Really any nickname fits, Monta is what would probably be more fitting, but a common nickname I’ve used in the past is River, so either one would work!
I got a whooole lot of fandoms, and though I don’t think I’ll write for them on here, you might notice I’m clearly inspiring a Whumpee/Whumper/Caretaker on a character. I plan on doing a lot of OC’s, though.
I’m an INFP and have interests in true crime, info dumping about my favorite animals, astronomy, and singing.
...
Favorite tropes:
Parental caretaker/whumper
Intimate caretaker/whumper
Possessive whumpers
Overprotective caretakers
Pet whump
Kidnapping whump
Lab whump
Hurt/comfort
Restraints
Manipulation
Drugging
Plain ol’ caretaking
...
Tags to block:
If you don’t like parental whumpers, please block the following tags: marshall oc, lawrence oc, sadie oc, nathan oc, and charlotte oc.
hello!!!! i really like your parental yandere blog, that’s why i followed you here because your writing is amazing! i don’t really like Y/N and reader insert stories, but i read yours anyway cause i like your characters so much. seeing you using one of your yanderes in an AU with your own OC instead of a reader made me sooo happy i love it!!!! i really hope you continue it!!!! :D your characters are so interesting
Aww tysm!! <3 that means so much to me, I'm so happy to know this writing isn't purely just self-indulgent XD
A little piece of Cecil lore: his mother was an Italian immigrant, who married his father, an American. Cecil speaks Italian because his mother taught him it, and he has several family in Genoa. This is just something I wanted to share because he sometimes uses little Italian pet names <3
CW: Forced infantilization, yandere whumper, parental whumper, mentions of abuse, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, nonsexual nudity, female whumpee (not main focus), discussion of gender roles, restraints
Word count: 10k
...
Monty woke up to the quiet rumble of a car.
Wait, a car?
He wasn't in a car. He was in bed. In his room. In his house.
...or so he thought.
He tried to rub his eyes, which still felt so heavy he couldn't even really open them, but his arms were stuck in a position, like a straitjacket.
Oh god. He was restrained.
He began to panic, his breathing coming in short gasps.
"He's awake," a young man from next to him said.
Monty tried to focus his vision.
Next to him were two people, about his own age, if he had to guess. A young woman and a slightly older young man.
He tried to pull at the restraints.
"Whoa, hey, calm down," the woman said. "You're okay."
"Am I? Am I okay?" Monty asked, his voice cracking. "I'm restrained. In a car. With strangers."
"Yeah," the young man replied. "We've all been there."
"Been where? Who are you? What's going on?" Monty sobbed. "Please don't hurt me!"
From the front seats, a familiar voice cooed, "Don't cry, baby. No one here is going to harm you. You're with family now. We just needed to make sure you wouldn't try to escape or fight back. You're not the best at handling stress, you know."
Monty knew that voice. But it couldn't be.
He turned his head, and saw Cecil's face smiling back at him from the rearview mirror.
No. No, no, no.
This had to be a dream. A nightmare.
It just couldn't be real.
"Cecil?" Monty choked out.
"Yes, sweetheart?" Cecil responded casually, as if this was normal.
"Why am I—what's going on?"
Marcella turned in the passenger seat to face him. Her expression was calm, almost maternal. "You've had a very difficult night, dear. It's best if you don't try to think too hard about it. Just rest."
"Rest?" Monty was practically hyperventilating now. "I've been kidnapped! This is kidnapping!"
The young woman next to him patted his arm reassuringly. "Mommy and Daddy are nice, I promise."
What.
He tried to process that sentence but it was like trying to catch smoke with his bare fingers. Mommy and Daddy? Were they all insane? Was this was some elaborate hallucination?
"My name is Lucy," she continued, as if sensing his confusion. "And this is Reid."
"Hi," Reid said with a little wave. "Don't worry. We all freaked out the first time."
Monty was too busy trying to suppress a panic attack to focus on what either of them were saying. He was in a car. With complete strangers. And the only person who wasn't a stranger was the man who kidnapped him.
"Reid, honey, why don't you give him some water?" Marcella said.
Reid leaned over and produced a thermos from the floor. "Here," he said, unscrewing the cap. "Drink some. It'll help."
"No! Get away from me!" Monty flinched, pressing himself as far back into the seat as he could. His back hit the door with a dull thud.
Cecil's smile vanished from the rearview mirror, replaced by a stern frown. "Monty, that's no way to speak to your brother. Reid is just trying to be nice."
"My brother? I don't have a brother!" Monty was shaking so hard the car seemed to be vibrating with him. His head felt fuzzy, the residue of the drug still clouding his thoughts, but the terror was as sharp as a knife. "Please... just let me go. I won't tell anyone. I promise."
"I know you won't, sweet boy," Cecil said, his tone softening back into that paternal croon that had made Monty feel so safe just days ago. "Because you're not going anywhere. You're home now."
That word, home, made Monty only shake harder.
And then, a new thought emerged.
"Where's my dog?" he croaked.
Cecil sighed. "He's safe. I have a friend who lives on a farm, he'll take good care of him."
Speck wouldn't like to be in the hands of a stranger, but Monty had bigger things to focus on now, so he didn't say anything.
He needed to escape.
He needed a plan, but the drugs made it difficult for him to think straight.
If he could get his arms out of these binds, he might stand a chance. But that seemed unlikely. Even if he did, it would still leave him in the backseat of a car with two seemingly brainwashed hostages and an insane couple in front.
He would just have to bide his time. Wait for a moment where his odds of escape would increase.
But for now he had no choice but to wait.
"Where are we going?" he asked next, when his breathing had slowed down enough to appear at least somewhat calm.
Lucy grinned. "The mountains! What's the name of it again, Daddy?"
"The Adirondacks, sweetheart."
"Have you been to the Adirondacks before?" Lucy turned to Monty.
"Um, no..." he replied quietly.
"It's a really pretty cabin. We usually spend summer there."
"But... but it's still in New York, right?"
Lucy looked up front to Marcella, as if silently asking permission to confirm.
Marcella smiled gently at her. "Yes. You can tell him."
"Yes, it is," Lucy responded, turning her attention back to him.
Well, that was good at least. As long as he was still in New York, there was still a chance that he could get back home.
Even if he had to walk the entire way, it was better than being stuck with these people.
"So what is the cabin like?" Monty decided to keep the conversation going. Maybe if they saw him as compliant, they'd let their guards down to give him the perfect opportunity to bolt.
The car began to go up a winding road, and Monty could see trees out the window.
"The cabin has a lake near it!" Reid chirped. "It's beautiful."
"I love it so much, it's so much nicer than the city!" Lucy added.
"I... I see," Monty said, looking back out the window.
He could barely even recognize them now. These woods looked nothing like the woods he was used to. They were dense and wild, with trees so tall they blotted out most of the moonlight.
He'd never seen trees like that before.
He tried to memorize the turns, but they were coming too fast, and his mind was still foggy from the drugs.
"We're almost there," Cecil said cheerfully.
The trees thinned out, and Monty saw a clearing. In the center of the clearing was a large, two-story cabin, with a wide porch and a stone chimney.
It looked like something out of a fairytale, and it was the most beautiful and terrifying thing Monty had ever seen.
This was it. This was where they were going to keep him. This was his new prison.
Cecil pulled the car up to the cabin, and the engine died. The sudden silence was deafening. Monty could hear the crickets chirping and the wind rustling the leaves.
Marcella and Cecil got out of the car, leaving the three of them alone in the back.
Monty tried to move, to get away from the other two, but his arms were still bound tightly, and his legs were starting to cramp up.
Lucy and Reid looked at him with sympathy, like they knew exactly how he was feeling, because they had both been in this situation before.
Monty's breathing quickened, his pulse pounding in his ears. He was going to die here. He was never going to leave this cabin, this car.
"Alright, my little chickadees," Cecil said, opening the back door. "Let's get you all inside."
Lucy and Reid climbed out. Monty remained frozen in his seat.
"Come on, sweetheart," Cecil said, his voice gentle. "It's alright."
Monty shook his head, his eyes wide with fear. He tried to scoot away, but there was nowhere to go. He was trapped.
Cecil sighed, a long-suffering sort of sigh, like a parent dealing with a stubborn toddler. He reached into the car and scooped Monty up, one arm under his knees and the other around his back.
Monty let out a small yelp of surprise. He was being carried like a baby. He struggled weakly, but the drugs still in his system made it rather pointless.
"Hush now," Cecil murmured, bouncing him slightly. "No need for all that fuss. We're home."
The word home made Monty feel sick. This wasn't his home. His home was a cluttered little room on Staten Island, with stacks of books and a window overlooking a garden.
He buried his face in Cecil's suit jacket, trying to block out the world.
Cecil must've took this as a sign of him accepting his fate, because he began to walk towards the cabin.
Inside, the cabin was just as beautiful as the outside. A massive stone fireplace took up most of one wall, with two comfy-looking armchairs in front of it. There was a large wooden dining table in one corner, and a plush-looking sofa in the other. The floor was made of wide, dark wooden planks, and the whole place smelled like pine and cedar.
It was cozy and warm, and it made Monty feel even more trapped.
"This is the living room," Lucy said, as if giving a tour. "The kitchen is through there," she pointed to a doorway. "And the bedrooms are upstairs."
"We can give him the tour in the morning," Marcella said. "It's late. Let's get you all settled."
"Right," Cecil agreed. He started up the stairs, still carrying Monty. The other two followed.
The second floor had a long hallway, lined with five doors. Cecil stopped at the first door.
"This is our room," he said, nodding towards the door. "And you're right next door," he added, opening the door to the second room.
The room was just as nice as the downstairs. It had a large window, a comfortable-looking bed with a patchwork quilt, and a small wooden dresser. There was a bookshelf in the corner, with children's books.
Reid and Lucy had already disappeared into their own rooms, which were further down the hall.
"You'll be staying here," Cecil said, walking into the room. He gently laid Monty down on the bed.
Monty wanted to throw himself on the floor and sob. Instead he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering how he got here. How he ended up kidnapped by a strange family.
Cecil walked over to the closet and opened it.
"I got you some new pajamas. I thought they'd make you feel more at home." Cecil smiled at him and held up a pair of green pajamas with little leaf patterns on them.
Monty didn't respond. He couldn't. He just stared.
Cecil frowned. "Monty," he said, his tone serious. "This behavior of yours isn't very polite. When someone gives you a gift, you say thank you."
Monty swallowed hard. He looked up at Cecil. He wasn't smiling. His expression was unreadable, but Monty could feel the threat behind it.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"Good boy," Cecil said, the smile returning to his face. He walked over to the bed and sat down next to Monty. He reached out and began to unbuckle the restraints on Monty's wrists.
Monty winced at the sensation. He'd been tied up for so long his arms had started to ache, and now that he was free he didn't know what to do with his limbs. He kept his arms close to his body, rubbing at his sore skin.
"I'm going to get you ready for bed," Cecil said, as if he were speaking to a small child. "Arms up."
"Wh-what?" Monty stammered. "No, no, I'm not a baby, I can do this myself!"
Cecil's eyes narrowed. "I won't ask you twice, Montgomery. Arms up."
