be some breed of crazy to be dealing with him.
For your part, you fall into a comfortable rhythm quick enough. It's a simple process, unscrewing Monty's shattered teeth, lining the new one up, and screwing that one in before repeating. You've always felt at home with your tools, and even staring down the mouth of an animatronic that could easily shatter your arm with his bite force can't shake that confidence.
Monty finds himself almost relaxing under your care, something he's not sure he's ever felt in the presence of staff. The other band members sometimes—maybe, and you didn't hear it from him if that was the case—sure, but surely not a human who was either terrified of him or ready to berate him at the drop of a hat.
You… seemed like neither of these things. A bit scared, maybe, but not shaking in your boots. You'd managed to hold your own against him well enough.
Far too quickly for Monty's liking, you tap the end of his nose and gesture for him to close his mouth.
"How's that feel?" you ask, gesturing for him to snap his jaw a few times and test the new teeth out. "They shouldn't be too tight—or too loose, for that matter—but let me know if I need to adjust anything before I go."
Monty rolls his jaw around, biting at the air a few times before glancing up at you. To his surprise, you'd done pretty much perfect on your very first attempt. Not so loose they feel like they'll slip out, but not so tight it radiates any unneeded pressure through his jaw.
An idea runs through Monty's processors unbidden. He could easily lie and say he needed you to take another look, just to keep you around in comfortable silence for a bit longer. For once, logic wins over whatever it is that leaves his processors whirring loud enough that he's sure you can hear them from your position hovering over your backpack a few feet away, and he shuts that line of thinking down quickly. You were polite enough, yeah, but he doesn't know you. There's no reason to be thinking this about you, and he's almost certain you'd be the type to call him out on his lie.
It's only once you start hovering that he realizes that you're still looking for an answer, mouth snapping shut at the realization.
"Feels… fine. Just fine."
He can't have you getting too big of a head so early into your career now, can he?
The way you seem to deflate at his lackluster answer almost has him backtracking. You nod over at him as you sling your backpack over your shoulder, rocking back and forth on your feet. "Alright! Well, my shift is pretty much done for tonight, but if you've got anything else needing looking at, I'm sure there's someone else in my department working later that can handle it for you."
Monty only huffs half-heartedly, gesturing lazily towards the door. "Get goin'. You've been here long enough, don't ya think?"
Nodding, you make your way towards the door. It slides open with ease, but you hesitate.
"And Monty?" you call, glancing at him from over your shoulder.
He raises an inquisitive brow at your question.
You gesture around at the carnage of the room. "I'll see about getting someone to fix your room up for you soon, okay?"
You slip out of his green room before he can even think of something smart to say in response.
don't interact with me/my blog if you're under 18. i'll block minors and ageless accounts.
keep it to around 3-5 charas per request ^_^
i won't be using y/n or any variation of it!
will default to gn!reader unless asked otherwise. (i <3 writing for trans readers)
if i don't know a character well enough to write them/inspo doesn't strike me i'll just skip over em and write for the other characters.
i can turn down whichever requests i so choose. you know the drill.
there will be horror/dark themes on my blog! i'll try and tag accordingly/as i see fit but if you don't fuck with that it's fine. feel free to leave if it's too much.
i dunno. glhf
i will NOT write anything with the following:
explicit rape or non-con. CNC/dub-con is fine to request but i'm free to decline it.
underage characters or adult x minor.
incest.
scat. i can be convinced on piss and puke though if you ask sorry. will tag it if it's requested!
i will probably not write from a f!reader pov (and def not a cishet male pov lol) unless you're requesting something with a woman or you want like, a challengers thing going on. no straights here.
i WILL write:
fluff
angst
nsfw! i actively enjoy writing it. if it's something i'm not comfy with i'll tweak it or just ignore it lol.
toxic relationships, especially stuff dealing with stalking/obsession/possessiveness. i actively enjoying exploring these themes (should be obvious considering i'm, ya know, writing for horror characters) and i will be up front and say i do NOT think some of the characters i write for are nice and/or normal lmfao.
TRANS CHARACTERS!! both reader and canon characters. i love t4t. just make sure to include it in the req ^_^
AUs, though that's dependent on the AU.
i'm chill with writing poly stuff depending on the characters. unfortunately i do not think some of the characters i write for could handle that but feel free to include it in a request anyways!
if you have any other questions i didn't cover here just shoot me an ask. yay