Monty's eyes filled with tears. This was humiliating. This was torture.
But he was so scared of what Cecil might do if he didn't comply.
Slowly, he lifted his arms, revealing his slender torso.
Cecil hummed approvingly, pulling off his clothes and replacing it with the leaf-printed ones. Next he slipped off Monty's shoes, pants, and socks, and changed him into a new pair of matching pants.
"There we go!" Cecil said brightly once Monty was dressed. "All done! Do you need to go potty before bed?"
Monty's face flushed with humiliation. He was twenty-one years old, and this man was asking him if he needed to use the toilet like he was a toddler.
"No," he said through gritted teeth.
Cecil tutted. "What have I told you about that tone, young man?" He wagged a finger at Monty. "It's not very nice."
Monty squeezed his eyes shut. He was so, so tired. He just wanted this nightmare to end.
"If you keep frowning, your face will get stuck like that," Cecil said, booping him on the nose.
It was such a bizarre, paternal gesture that it almost broke Monty. He wanted to scream, to thrash, to do something, but he was just too exhausted.
Cecil pulled out a pair of new restraints. At first glance, they just looked like strange mittens.
Monty felt a fresh wave of panic wash over him.
"Wh-what are those?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"Just to make sure you don't hurt yourself, sweet pea," Cecil said, taking one of Monty's hands and slipping it into the mitten.
It was made of a soft padded material, with a strap that Cecil tightened around his wrist. Monty couldn't move his fingers. He couldn't grab anything. There was a chain connected to one of the mittens, which he clicked to the bedpost.
Monty tried to tug at the restraint, but it was no use. He was trapped.
Cecil did the same with the other hand, and soon both of Monty's hands were immobilized, tethered to the bedposts.
"There now," Cecil said, pulling the quilt over him. "All tucked in for the night." He sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the quilt over Monty's chest.
"Please," Monty whispered, a single tear rolling down his cheek. "Please, don't do this."
Cecil's expression softened. He reached out and wiped the tear away with his thumb.
"Oh, Monty. Don't cry, cuoricino. This is going to be so much better for you, you'll see."
He leaned in, brushing a stray curl from Monty's forehead.
"I know this is all new and scary, but you'll get used to it. You'll see how much better it is here. You won't have to worry about anything anymore. No more job interviews, no more mean boys in the park, no more worrying what your aunt thinks of you."
"Why?" was all Monty could sniffle.
"Because I saw a piece of myself in you the moment we met," Cecil said. "Someone who was misunderstood. Someone who was hurt by the world, for no reason other than being different. I have the means to protect someone from that now. And I'm going to protect you."
Monty stared back at him, speechless. He didn't understand. He just wanted to go home.
Cecil looked down at him with a deep-seated affection that sent shivers down Monty's spine.
"Good night, my sweet boy," Cecil said. He pressed a soft kiss to Monty's forehead. Then he stood up, turned out the light, and left, closing the door behind him.
Monty lay in the dark, his breathing the only sound he could hear. He could barely move.
He could hear the floorboards creak as Cecil walked down the hall.
He could hear the faint murmur of voices as Cecil and Marcella talked in their room.
He could hear the ticking of a clock somewhere.
He could hear the crickets chirping in the forest.
Monty could only lay there and think. And the only thought that was running through his mind was that he was trapped. He was completely and utterly trapped.
He tried to pull at the restraints again, but it was no use. They were too strong.
He wanted to scream, but he knew it would be useless. Who would hear him out here in the middle of nowhere?
And even if someone did hear him, what would they do? Knock on the door and ask if everything was all right? Cecil would probably just smile and say that his son was having a nightmare.
No one would help him. No one would save him.
It was up to himself.
…
The next morning, Monty was woken up by the sun streaming through the window. For a blissful moment, he thought he was home in his own bed. He almost rolled over to go back to sleep, but the strange mittens on his hands brought the events of last night rushing back.
He wasn't home.
He was in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, with a man who kidnapped him, and his insane family.
He felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him. He wanted to cry, but he was too numb. He just stared up at the ceiling, wondering how he was going to get out of this.
Just then, the door opened, and in walked Cecil.
He was already dressed for the day, in a crisp white shirt and a pair of dark trousers.
"Good morning, sunshine!" Cecil greeted. "Did you sleep well?"
Monty didn't answer. He just stared at him.
Cecil walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. He reached out and smoothed Monty's hair away from his face.
"Not a morning person, are you? That's okay. Without my morning coffee, I'd be dreadful to be around in the morning," he chuckled. "Let's get you dressed, and then we'll go have breakfast."
Monty felt sick to his stomach, but he didn't protest, he just watched as Cecil undid the straps around his wrists, freeing him from the bedpost.
"I've got another new outfit for you to try," he said, his eyes crinkling in a smile. "I'm sure it'll look nice on you."
Monty decided to pick his fights wisely, and this one wasn't worth the struggle. He just let Cecil pull him to his feet and change him into whatever he picked. This time it was a dress-like, frilly white shirt that buttoned up at the front and was a bit too long on his arms, and brown corduroy pants with a belt. Cecil then sat him on the bed and changed his shoes.
Cecil looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, before picking up a brush from the nightstand and beginning to work through the tangles in Monty's hair.
"I'm not as good as a hair stylist as your mom, but we'll see what I can do," Cecil chuckled.
It didn't take a genius to figure by 'your mom', he was referring to Marcella.
Oddly enough, Marcella scared him more than Cecil did. There was just... something about her, despite only knowing her for that car ride he was barely awake on.
Then again, you'd have to be at least a little crazy yourself to marry someone as unhinged as Cecil.
"Your hair is almost past your shoulders," Cecil mused as he continued brushing Monty's curls out.
"I've been meaning to cut it," Monty mumbled.
"I like it long, but it's your decision," Cecil said. "Having Lucy around has made me good at braids. Maybe I can braid your hair soon, but for now I think a ponytail would be cute."
Monty used to like braids in his hair, when he was younger, but he always got made fun of for it. It had been forced into his mind that specific hairstyles were only for women.
"I'm a man. I don't need braids."
Cecil turned and frowned down at him. "Montgomery. Who put such an ugly idea into your head?"
Monty looked down at the floor. "Everyone? That's just a generally known fact."
"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but we don't follow general fact here," Cecil said. He began tying up Monty's hair into a low ponytail.
His hair wasn't long enough to be a true ponytail, at least not like the other women Monty saw with the hairstyle, but it didn't look bad.
Not that he'd ever admit that to Cecil, of course.
"There," Cecil said. "Perfect. Now come on. I'm sure Mommy has breakfast ready."
He was right. The second he and Monty walked down the stairs, they were met with the heavenly scent of pancakes, bacon, and coffee.
Marcella was at the stove, flipping pancakes. She turned and smiled at them.
"Good morning, you two. I was wondering when you'd make it down."
Lucy and Reid were already at the table, digging into their food.
Reid grinned at Monty. "Morning, sleepyhead!"
"Morning," Monty mumbled back, looking down at his feet.
Cecil placed a hand on the small of his back. "Come on, kiddo. Sit down and eat."
Monty did as he was told, sitting down at the table across from Lucy and Reid.
They both smiled at him, which only made him want to shrink even more. Why were they smiling?
Marcella placed a plate with a stack of pancakes in front of him. "Here you go, honey."
"Thank you," Monty said quietly, his gaze fixed on the plate in front of him. He didn't want to look at any of them.
The table was soon filled with the sounds of forks scraping against plates and chatter.
"So, Monty," Cecil said, "you're probably wondering what we do out here in the mountains. It's very different from city life. The air is cleaner, the water is fresher. We have our own well."
Monty nodded, still not looking up.
"We go for walks in the woods," Lucy chimed in. "We can show you our favorite spots! There's this one stream with the smoothest rocks. It's perfect for skipping stones."
"And in the summer, we can go swimming in the lake," Reid added. "But it's still a bit too cold for that now."
The casual way they spoke, as if they were all one happy family on vacation, made Monty's stomach turn.
Would he become like them? Brainwashed and complacent? He hoped not.
He hoped that he'd never have to spend a summer at the lake. He was getting out of here. One way or another, he was getting out of here.
"Your breakfast is gonna get cold, kiddo," Cecil's voice interrupted Monty's train of thought. "Eat."
He sounded so patient and fatherly. It only added to Monty's ever growing discomfort and horror.
He didn't want to eat their food, but he was starving. He didn't have anything for dinner last night. Or lunch yesterday.
Monty slowly reached for his fork. His hands were trembling. He stabbed a piece of pancake and brought it to his mouth. It was fluffy and sweet.
He wanted to savor it, but he couldn't. He just wanted it to be over.
He ate in silence, listening to the others talk. They seemed so happy, so normal. It was unsettling.
"What are we going to do today?" Lucy asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"I thought we could spend the day getting Monty settled in," Marcella said.
"Good idea," Cecil said, turning his attention to Monty. "What do you want to do today, kiddo?"
Monty didn't respond. What kind of question was that? He didn't want to be here. He wanted to go home. But he knew better than to say that. So he kept his mouth shut and continued to eat his breakfast.
"Don't ignore your father, Monty," Marcella's voice cut in, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Um..." Monty began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know."
"Hmm..." Cecil mused. "How about we start with a tour of the house?"
Monty nodded, not wanting to cause any trouble. Maybe he could find a weakness in the cabin's security. A loose window, a back door, anything.
"Excellent! Let's finish our breakfast, and then we'll start our tour."
After everyone finished their breakfast, Cecil stood up. "Alrighty! Follow me."
Monty hesitantly followed him into the living room.
"This is the living room, obviously," Cecil said, gesturing to the cozy space.
Monty had seen this room last night, but now in the daylight, he could see more details.
The floor was made of dark wooden planks. A large stone fireplace, with a freshly polished mantelpiece, took up most of one wall. Above it hung a painting of a serene mountain landscape. Two armchairs sat in front of the fireplace, with a small wooden table between them. A large bookshelf, filled with books, was tucked into a corner.
The room was warm and inviting, but to Monty, it was nothing more than a beautifully decorated prison.
"Over here," Cecil said, leading him towards a door. "This is the study."
He opened the door, revealing a room with a large mahogany desk, a comfortable leather chair, and more bookshelves.
"This is where I do most of my work," Cecil explained. "I write my scripts, take calls, that sort of thing. Sometimes I even broadcast from here, though I definitely prefer the studio."
Monty wondered if he could find a way to get his hands on that phone.
"You can come in here and read anytime you want," Cecil said. "Just knock first, alright?"
Monty just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
They left the study and continued down the hallway.
"This is the kitchen, obviously," Cecil said, gesturing to the room. "You already saw it this morning."
Monty glanced at the knives on the counter. He could easily use one of them to escape. But he knew better than to try. Cecil was bigger and stronger than him. And besides, he didn't want to hurt anyone.
"What's through that door?" Monty asked, pointing to a door at the back of the kitchen.
"That's the pantry," Cecil said. "Fully stocked. Don't worry, you'll never go hungry here."
He opened the door to reveal shelves piled high with canned goods, bags of flour and sugar, and other pantry staples. It was like a miniature supermarket.
"And that door," Cecil said, pointing to another door, "leads to the basement. It's where we keep the wine and the extra firewood. It's also where the circuit breaker is."
He didn't bother opening that door. They went back out into the hallway and continued their tour. It felt like it would never end.
Cecil showed him the bathrooms. They were nothing fancy. One upstairs, and one downstairs.
He then took him to a small room near the front of the house, with large windows overlooking the porch and a wooden table with five chairs.
"This is the sunroom," Cecil explained. "We have meals in here when we're feeling a little more adventurous."
Monty looked around the room and saw the windows again. He wondered if there was a way to get out through them.
They left the sunroom and walked upstairs. "Here's our bedrooms. I've already shown you yours." Cecil grinned, then pointed to another door. "This is Mommy's and Daddy's room. That's your brother's room." He pointed to a second door, then a third. "And that's your sister's room."
"What about this one?" Monty asked, pointing to a final door.
"That's the playroom." Cecil opened the door and flicked on a light to reveal a large room, filled with toys. There were shelves filled with dolls, toy soldiers, and board games. A large wooden train set took up most of the center of the room. Colorful drawings were pinned up on the walls.
The room was a child's paradise, and a living nightmare for Monty.
"You can play in here anytime," Cecil said.
"Thanks..." Monty mumbled, not wanting to anger him by refusing.
They went back downstairs and into the kitchen. "Well, that's the tour," Cecil said. "Any questions?"
"No..." Monty said quietly, his eyes darting around, as if searching for an escape route.
"Good. Now, I have some work to catch up on," Cecil said. "You can stay with me, or you can go play in the playroom with your siblings. Your choice."
He didn't really have a choice, did he? If he said he wanted to be alone, Cecil would probably think he was up to something, and would keep a closer eye on him.
"I'll go play..." Monty mumbled. It was the safest option.
"Good boy," Cecil ruffled Monty's hair affectionately. He guided Monty back up the stairs and pushed him gently into the playroom, where Lucy and Reid were now playing with the train set.
They looked up, smiles on their faces.
"Hi, Monty!" Lucy exclaimed. "Want to play with us?"
Monty didn't. He wanted to find a way out of this nightmare. But he knew better than to say no. So he just nodded and shuffled over to where they were playing on the floor.
"We're building a new track," Reid explained, pointing to several wooden tracks. "This is the mountain, and this is the tunnel."
"It goes all the way across the room," Lucy added.
Monty watched them for a moment, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do.
"Here," Reid said, handing him a small train. "You can be in charge of the passengers."
Monty took the train, his hands still slightly shaky. He hadn't played with toys like this since he was a very small child.
He didn't know what to do with it, so he just rolled it back and forth on the floor.
Lucy and Reid didn't seem to notice. They were too busy arguing about where the next piece of track should go.
"No, it has to go here," Lucy insisted, pointing to a spot on the floor. "It'll look more natural."
"But then the train will have to make a really sharp turn," Reid argued. "It'll derail."
"It won't derail if you build it right."
Monty wondered if this was truly what siblings were like. He had cousins, but he'd never had any siblings of his own. He'd never had close friends, either. He'd always been a loner, by choice or by circumstance.
He had half-expected them both to drop the act when they were alone, but it seemed they genuinely were brainwashed. Monty felt bad for them, even if he also was only spending time with them because he didn't have much of a choice.
Monty wondered how they got stolen. Did they have stories similar to his own, or completely different?
He couldn't imagine them being shy or anxious like him. They both seemed so open and trusting.
"I think it looks good here," Lucy said.
Reid nodded, and then placed the tracks where she suggested.
"Can you find the crossing sign?" he asked, turning to Monty.
Monty just stared at him for a moment, before realizing what he was asking. He looked around at the scattered toy pieces, his eyes landing on a small wooden sign with a picture of a railroad crossing on it. He picked it up and handed it to Reid.
"Thanks," Reid said, taking it from him.
Monty just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
They worked in silence for a few more minutes, the only sound the clatter of wooden tracks being put together.
"So, how are you liking it here?" Lucy asked, breaking the silence.
Monty's breath hitched. What was he supposed to say to that? That he was miserable? That he wanted to go home?
He wanted to cry. To scream. To break something. But he couldn't. Not with Lucy and Reid watching him, with those big trusting eyes.
"It's... fine..." Monty mumbled, his gaze fixed on the train tracks in front of him.
"Just fine?" Lucy pressed. "You're not excited to have a new family?"
"Or a new home?" Reid added. "I love our home. It's so much better than my old one."
Monty couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was not better. This was not a family.
I liked my old family and home." That was a lie of the century, but he definitely preferred Agatha over... whatever this was.
Lucy frowned. "But... Mommy and Daddy are so nice."
Reid nodded in agreement. "And they love us."
"I know..." Monty whispered, "but... I was happy with my aunt."
Reid looked skeptical. "Dad took me away because my... my biological father was an alcoholic, and my biological mother wasn't really in the picture. I couldn't move out because I didn't have enough money. I only went out of the house to go to work. Dad—our Dad—he was a family friend, and he had me over sometimes to get away from my dad."
"...but he still kidnapped you?" Monty asked hesitantly.
"He saved me," Reid corrected.
"Mommy and Daddy saved me, too," Lucy piped up. "My 'parents' were going to send me away. To a place... a place like the one Dad told us he went to when he was younger."
Monty tilted his head with a curiosity he was ashamed to have.
"I couldn't talk to anyone about my problems," Lucy continued. "I had no friends. No one to talk to. I was so lonely. But then Dad found me. He listened to me. He cared about me. He took me away from all that."
Reid nodded along to Lucy's story. "Mommy and Daddy are the best thing that's ever happened to me."
"Me too," Lucy said. "I love them so much."
Monty felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He didn't want to be the reason they were so upset. But he couldn't bring himself to agree with them.
Because he didn't feel the same way.
He wasn't happy here. He didn't want to be here. This wasn't his family.
This wasn't his home.
But he couldn't say that. Not to them. So he just nodded and said nothing.
They played in silence for a while longer, the only sound the clatter of the wooden tracks. Monty pretended to be interested in the train, but his mind was elsewhere.
He was thinking about escape. He was thinking about home.
He wondered what Agatha was doing right now. Was she worried about him? Or was she just glad to finally be rid of him?
He didn't know. He didn't know what to think. He just wanted to go home.
He just wanted this nightmare to be over.
After a while, he could smell food again. Lucy must've been able to, too, because she dropped the track piece she was holding.
"Is it lunchtime already?" she asked.
Reid looked at the clock on the wall. "It is."
Lucy grinned, grabbing both boys' hands. "Then let's go!"
Monty followed behind her, not having a choice with her vice grip on his hand. The three walked downstairs, and into the dining room, where a pot of something steaming and a basket of biscuits were set up.
Cecil and Marcella were already at the table, holding mugs of coffee.
"Hello, my little chickadees," Cecil greeted. "Did you have fun playing?"
"Yeah!" Lucy chirped. "Monty helped us with the track."
Cecil's smile grew wider. "Good job, kiddo," he ruffled Monty's hair, and he had to resist the urge to swat him away.
Cecil and Marcella both got up to fix their kids' bowls, then set it down at their spots on the table. Lucy's bowl was green and had a cartoonish picture of a cat on it, while Reid's was blue and had a dog.
They had already gotten a bowl for him. It was yellow, with a smiling sun in the middle. Cecil poured some stew-like food in it. It smelled delicious. Like home.
"Be careful, sweetheart. It's hot," Marcella warned Lucy, who had picked up her spoon and was about to shovel some stew in her mouth.
"I will," Lucy said, blowing on it a little before putting it in her mouth.
Reid was eating more carefully, taking small bites.
"Try it, it's so good," he said to Monty between bites.
Monty hesitantly scooped up a spoonful into his mouth. It was really good. Some kind of beef and vegetable stew. The vegetables were cooked to a perfect tenderness, and the meat was so soft it practically melted in his mouth. The broth was rich and savory, with a hint of herbs he couldn't quite place.
He had to force himself to eat slowly. He was starving, but he didn't want to appear too eager. He didn't want to seem like he was enjoying this.
"How is it?" Cecil asked, leaning forward in his chair.
"Good," Monty mumbled, looking down at his bowl.
He could feel Cecil's gaze on him, and it was making him nervous.
"I'm glad you like it," Cecil said. "Mommy's the best cook."
Reid chuckled. "Dad likes cooking, but don't let him try anything new. Once he made scones, and it was so hard that he chipped a tooth."
"Hey!" Cecil protested good-naturedly. "That was a fluke! My lasagna is legendary."
Monty found himself smiling a little, despite the situation. He couldn't help it. They seemed like a real family. A loving, normal family. And it was messing with his head.
He had to remind himself that this wasn't normal. This was a kidnapping.
He was a prisoner.
He had to keep that in mind.
…
The rest of the day was rather boring.
For a little bit, Monty watched from the window as Cecil and Lucy picked some apples from a small orchard, then watched as Lucy and Reid threw a little prank on Cecil by putting a realistic toy snake in the apple basket, which made Cecil shriek so high that Monty could hear it from indoors.
And then, after that, an eager Lucy made them all watch her perform a magic show she had apparently been working on. Monty had seen a lot of magic tricks, and this was definitely one of the worst he'd ever seen.
But of course, Cecil dramatically cried at how talented his daughter was, Marcella pretended to be in awe, and Reid kept encouraging Lucy to do more.
Monty wished his own childhood was like this... but without the kidnapping.
But even with the kidnapping, they all looked so happy. He couldn't help but feel a small amount of jealousy.
He didn't want to be their son, but he wanted to have a family like this.
After dinner, Monty was escorted up to his room first, and he was ushered into the bathroom.
"I can bathe by myself," Monty bleated out when he realized Cecil was standing there.
"I know you can, kiddo, but you're going to have help until I trust you a little better, okay?"
Monty sighed. There was no use trying to fight against Cecil. It was pointless.
The water was already drawn, steaming hot and full of bubbles that smelled of lavender and chamomile. A few rubber ducks floated on the surface.
Monty looked at the tub, then at Cecil, a silent plea in his eyes. He felt a lump form in his throat. This was too much.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to be in his own cramped bathroom, with the cracked tiles and the leaky faucet.
Anywhere but here, really.
Cecil's expression was unreadable as he gently pulled Monty's clothes off and helped him into the water.
"It'll feel better if you let me wash you off," he said. "You'll get to play with your duckies and everything. Doesn't that sound nice?"
Monty didn't answer, he just closed his eyes and tried not to cry.
"Come on, don't cry. I know it's scary, but it'll all be okay. Daddy promises. Come here, baby. Let's get you cleaned up."
Cecil's tone was so soft, so loving, and it was breaking Monty's heart. He didn't want to be loved like this. Not by him. Not by his kidnapper. Monty's body trembled as he was lowered into the warm water, the bubbles popping softly around his skin.
"Does it feel too hot? Or too cold?"
"It's okay," Monty mumbled.
Cecil picked up a washcloth and a bar of soap. He lathered up the cloth and began to wash Monty's back.
The washcloth was soft and Cecil's touch was gentle. It was all so unnervingly normal.
"Arms up for me, sweetheart."
Monty reluctantly obeyed, and Cecil washed his arms and chest.
"Okay, lean your head back," Cecil instructed.
Monty did as he was told, and Cecil began to wash his hair.
His touch was gentle, the same way his mother had once bathed him as a small child. Monty missed her desperately in that moment. He wished she was here, that he could hear her voice, feel her hands on his hair.
He wished she was here to protect him.
A sob escaped his lips, and he quickly covered his mouth, mortified.
Cecil's hand paused in Monty's hair. Monty couldn't see his face, but he could feel Cecil's gaze on him.
"Sweetheart..." Cecil whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You're so brave... You're so strong... You've been so good for me today..."
Monty sniffled. He wanted to tell him to stop. To leave him alone. But he didn't have the energy. He just wanted this to be over. He wanted to go to sleep. To forget this day ever happened.
Cecil finished washing his hair, and then started on his face. His fingers were gentle as he wiped away the tears from Monty's cheeks.
"It's okay to cry. It's natural to be overwhelmed when your whole world changes for the better." Cecil's tone was dripping with a syrupy condescension that made Monty's teeth ache. "You don't have to be brave for me. You can be a little boy. You can be my baby. It's okay." He rinsed the washcloth in the water.
He then guided Monty out of the tub, wrapping him in a large, fluffy towel that smelled like lavender, just like the bath. He rubbed Monty's back dry, and then his hair.
"Let's get your jammies on," Cecil said, leading him back into the bedroom.
Cecil rummaged through a chest of drawers, and pulled out a pair of pajamas.
The pajamas were purple with blue polka dots. They were soft and fluffy.
Monty didn't have a choice in the matter as he was dressed. He didn't even have a choice in what he was wearing to bed.
"There we go," Cecil said, once Monty was fully dressed.
He sat Monty down on the bed and then knelt in front of him, taking one of Monty's hands and looking at the wrist.
"These are to keep you safe, okay?" he said, producing the padded mittens again.
Once again, Monty didn't argue. He just let Cecil put them on, the click of the locks echoing in the quiet room.
"I need you to get used to these for a little bit," he cooed, brushing back Monty's hair from his forehead. "I just can't risk losing you, okay?"
He stood up and helped Monty lay down. After covering him with a blanket, he kissed his forehead.
"Sleep tight, my little prince."
…
The next few days were exactly like that.
Wake up, have breakfast, explore the cabin a bit more, watch one of his 'siblings' practice whatever talent they were working on, have dinner, and then get a bath and a change of clothes.
Every single time he got bathed or changed, he was almost ready to cry. It made him feel pathetic. He was a grown man, and he was being treated like an infant.
He was so embarrassed all the time.
Even Marcella treated him like a baby sometimes, even if less intensely or frequently as Cecil. She'd give him kisses on the cheek, coo over his outfits, and sometimes would take over 'bath duty' or 'bedtime duty' in Cecil's place, which Monty was still adamant he did not need.
It had been roughly a week now (as far as he could tell, he hadn't been counting).
And today was the first time Cecil suggested taking a walk, not to the garden, but to the forest.
It had been in the middle of Lucy pretending to be a dragon, Reid the knight, and Monty the unenthusiastic damsel in distress.
"I'm so happy to see my babies getting along," Cecil cooed as he entered the living room.
Reid snorted. "Monty plays a really good princess."
Monty's face grew hot. "Wouldn't it make more sense for Lucy to be the princess?"
"No way," Lucy said. "Dragons are cooler."
"It is true, you have a certain princess quality," Cecil chuckled.
Monty blushed and looked at the ground. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.
"So," Cecil said. "It's such a nice day outside, and we haven't had the chance to show you around our little piece of paradise, huh? So, your mom and I were thinking of a nice little family picnic. How does that sound?"
At first, Monty was going to shake his head no. The last thing that sounded nice was spending time with his captors in the middle of the woods, but...
Maybe it'd give him an opprtunity to look around, maybe even run or find someone who could help him, if it were even possible. That thought alone was enough for Monty to nod.
"Excellent!" Cecil clapped his hands together. "We'll pack a basket, and then we'll be on our way. Dress warm, kids. I'll be giving an inspection before we leave."
Monty suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. At least he'd get to choose his own clothing, let alone change himself. That was a rare luxury.
He went up to the room that was assigned to him, a space that still felt foreign, and opened the wardrobe. He rifled through the clothes, all of which were new and seemed to be in Cecil's preferred style. He settled on a simple brown sweater and a pair of dark trousers.
He got dressed by himself, the feeling of independence small but significant.
He looked in the mirror. He looked... nice. The sweater was soft against his skin, and the trousers fit him well.
But he looked young for his age. Monty wasn't sure if that was the clothing, or just the patronization he'd been enduring the past week or so.
Probably both.
He looked in the mirror for another moment, then went to join the rest of his 'family' in the kitchen.
Cecil and Marcella had packed a picnic basket full of sandwiches and fruit, along with a thermos of hot chocolate. Lucy and Reid were both wearing warm sweaters and hats.
"Perfect timing," Marcella said, her eyes crinkling in a smile as Monty walked into the room.
Cecil gave Monty a quick glance-over. He circled him like a vulture, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He adjusted the collar of Monty's sweater, then tugged on the hem of his trousers.
"It's a little chilly today, don't you think?" Cecil said, looking at Monty's bare neck. He walked over to a nearby coat rack and grabbed a knitted scarf.
Monty wouldn't know, because even going out to the garden was a luxury.
He watched, a little horrified, as Cecil wrapped it around his neck. The scarf was a bit scratchy, but it was warm.
"There," Cecil said, taking a step back to admire his handiwork. "Now you're all set. You look like a little woodland creature."
Monty didn't know how to respond to that, so he just stood there, feeling like a doll being dressed up for a tea party.
"You guys are so slowww!" Lucy groaned. "Hurry up!"
"What do we say?" Marcella prompted.
Lucy pouted and grumbled out a half-hearted apology. "Sorry. But can we please hurry up?"
"There's one more thing, then we can leave." Cecil grabbed something from a drawer, and turned back to Monty, who was already dreading what he was going to produce. "Just for extra precaution."
To Monty's shock and horror, Cecil held up a harness, a belt-like leather strap with a leash connected to it.
"What—what's that for?" Monty stuttered, taking an instinctive step back. His heart hammered so fast he was sure he could hear it.
"It's just so you don't wander off, kiddo," Cecil said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "We can't have you getting lost in the woods, now can we? The forest is very big, and we want you to be safe. This is just to make sure you stay with us."
"But I won't! I'll stay right with you," Monty pleaded, looking from Cecil to Marcella for support, but found none.
"Now, now, don't make a fuss," Marcella's smooth voice cut in. "It's for your own good, dear. You're still adjusting."
Lucy nodded. "I used to have to wear it all the time. It's not that bad."
Reid nodded in agreement. "You get used to it."
Monty didn't want to get used to it. He didn't want to get used to any of this.
He tried to protest again, but Cecil gently pushed him to his knees and began to fasten the harness around his waist and shoulders.
It made it even more humiliating that Marcella, Lucy, and Reid were watching.
It was tight and restrictive, but not painful. Still, the knowledge of it there was enough to make Monty feel even more pathetic.
He could've ran and hid while he could, but Cecil had a tight grip on the back of the harness. And it was a strong grip.
"There, all done." Cecil ruffled Monty's hair, then helped him back onto his feet.
"Now let's get going, the sun won't be out forever," Marcella urged, picking up the picnic basket and thermos, and slinging them in a backpack that she had waiting on a chair. She led the group outside. Cecil took ahold of Monty's leash and held it firmly as they followed behind her.
The walk through the forest was peaceful. Birds chirped, squirrels chittered in the trees, and the air smelled fresh and clean. Cecil kept up a constant chatter, telling them stories of his childhood. Monty barely listened to most of it.
As much as Monty hated everything about this, there was at least one thing that wasn't awful.
The scenery was very nice. Very beautiful.
He had to admit that.
They walked for a while, following a narrow path that wound through the trees. Monty tripped a few times over roots and rocks, and Cecil would always catch him, a concerned look on his face.
"Careful, sweetheart," he'd say, pulling Monty closer to him.
It was a relief to finally arrive at a small clearing. Monty looked around. The clearing was a pretty sight. A large tree grew at the center, and the ground was covered in a thick layer of leaves. The tree had a tire swing hanging off a low branch. There were two logs on either side, and a few stones for sitting.
Monty looked up. The tree's branches were full of red leaves.
Marcella set the backpack down on a log, then Cecil took the basket out.
"You two can go play," Marcella said to Reid and Lucy, gesturing to the tire swing.
"Okay!" Lucy exclaimed, grabbing Reid's hand and pulling him towards the swing.
"Okay, okay, I'm coming!" Reid laughed as he was dragged away.
Cecil laid out a blanket on the ground, and then pulled Monty down to sit on it with him.
"There's plenty of room, you know," Monty muttered, crossing his arms and looking pointedly away from Cecil.
"Yes, I know," Cecil responded with a fond chuckle. "I just like keeping my little ones close."
Monty huffed and looked down at the ground. He wasn't sure why he was even trying to argue.
Cecil unwrapped the sandwiches from a dish towel, and handed one to Monty. It was on white bread, with the crusts cut off. The same kind of sandwich that a child would get in their lunchbox. The same kind of sandwich that Monty hadn't eaten since he was a little boy.
"Eat up," Cecil said. "It's ham and cheese."
Monty took a bite of the sandwich. It was good, but he still didn't want to enjoy it. He couldn't enjoy it. Not here. Not with him.
He nibbled at it slowly, watching as Lucy and Reid took turns on the tire swing.
Monty wondered what they were like when they first were kidnapped. Were they scared, like him? Did they try to escape? Or did they just give in? He couldn't imagine them being defiant. They seemed too sweet, too eager to please.
And that was what he was afraid of becoming. He was afraid that he'd stop resisting, that he'd become Cecil's 'baby boy', just like the others.
He didn't want that to happen. He had to get out of here. He had to find a way to escape.
"You're thinking too much," Cecil's voice cut into his thoughts. "You need to relax. This is supposed to be fun."
"I am relaxed," Monty mumbled, taking a bite of the sandwich.
"No, you're not," Cecil said. He reached out and began to rub Monty's back in slow, soothing circles. "You're all tense."
Monty flinched at the touch but didn't pull away. He didn't want to make Cecil angry.
"You're worried about something," Cecil continued. "What is it, kiddo? You can tell me. I'm your Dad."
If Monty's bravery was as big as his hatred for this guy, he'd punch him so hard right now.
But he wasn't brave.
He was a coward. A weak little coward.
"Just... thinking," Monty said, not wanting to get into it.
"About what?" Cecil pressed.
"About... nothing."
Cecil sighed. "Montgomery, I'm trying to be patient with you, but you're making it very difficult." His hand stopped rubbing Monty's back. "You're not being very cooperative."
"I don't want to cooperate," Monty snapped, unable to stop himself. "I'm not going to let you treat me like some kind of—of pet!"
"Montgomery, stop," Cecil warned, his tone growing sterner. "You're not a pet. But that's no way to talk to your father, young man."
Monty tried to calm himself. If he let himself get any angrier, he might do something he would regret. And he was already regretting this outburst.
"I'm sorry," he said, not meaning a single word.
"Are you really?" Cecil asked. "Because you don't sound very sorry."
Monty was about to say something else, but then he remembered Reid and Lucy, who had both stopped swinging to watch them.
He then glanced at Marcella, who was sitting on a log, watching them with a placid expression on her face. She didn't seem surprised by the confrontation, but she also didn't seem to be doing anything to stop it.
"Don't look at your mother for help," Cecil said sharply. "You dug this hole yourself, and now you're going to have to lie in it."
Monty looked down at the ground, feeling a fresh wave of shame and anger wash over him. He hated how Cecil could make him feel so small, so helpless.
"Finish your sandwich," Cecil ordered, and Monty silently did so.
He could feel the tension between them. It was thick and stifling, and he hated it.
He wished he could take it all back. He wished he hadn't opened his big mouth.
He just wanted this picnic to be over. He wanted to go back to the cabin, where he could at least be alone in his room.
But for now, he was stuck here. Stuck on this blanket, with this man who called himself his father.
So he ate the rest of his sandwich in silence, and then he drank the hot chocolate that Marcella had poured for him.
It was sweet and rich and warmed him up from the inside.
But it did nothing to improve his mood. Nothing could improve his mood right now.
After a while, Reid and Lucy came over to join them on the blanket. They sat down, and Marcella gave them a bottle of hot chocolate each.
"Can we feed the ducks at the pond after?" Reid asked.
"If we have time before sundown," Cecil replied. "And only if everyone behaves themselves." He gave Monty a meaningful glance.
Monty scowled down at his lap. He didn't like being spoken to like that, especially in front of Reid and Lucy. Even if they annoyed him, they seemed to be the only well-meaning people around.
Though Lucy didn't care, as she crawled over and sat herself in Cecil's lap. Cecil stroked her hair, and planted a kiss on the top of her head.
She giggled and squirmed happily.
"Daddy loves you," he murmured to her.
"I love you too, Daddy," she said.
Monty grimaced. Did either of them hear themselves? He couldn't imagine ever calling Cecil that. At least, not without a gun held to his head.
He tried not to think about it too much, though, and instead focused on the scenery. He watched as a squirrel scampered up a tree, chattering at them as it went.
He had to admit that it was beautiful out here. The leaves on the trees were a vibrant mix of red, orange, and yellow, and the sun cast a warm light over everything.
If only he could enjoy it in any other situation.
He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been out in nature like this.
Had he ever been camping?
Agatha had certainly never taken him camping. She had always been too busy to take him anywhere. And when he was older, he hadn't wanted to spend time with her anyway. He had always preferred to stay home and read or play by himself.
"Reidy's gonna let me give him a makeover tonight," Lucy said, interrupting his thoughts. "Can I give you one too, Daddy?"
"Maybe not tonight," Cecil said. "Daddy doesn't feel very pretty today."
"You're always pretty, Daddy," Lucy insisted.
Cecil laughed. "Thank you, sweetheart. That's very kind of you."
"Can I have a makeover too?" Marcella asked, joining the conversation.
"Of course!" Lucy exclaimed. "You'll be my next client, Mommy."
Monty turned away as much as the harness and leash would allow. He wanted to be able to walk away, but he knew that Cecil would just reel him back in.
So instead, he focused on the leaves. He plucked one off of the ground and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger.
It was a bright yellow color, with orange veins running through it. The edges were curled and dry, and it crumbled easily when he pressed his fingers into it.
He let the pieces fall to the ground, where they were carried away by the breeze.
He felt a pang of sadness. He was like that leaf, carried away by a force he couldn't control.
He was a prisoner, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He looked over at the lake. It was a peaceful body of water, with a few ducks swimming on its surface. The sun glinted off the water, making it sparkle. The trees on the other side of the lake were a blur of red, orange, and yellow.
It was a perfect autumn day.
And Monty was miserable.
He wanted to go home.
He wanted to be in his own bed, in his own room, with his own books.
But most of all, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to be left in peace. He didn't want to have to pretend to be someone's child. He didn't want to have to pretend to be happy. He didn't want to have to pretend at all.
He could see Cecil out of the corner of his eye. Cecil was still stroking Lucy's hair, and she was still giggling happily. She looked so content, so happy to be in his lap. Like it was the only place she wanted to be.
For a moment, Monty felt a pang of envy. He wished he could be that happy. He wished he could have that kind of unconditional love, that kind of security.
But then he remembered that this love, this security, was all built on a lie. It was all built on a foundation of kidnapping and manipulation.
"Alright, my little chickadees," Cecil said, after a while. "We should probably start heading back. The sun will be setting soon."
"Aww," Lucy pouted. "Do we have to?"
"Yes, we do," Marcella said. "It's getting cold."
Lucy sighed, but she climbed off of Cecil's lap and started to help Marcella pack up the picnic basket.
Reid stood up and stretched. "I'm tired," he announced.
"You should be, after all that swinging," Cecil said, ruffling Reid's hair.
Monty just sat there, watching them.
He felt like an outsider, looking in on a scene that he didn't belong to. He was just a prop in their little family drama.
He stood up, the leash connected to the harness pulling taut.
"Let's go, sweetheart," Cecil said, giving the leash a gentle tug.
Monty followed, his head down, his shoulders slumped.
The walk back to the cabin was quiet. Monty couldn't bring himself to speak. He didn't know what to say, and even if he did, he wasn't sure if he wanted to say anything.
They reached the cabin as the sun was starting to set.
"Go get yourselves ready for bed," Cecil said, unlocking the front door. "I'll be up in a few minutes to tuck you in."
Lucy and Reid immediately scrambled up the stairs, their tiredness momentarily forgotten in their excitement for their makeover. But Monty lingered in the doorway, the leash still attached to the harness, a silent protest.
Cecil turned to him, a soft smile on his face. "What is it, kiddo?"
Monty didn't answer. He just stood there, looking at the ground.
Cecil sighed. "Alright," he said. "Let's get this thing off of you."
He walked over to Monty and began to unbuckle the harness. He removed the leash and coiled it up, setting it on a table.
"Did you want to talk about earlier?" Cecil asked, placing his hands on Monty's shoulders.
"No," Monty muttered, staring at his shoes.
"Okay. Why not?" Cecil pressed.
"Because there's nothing to talk about."
"Sure there is," Cecil said. "You were upset with me. I think that's worth talking about."
"I wasn't upset with you," Monty said, though it was a lie. He was still upset.
"No? Then who were you upset with?" Cecil asked, his tone gentle.
"Myself," Monty whispered. It was partially true. He was upset with himself for being so weak, for not fighting harder, for admiring his idol so much in the first place.
He could still remember the day at the department store, the way Cecil's smile had made him feel, the way he'd been so kind to him. It made him sick to his stomach now, to think of how easily he'd been fooled.
Cecil wrapped his arms around Monty, pulling him into a hug. Monty stiffened, but Cecil didn't seem to notice. He just held him, stroking his hair, and humming a tuneless melody.
"Oh, Monty," Cecil murmured. "You're so hard on yourself."
Monty didn't respond. He just stood there, letting Cecil hug him.
He didn't want to be hugged. He didn't want to be touched.
But he didn't have a choice.
"I love you, tesoro," Cecil whispered. "I love you so much."
Monty didn't say anything. He couldn't. His throat was tight and his heart was pounding. He felt like he was going to cry.
Cecil released him and stepped back. He smiled down at him, a look of infinite tenderness on his face. "Go on, go get ready for bed," he said. "I'll be up in a few minutes to tuck you in."
Monty nodded numbly and started up the stairs.
At least Cecil was starting to trust him to do things on his own.
Maybe if he could just keep playing along, maybe he could get out of this. Maybe he could find a way to escape.
He'd just have to be patient. He'd just have to wait for his chance. He'd just have to play along.
Ok so this is a semi-new story. I'm using my OC Cecil from my @pineconepie blog, but this is more of just an AU, since on my other blog, he has no other "kids", nor a wife. Another difference is this story is set in the mid to late 1940s. Cecil will also get a bit more cruel in this story, since this is more whump-focused.
This was something I did on a whim and I want to continue it, but any anon asks, questions, comments, or reblogs would be very helpful and encouraging!
Here's a little Cecil art commission I had done, if anyone is curious what he looks like! <3
CW: Parental whumper, yandere whumper, mentions of asylums, multiple whumpers(?), implied multiple whumpees, kidnapping, drugging, implied trauma, implied mental illness, stalking, mentioned death, mild infantilization (it will get much worse), implied ableism, straight couple </3
Word count: 5k
...
Monty was pretty sure he was the unluckiest person alive.
Okay, well that was definitely an overstatement, but he truly felt like it sometimes.
He thought he was a decent person. Maybe even a good person.
So why did everything always go wrong for him?
His parents died when he was young; his mother from illness, and his father from a car accident.
After that, Monty's Aunt Agatha raised him. She was very strict and judgmental, but Monty dealt with it the best he could.
He didn't want to be a burden to his aunt. He knew she hadn't expected to have to raise a child at her age, so he never caused trouble.
Not on purpose, at least.
He always got in trouble for being different. The teachers called him disruptive when he fidgeted too much, his classmates picked on him for being so quiet and anxious, and Agatha was always frustrated with him for not understanding things. He tried to be good, but there was always something.
That was his life in a nutshell. Something was always going wrong, no matter what he did.
What was worse? He was an adult now, so he didn't even have the excuse of being a kid anymore.
Just last week, he'd tried to get a job at the newspaper. He'd thought, perhaps naively, that working with words would be a good fit for him. He liked books. He liked reading.
But the interview had been a disaster. The man interviewing him had spoken too quickly, and Monty couldn't keep up. His mind had gone blank, and he'd just sat there, stammering like an idiot while the interviewer tried not to look annoyed.
And now Monty was following his aunt around the department store, dragging his feet.
"Walk faster, Montgomery," Agatha said, not even looking back at him. "I haven't got all day to wait for you to catch up."
"I'm sorry." Monty was about to quicken his pace, when he noticed the cutest trench coat, and got distracted, as per usual.
Agatha looked back. "That's a women's coat, Montgomery."
"It's cute, though," he replied. "And the shoulders are broad."
His aunt sighed. "It's not for you. Come along."
Monty sighed to himself. "Yes, ma'am."
They continued through the store, Monty trailing a few steps behind, his gaze drifting from one display to the next.
"Are you listening to me?"
"Yes, Aunt Agatha."
"I said, we need to get a tie for your cousin's wedding. I can't believe you don't have one."
"I've never really went to any event that requires a tie."
"And I suppose you're not going to many now, either, are you? You can't even hold down a job at the newspaper."
Monty's shoulders slumped. "I tried."
"I know you did, dear. But you need to try harder." She looked at him over her shoulder, her expression softening slightly. "It's just... the world isn't kind to people who are... different. You have to be tougher."
Oh, he tried. For twenty-one whole years, he tried.
He looked away, feeling tears sting his eyes.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"Don't cry, dear. It's nothing to cry about."
But it was. To Monty, it was the biggest thing to cry about.
He'd been trying his entire life to be something he wasn't, and it was exhausting.
Agatha led him to the men's section, and Monty's eyes widened at the sheer variety of ties. There were stripes and polka dots, solids and patterns, in every color imaginable.
He felt like a kid in a candy store, and he couldn't help but reach out and touch a silk tie with a vibrant paisley design.
"That's a bit flashy, don't you think?" Agatha said, her tone disapproving.
"But it's so pretty," Monty breathed. "Like a stained glass window."
"Pick something more subtle, dear. And hurry up. We haven't got all day."
Monty sighed. "Yes, ma'am."
He scanned the rest of the ties, looking for something more subdued.
After two minutes of indecisively staring at the wide variety of ties, Agatha made a dramatic show of sighing and telling him she'd be in the kitchenware department.
He had to make a decision by himself, apparently.
The moment she left, Monty felt his heart begin to race, and he couldn't breathe right. He felt so alone in the large store. What if he made a bad decision and chose something Agatha would disapprove of?
His hand drifted to his mouth, and he began to bite his nails.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to be in his room, with the door closed, and the curtains drawn. That was the only time he truly felt safe.
No matter where he was, he always felt a sense of impending doom. Like something terrible was about to happen.
It was an anxiety that had been with him for as long as he could remember. A constant dread that followed him everywhere he went, unrelenting.
And now he was alone in the clothing department, with no idea what to do.
"I also have a bit of an episode when faced with so many options."
Monty startled at the unfamiliar voice behind him, turning to see who spoke.
It was a tall man, at least six-foot-two, with a warm smile that reached his brown eyes. He had slightly graying brown hair, and wore a well-tailored gray pinstripe suit. A quirky tie with a pattern of little frogs on lily pads was knotted at his collar.
"You nearly gave me a heart attack," Monty breathed, placing a hand over his racing heart.
The man chuckled. "My apologies. I wasn't trying to be sneaky." His eyes roamed over Monty, and Monty suddenly felt self-conscious about his appearance.
He wasn't exactly the pinnacle of fashion. He had a tattered flannel shirt that had seen better days, a pair of slacks with holes in the knees, and worn-out shoes.
This man, on the other hand, looked like he had just stepped out of a fashion magazine.
"Are you all right?" the man asked, his smile fading slightly. "You look a bit pale."
Monty took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
"I'm okay," he said. "I just get anxious easily." He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Um... I have to find a tie. For a wedding. And I don't know how to pick one." Monty blushed in embarrassment. He couldn't even choose a simple tie, like a toddler.
The man seemed amused by his confession.
"I think we have a similar sense of taste, with what you were eyeing before," the man said, his eyes drifting to the tie with the paisley design Monty was looking at earlier.
"I don't know if my aunt would like it very much, though. She told me to pick something subtle."
"Well, subtlety isn't exactly my specialty, if you can't tell from my suit," the man remarked.
Monty grinned a bit, looking at the man's attire again. "It looks really nice," he said, because it did.
The man had an air of elegance that Monty envied. Everything about him, from the way he held himself to the crisp lines of his suit, screamed confidence.
"You have a good eye. Thank you. Cecil Wallace." He extended a hand.
"Cecil Wallace? As in, the radio host?" Monty's eyes widened in disbelief.
"That's me." The man smiled again. "Have you listened to the show before?"
"Yes! I love your show! I thought your voice sounded familiar," Monty said, a little too excitedly.
He was starstruck. This was the man whose voice had been a comfort to him so many times.
Cecil wasn't like most radio hosts, or celebrities in general. He was outspoken about topics everyone else seemed scared to talk about.
It made Monty feel better, knowing at least someone in the world also felt outcast from society.
Monty had even written a letter to the show once, but he never thought he would meet the host in person, and at a department store of all places, especially one in Staten Island.
"I'm Monty," he said, shaking Cecil's extended hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Monty." He let go of Monty's hand, but not before giving it a gentle squeeze. "So," Cecil began, turning back to the ties. "Let's find you something for this wedding."
"Oh, you really don't have to," Monty insisted.
"Nonsense. I was going to pick out a tie for myself, anyway." He scanned the row of ties. "What's the dress code like?"
"I'm not sure, to be honest." Monty shrugged. "I don't know anything about weddings, or ties, or anything, really."
"Well, then." Cecil clapped his hands together. "We'll just have to play it by ear. Do you know the bride and groom's favorite colors?"
"Uh... I think the bride likes dark blue?" Monty wasn't really sure. He'd only met his cousin's fiancée once.
"That's a start," Cecil said, picking up a dark blue tie with silver swirls on it. "What do you think of this one?"
"I like it," Monty said, admiring the tie.
"Good." Cecil handed it to him. "Now, what about you? Do you have a favorite color?"
"Green. But, uh, like a mint green. Why?"
"Well, we should get something for you, too. Just for you. Not for a wedding." He then produced a tie with a delicate mint green floral pattern, and held it up to Monty's chest.
"I... I can't afford it."
"It'll be my treat," Cecil replied. "Consider it a thank-you gift. I don't get many fans in-person. You made my day a whole lot better, and I would love to do something to make yours better too."
"You would do that? But I didn't really do anything..."
"Of course you did! And I want to repay you in kind."
The offer was tempting. Monty couldn't remember the last time someone had been so kind to him. Especially someone who didn't expect anything in return.
And besides, the tie was beautiful. He couldn't resist.
"That... that sounds wonderful," he said, a blush rising to his cheeks. "Thank you."
"You're very welcome, Monty." Cecil smiled again, and this time Monty found himself smiling back.
When Monty found Agatha again, she was still in the kitchenware department. He walked over to her.
"Aunt Agatha, I'm ready."
She turned and looked at him. "About time." Then she noticed the white bag he held by the handle. "You bought it yourself?"
"Er, no. Someone bought it for me."
"A stranger bought you a tie?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes. He was just being nice." He considered telling her who bought them, but decided against it. He wanted to keep this little bit of kindness all to himself, for a while.
"Hmph. Well, let's see it."
Monty pulled out the dark blue tie.
"It's not as flashy as the other one, so that's good," Agatha said.
"He also bought me another one. Just for me." He pulled out the mint green floral tie.
"It's..." Agatha paused, her brows furrowing. "A bit... much."
"I love it," Monty said, putting the two ties back in the bag. "He has one with frogs."
"What?"
"Nevermind." Monty looked down at the floor, feeling stupid for mentioning it. "Are you ready to go?"
…
The entire drive back to his townhouse, Cecil thought about Monty.
Something about him stuck in Cecil's mind.
Perhaps it was the fact that he was so shy, or maybe it was because he seemed so young. Or perhaps it was something else entirely.
Maybe it was the way Monty spoke, with such hesitation, like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Or maybe it was the way he looked, with his messy black hair and big doe-eyes.
Or maybe it was how innocent he seemed, how he was so quick to trust a strange man buying him ties in a department store.
Whatever it was, Cecil knew one thing:
He needed to see Monty again.
When he arrived home, his wife greeted him. She always looked gorgeous, but today she wore a form-fitting satin red dress, and her hair was perfectly curled.
Marcella wrapped her arms around Cecil, and planted a kiss on his lips.
"Hello, love," Cecil said, resting his hands on Marcella's waist. "You look amazing." He kissed her again.
She returned his embrace eagerly, leaning into him. After they parted, she kept her arms around his neck.
"How was work?" Marcella asked.
"Good," Cecil answered. "I met a fan."
"Did you now?" Marcella raised an eyebrow.
"Yep." He nodded, smiling. "He's a sweet boy. Reminds me a bit of an abandoned puppy."
"You're always such a softie, Cecil," Marcella teased. "Don't tell me you want to adopt another one."
"I just have a soft spot for strays," he chuckled.
"So I've noticed. Let me know in advance if I need to get the vacation home ready."
"You're the best, darling."
…
After that day, a little less than a week ago, Monty listened to the radio more intensely.
Cecil's show was always a comfort to him. But now, it was different. Now he could put a face and a personality to the voice.
He could imagine Cecil in his fancy suits, with his quirky ties and his warm smile. It made the show feel more personal.
And even if Cecil would never meet or speak to him again, he could pretend, for a moment, that the host was talking just to him, in that charming and slightly strange way he had.
He could almost see the way Cecil would gesture as he spoke. How he'd raise his eyebrows. The way he'd tilt his head.
In those moments, Monty could believe that there was at least one person who would care about him, and that was enough.
But he knew it was a lie. Cecil had millions of listeners. Monty was just another one of them. A quick encounter at a department store. An act of kindness.
That was all it was. Nothing more.
He was getting ahead of himself. Imagining things that weren't there.
It was just like when he was a child. When he would get his hopes up for a father figure, only to get disappointed.
He had to stop. He had to be realistic.
He was just a boy from Staten Island, and Cecil was a rich and famous radio host.
They lived in two completely different worlds.
There was no way their paths would cross again.
…
Cecil learnt everything he could find about Monty. He was beyond thankful he had so many connections to so many people.
Monty's full name was Montgomery Trevor Weiss.
He was an orphan. Both parents dead.
He lived with his aunt, Agatha. A stern woman who seemed to care more about appearances than her nephew's wellbeing.
He was jobless. Not for a lack of trying, Cecil was sure. The world was a cruel place for those who were different.
The most heartbreaking piece of information was learning he had gone to multiple asylums when he was a teenager.
Cecil's blood boiled when he read that.
He knew what it was like in those places.
He knew because he spent half of his teenagehood in asylums, too. Mental scars weren't the only ones he had gotten from them.
Cecil wasn't even sure why Monty had been sent away, but he was sure it was the same reasons he was, because he didn't conform.
He couldn't help but think of how lonely he was in those times. How scared he was. And now, to know that Monty, a boy who reminded him so much of a younger version of himself, went through that too?
He wanted to tear things apart.
That afternoon, after the broadcast, Cecil didn't go home.
He had something he needed to do.
Cecil never really went to Staten Island unless he was after something specific. Even when he had met Monty, it was on one of Cecil's rare trips there, because he was just trying to seek out a specific department store he had never been to, to break the monotony of routine.
It was easy to find Monty.
Montgomery lived in a surprisingly decent home.
The house was large, with white brick and an arch above the doorway. It sat near the outskirts of Staten Island, surrounded by a garden.
He didn't make any moves once he saw Monty come out to the garden in his nightclothes. He didn't need to. It would be better to see what kind of a schedule Montgomery followed.
From his position across the street, Cecil could observe him undetected.
He could watch as the boy worked, picking some herbs and then heading back into his house.
After that, Monty spent a great deal of time reading, sometimes on his balcony, but mostly inside his bedroom. Eventually the boy went downstairs, had a small meal with Agatha, and then returned to his room, where he stayed for a long time, probably until bedtime.
It was an unusual life Montgomery lived.
Cecil would know, having watched it almost every day since that day he'd gotten Monty's address, waiting outside his residence each time.
One of the things he found odd was Monty's social life, or lack thereof.
In three whole days, he didn't seem to spend time with anyone outside the confines of his own home, not even acquaintances, much less friends.
The only human contact he normally had was with Agatha, and even then, their interactions seemed brief.
Did Monty want to be alone? Or was he only alone because no one else would have him?
Cecil suspected the latter. The more he watched, the more convinced he became that Monty was miserable with the life he lived.
On every Thursday, Monty would take a late-night walk to walk his dog to the park. It was the only time he really stuck to a routine when it came to leaving his house.
Cecil enjoyed watching him from his car, as Monty walked his little beagle and looked at the stars.
But it also concerned him. Sometimes he'd go out as late as midnight. Did Agatha even know he left?
And what if someone dangerous was lurking about? Monty seemed to be completely unaware of his surroundings, lost in thought. He was so vulnerable.
Tonight that happened.
A group of people, rowdy teens at youngest, approached Monty. They seemed to know, or at least recognize him.
"Weiss!" one of them shouted, and Monty flinched.
He immediately tugged on his beagle's leash, trying to walk faster, but it was no use. The group blocked his path.
"Where are you going, Weiss?" another one jeered. "Don't you want to talk to your old friends?"
Monty kept his head down, not saying a word. He was shaking like a leaf.
Cecil's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Every instinct screamed at him to get out of the car, to storm over there and put himself between Monty and those little monsters. But he waited. He needed to see how Monty handled it. He needed to know the full extent of the boy's helplessness.
"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" the first one said, stepping closer. He shoved Monty's shoulder.
The beagle started barking, lunging at the boy who had shoved Monty, but Monty held the leash tight.
The second boy laughed, slapping the first on the back. "Looks like your dog has more guts than you."
Monty's face flushed. He still didn't answer, just stood there, trembling, trying to tug the beagle back. Cecil could see the tears welling up in his eyes.
"Leave me alone," Monty whispered.
"What was that?" the first boy asked, leaning in closer. "I couldn't hear you."
"I said leave me alone," Monty repeated, a little louder.
"Or what?" the third boy finally spoke "You'll sic your little mutt on us?"
Monty looked around, probably in search for any other witnesses. His face paled, likely once he had realized they were completely alone.
The first boy suddenly shoved Monty hard, and Monty tripped and fell. His hands were still clutching the dog leash, but now they were tangled in it.
His glasses slipped off of his nose as well, and the first boy stomped on them.
The two boys laughed at him, sneering down at him. Monty was sobbing, his hands clawing at the grass, his face streaked with tears and snot.
Cecil couldn't watch this any longer. He was going to make sure these kids never messed with his boy again.
He stepped out of the car, and marched towards the group.
They hadn't noticed him yet. They were all focused on tormenting his boy.
Cecil reached down and picked up the glasses, slipping them inside his suit pocket.
"How about I push you into the dirt," Cecil said.
All of the kids turned to look at him, confusion on their faces. Monty had a hopeful gleam in his eyes.
"Who the hell are you?" the second one snapped. He stepped closer to Cecil, puffing out his chest.
"I'm the man who's going to break your damn jaw if you don't get out of here," Cecil glowered.
The third boy was the only one smart enough to look intimidated.
"I don't have time for this," the first boy scoffed. "Come on, guys, let's go."
The four boys walked away. Monty was still laying on the ground, crying.
He had never felt so utterly helpless in his life. No one had ever come to his defense before. His aunt would sometimes scold people who were mean to him, but it was always more about her embarrassment than his well-being.
"Thank you," Monty hiccuped, struggling to untangle his hands from the dog leash. "Oh, god, thank you!"
Cecil knelt down beside him. "Shh. It's all right." He reached out and began to untangle Monty's hands from the leash. "There we go."
Once his hands were free, Monty threw himself into Cecil's arms. He buried his face in Cecil's chest.
"Oh my goodness, Monty, it's okay." Cecil wrapped his arms around the smaller man, pulling him closer. He rested his chin on top of Monty's head, rubbing soothing circles into his back.
Cecil breathed in Monty's scent. It reminded him of something herbal but sweet, like tea with milk and honey.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" Cecil asked.
"No," Monty said, wiping at his tears. "Not physically. They ruined my glasses."
"May I see your face?"
Monty reluctantly pulled away, looking up at Cecil. His cheeks were wet with fresh tears, and he sniffled, his nose dripping snot.
Cecil gently took Monty's face in his hands, tilting it from side to side.
"No scrapes or cuts. That's good." He wiped some tears from Monty's cheeks with his thumb.
"Thank you," Monty whispered again. "I... I didn't know what to do."
Cecil had to physically hold himself back from picking Monty up and bringing him home with him then and there.
"That's okay. You're alright now." Cecil smiled at him. He took Monty's glasses from his pocket and examined them. "The lenses are fine, just the bridge is broken. I can have it fixed. Do you need something else to wear until then?"
"I have a spare." Monty was still shaking.
"Alright. Let's get you home, hm?" Cecil stood up, holding his hand out to Monty.
Monty took it, his dog sniffing Cecil's pant leg.
"Why are you here?" Monty asked. "It's... it's midnight, isn't it? And you don't live in Staten Island."
"I was in the neighborhood," Cecil lied smoothly. He had gotten very good at lying over the years. "And I saw you. Good thing I did, too."
"I don't know what I would have done without you," Monty admitted, his hand still clutching Cecil's.
"Neither do I," Cecil said, leading him back to the car. He opened the passenger door for Monty, letting him and his beagle both in. Then, Cecil went to the driver's side and got behind the wheel. "Alrighty, where do you live?" He already knew, of course. He just didn't want to make any more risks in exposing the fact he had been stalking this boy.
"Down on Delaney," Monty answered. "That way."
Cecil put the car into drive and began driving. "How did those boys know you? You don't seem like the type to mess around with punks like those."
"We... we went to school together," Monty explained. "Even though I was a lot older than them, they still picked on me. I thought graduating would make them mess with other people, but... I guess not."
"What were you doing out so late, anyway? It's dangerous normally, but especially around this time."
"I like the night air," Monty said softly. "It clears my head. I like the quiet."
Cecil nodded. "I understand. I'm a night owl, myself."
They got to his house, and Monty hesitated, looking back at Cecil.
"Thanks again," he said. "Maybe I'll... see you around?"
Cecil gave a knowing smile. "Oh, you'll definitely see me around. Sleep tight, Monty."
And oh did Cecil mean it.
He needed to make a call.
…
Despite Cecil's warning, Monty found himself walking Speck the next Thursday. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn't just stay cooped up in the house all the time, especially not with the anxiety that had been building since the attack.
He had to get out.
He took a different route this time, hoping to avoid any more trouble. He kept his head down and tried to make himself as small as possible.
Halfway through the park, Speck stopped to sniff a patch of grass. Monty looked up at the moon while he waited. It was a full moon tonight.
He heard a twig snap behind him, and he whipped around.
But it wasn't those boys. It wasn't Cecil either.
It was just a big burly man, dressed in black.
...which, now that he thought about it, that was suspicious, too. But he tried not to let his stare linger on the man, opting to look everywhere else instead.
To the left of the path, a black car was parked with its engine running, lights off.
Was someone watching him again? Maybe the boys came back?
He decided it was best to cut the walk short. He tugged on Speck's leash, trying to get him to move.
The beagle, however, was stubborn, and refused to budge from the interesting spot.
"Come on, Speck," Monty whispered, a little desperately.
The dog looked at him, then went back to sniffing.
Monty tried again, but the dog didn't listen.
"Speck, please," he begged.
Speck continued to ignore him. Monty felt a chill run down his spine. He could feel the man watching him. And then, suddenly, Speck started barking.
Monty's heart raced. The dog never barked, not unless something really bad was happening. He looked over his shoulder to see the man approaching him.
Monty yanked on Speck's leash, and the dog finally moved. He began walking away, but the man kept following. Monty picked up his pace.
The man kept following. Monty ran, pulling Speck along with him. He forgot how clumsy he was in that moment, until he tripped over his own feet, and fell to the ground.
His glasses fell off of his face again, and the leash slipped from his grip. He could hear Speck barking, and then a yelp.
"Speck!" Monty cried out. "Speck, come here!" Monty crawled to where his glasses lay. His vision was blurry without them, but he could make out the man.
The man reached into his coat and pulled out something. Monty's first and worst thought went to a gun or knife.
"Get away from me!" Monty shouted. "Help! Somebody help!"
No one came.
The man walked towards him, and Monty stumbled to his feet.
The man grabbed him by the arm. Monty screamed, but it was cut short as a cloth was pressed over his nose and mouth. A sickly sweet smell filled his senses.
The world went fuzzy at the edges, and then black.
…
Cecil waited at his front door, tapping his foot impatiently.
As soon as he saw the car pull up to the curb, he practically wrenched open the door.
The burly man got out of the driver's side, and opened the back door. He pulled out Monty, who was still unconscious, slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
The man walked up to the front door. "Here he is, Mr. Wallace," he said, handing Monty over to Cecil.
Cecil gathered Monty into his arms. He was so light, almost too light.
"Did you hurt him?" Cecil asked, his eyes narrowing. "Or the dog?"
The man shook his head. "No, sir. Just a bit of chloroform, then I injected him with a sedative to keep him out for the ride. The dog is also fine. He's in the back of the car."
Cecil nodded, a satisfied look on his face. "Good. Here's your payment." He handed the man a thick envelope.
"Thank you, Mr. Wallace. It was a pleasure doing business with you."
"I'll be in touch if I need anything else," Cecil said.
The man tipped his hat, then walked back to the car.
Cecil carried Monty inside, and closed the door behind him with his foot.
"I've got you, baby," he crooned into Monty's fluffy hair. "Daddy's got you now."
He laid him on the couch, draping a purple blanket over him.
"So you've acquired the puppy," an amused voice spoke from the hallway.
Cecil chuckled. "That I did. Isn't he just the cutest?" he gushed. "Look at those curls!"
Marcella took a long sip of her tea. "Lucy might be jealous that her spot is getting taken."
"I have enough love for all my children." He went to Monty's side, and brushed a stray curl from his forehead. "Isn't he just the sweetest thing?"
"Darling, you're smothering the boy before he's even awake."
"You're right," he sighed dramatically. "Where are the kids?"
"They're grumpy and barely awake."
"Really?"
"Don't act shocked. Not everyone stays awake until three in the morning like you. I made sure everyone's' bags were packed, though. Everything's already in the trunk."
"Oh how I'm smitten with you, Mrs. Wallace."
"And I you, Mr. Wallace."
He leaned over and kissed her. "Well then, I suppose it's time to get this show on the road."
How do you view Lawrence? As a bad man from the start or a vulnerable man that became the bad man.
A vulnerable man that became a bad man. I think his intentions are genuine, that he wants to protect those he loves, and views himself as their protector, but due to a lot of unresolved trauma in his life, he's developed a bit of a savior and superiority complex.
He doesn't believe he needs help, and that he's in the right, it's the rest of the world that is wrong. He still has enough common sense to keep those thoughts to himself, though.
Younger Lawrence was much more sensitive to criticism, and way more self aware.
Other than trauma alone, I'd say a lot of Lawrence's issues come from being praised and practically worshipped by thousands of people.
Okay, but imagine... Fem! Lawrence, ✨️the showgirl✨️
Fem! Lawrence sndksndkNSjwndjkd. She would 1000% be the showgirl. I imagine if she was accused of her crimes, she'd be like, "god forbid a woman does anything nowadays!"
Been a while since I posted on here, but I got this random thought:
Whumpee trying to out-freak Intimate Whumper.
They pick up on all the obsessive, creepy, raunchy comments Whumper says, and decides to try creeping them out in return with their own eerily graphic words, in hopes Whumper will be scared, disgusted, lose interest, or even have a moment of realization of how creepy they are.
But they don't.
In fact, Whumper is ecstatic, and maybe a little too excited.
A little writing of this under the cut!
Whumpee knows its stupid, but they've tried everything: begging, fighting, ignoring... maybe this could make Whumper see how fucked up this situation is. How fucked up they are.
Or, at the very least, Whumper would feel scared or disgusted in them.
So they wait for the next opportunity.
And by god, does it happen quickly.
"You don't know what you do to me," Whumper purrs, pressing Whumpee against the kitchen counter. Their voice comes out in its usual low drawl. "Sometimes I wish we could actually become one. Maybe if I take a bite riiiight here..." They tap Whumpee's throat gently, but there's nothing gentle about their gaze.
Whumpee swallows hard, and nearly looks away, but forces themself to be brave, reciting the words they practiced so hard for.
"Funny you say that," they try meeting their velvety tone, "I had a dream last night, where I peeled you open like a fruit. I split you down the middle and crawled inside. I've been getting a lot of dreams like that lately. I'd like to feel your organs from the inside. We'd be so close to each other."
To emphasize, they do a motion similar to Whumper's, trailing their hand down Whumper's stomach.
For a moment, Whumpee is sure this is it. That the look on Whumper's face is a moment of clarity, or at least some kind of mixture between surprise and disgust.
It doesn't last long.
A grin stretches across Whumper's face, so wide it seems bordering on manic. "Really?" They seem elated. "Do you mean that, darling?"
It definitely was not the reaction Whumpee was going for.
"Tell me more," Whumper continues, before Whumpee can get another word in. Whumper looks almost drunken. "What else would you do to me?"
NOTES: This was meant to be a 500 word commission but I got carried away since its been so long since I wrote for Rowan haha. Thank you to the commissioner!! I hopefully plan to write something with Rowan and Sawyer again soon haha
...
You had felt anxious the entire day. It wasn't a rare occurrence at all, but you still tried to hide it well. It was easy enough, plaster on a smile and crack jokes. Everything will be fine. If you just keep telling yourself that, then maybe it'll become true. You just have to keep being optimistic, surely.
When you hear the door open, you know its Rowan. He walks over, the kitchen sink is running while you stand there scrubbing away at dirty dishes.
He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest. You can smell his subtle cologne. Cedarwood and vanilla with just a touch of lemon.
"I missed you today, my heart." His lips are against the back of your head and you shut the water off.
You turn your face so he can kiss you, which he does. One thing you've noticed while dating is he loves kisses. On the lips, the cheek, forehead, wherever he could pepper them.
"How was work?" you ask him.
He rests his chin on the top of your head, swaying with you slightly in place. "Not busy, thankfully. But I'm so glad to be home now. How was it for you, dear?"
You take a shaky breath and he rubs up and down your arm gently. "It was okay."
"Just okay?"
"Yeah," you say. "There's this weird guy that's really clingy though, and he won't let me wash the dishes in peace."
"Well, whoever that creep may be... I'm sure they have nothing but good intentions, dearest," he says playfully. You smile and laugh, shaking your head as he grins into your hair. "I'll make dinner and finish the rest of these. You go relax, alright?" His hands fall away from your hips and he gently ushers you out of the kitchen.
You think that should cause the anxiety to go away, but it doesn't.
The rest of the day goes smoothly enough. The two of you watch TV together and eat the meal he's prepared. Rowan is always cleaning something or organizing things, keeping up the house.
Around almost midnight you start getting tired and cuddle in bed with him. His fingers play through your hair as you both relax.
That should calm the last dregs of anxiety right?
But no. It still remains.
He pulls you against him in bed, your back pressed to his front. He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck.
Now that you're left to your thoughts, though, the feeling seems like it's consuming you again. Like it has a tight hold on your brain.
Next thing you know, you're clutching your beating heart and struggling to take in a deep breath. Everything around you blurs except for those few feet around you, tunnel vision setting in. Your eyes dart around as if to search for an escape from your mind.
His arms come around you, holding your head. They're careful and gentle, loving.
You turn to face him, looking up at Rowan. His bright eyes bore into yours.
"It's just me, love," he quietly coos. His hand is rubbing up and down along your chest while the other holds the back of your head. You try to focus on your breathing while looking up at him. "Copy me," he instructs you.
And you do. He slowly takes in a deep breath and then blows out through his mouth before doing it again. You feel your panic slowly ebb away into pure anxiety again. Tears well in your eyes, but you aggressively try wiping them away.
Rowan grabs your wrist and guides it down between your bodies. "You'll hurt your sweet face doing that." His voice is barely above a whisper.
You look away from him with shame.
He guides you to face him again, kissing your closed eyelids. His thumb glides across your cheekbones and wipes the tears that fall away. "Don't ever feel embarrassed about having an attack."
With a small nod you feel him kiss your cheeks.
"You worry me," he continues, "I don't want you to ever feel too afraid to talk to me when things get overwhelming for you, okay? It terrifies me when you don't talk to me. It makes me start thinking of worst case scenarios. Like... like you got diagnosed with something awful, someone hurt you, or—or you're planning on leaving me—"
Your face crumples and you kiss him. It feels wet between the two of you as you both begin crying together.
"I'd never leave you!" Your hands grab the front of his shirt.
He smiles through tears, expression as adoring as ever still. "I just... cherish you so much. If something were to happen to you..." His expression darkens just at the thought. "I need you. And I want you to need me."
You let him kiss away your tears, then bury your face in his chest. "I'm just anxious. There isn't any specific reason for it... it just builds up, I guess."
Rowan hums. "So no one hurt you? You didn't receive any bad news, or..."
You shake your head. "No. And even if I was in trouble, you'd be the first person I go running to."
This seems to appease him greatly. You feel his nose gently trace against your hairline. "Good. Even if you murdered someone and wanted help hiding the body, you better come to me, understood?"
A laugh bubbles out from you. You push his shoulder and he grins with joy.
"There's that lovely smile." He grips your hands. "Never be afraid to tell me you're anxious, please. I know I sometimes seem like an old-fashioned stick in the mud, but I'd never judge you for anything ever, including anxiety." His thumbs rub across your knuckles and he presses a kiss to each of them.
You can't help smiling. "You're so kissy."
"Only for you, sweetheart. Now close your eyes. I'm not going anywhere." He holds you again, only allowing himself to fall asleep when he hears your soft snores.
WARNINGS/TAGS: Paparazzi, Met Gala, Lawrence and Charlotte are engaged
WORD COUNT: 570
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was a commission! Thank you! <3
...
The flashbulbs were already strobing when the limousine pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Museum. As if triggered by its arrival, the reporters all stopped to watch, cameras ready. The vehicle slowly glided along the curb and stopped. A moment later a doorman rushed over and pulled the passenger door open.
Lawrence stepped from the car, standing tall and regal in his classic tuxedo and tails. Cameras immediately clicked; video cameras zoomed in close. He didn't look any of the cameras in the eye, instead immediately turning to hold a hand out towards the interior of the car.
Charlotte emerged just a moment later, her white-gloved hand grasping his as he helped her out of the back seat. She wore an elegant, shimmering red column dress that plunged into a deep V at the back. It was covered by a chiffon wrap embroidered with pearls. On her neck, a simple choker necklace with "Mrs. Cross" hanging from the chain, and a diamond ring on her finger.
Instantly the noise around them intensified ten-fold as dozens of journalists began shouting their questions all at once. Lawrence looked towards them with an easy, practiced smile. Charlotte clung to his arm and leaned against him while flashing her own charming smirk.
Reporters rushed up, shoving microphones and digital recorders into their faces as they continued forward towards the museum.
"How long have you been together?" one journalist shouted. "Are you two getting married?"
Lawrence only smiled and waved, then led Charlotte through the crowd. Reporters swarmed around them like angry bees as more joined in to press them for statements.
"Yes," Charlotte answered calmly without missing a beat. "We are indeed getting married." Her smile never faltered as she spoke confidently into the sea of microphones thrust at her face. "Lawrence proposed to me yesterday morning."
The reporters erupted into another barrage of questions. They pushed closer, ignoring each other completely in hopes of catching even just one word from either celebrity.
Lawrence smugly looked their way, then they continued their walk towards the museum.
Inside the museum, the chaos fell away in an instant. There were still other famous people about, but most were clustered together and speaking quietly, enjoying themselves without being bothered. A string quartet played soothing classical music. Lawrence sighed and wrapped an arm around Charlotte's waist.
"I wonder how quickly that video will hit the news," Lawrence mused aloud.
"Oh no doubt they'll put it up right away." She pulled out her phone from within her purse to check social media feeds. Sure enough, several videos featuring their walk up had already surfaced.
"How does it feel knowing you've caused millions of hearts to break?" Lawrence teased softly.
Charlotte rolled her eyes as she scrolled through feeds, seeing everyone lose their minds over "Mrs. Cross."
"Already number one in trending hashtags."
"Hmm. Imagine what headlines we'll get when actually walking down the aisle." He chuckled at the idea. "I can see it now—The World Mourns Loss Of Most Eligible Bachelor And Bachelorette! All Hope Lost!"
"I don't even think you're being dramatic this time. I can't even open Twitter or Instagram. It keeps crashing." Charlotte chuckled and showed him the feed failing to load on her phone.
Lawrence smiled. "See? Proof positive! Everyone loves us." He took her hand and kissed it tenderly. Then he straightened and said, "Now, let's go eat some hors d'oeuvres until dinner arrives!"
WARNINGS/TAGS: Reader discharged from military, second person POV, Lawrence is reader's dad, a bit of hurt/comfort and fluff
WORD COUNT: 900
...
Lawrence paces back and forth in the airport anxiously, checking the arrival boards every two seconds. His heart is pounding in his chest and his legs feel wobbly.
There are people swarming all around, dragging luggage or greeting loved ones, but all he can see are those arrival boards. The board suddenly flicks over. "Arriving" becomes "Arrived," and Lawrence almost cries.
He sprints off to the gate where his kid will be pouring out in a crowd of people. He scans over them frantically as they pass by one by one, most of them rolling suitcases behind them.
Then, in the far back, he sees you. You look exhausted with a distant expression on your face and bags under your eyes. When you lock eyes, yours widen. Your name leaves his lips in a sob, and he pushes through the people still pouring out until he reaches you.
He pulls you close in a hug so tight it knocks the breath out of your lungs. You laugh in his ear as tears start flowing from both of you. He pulls away briefly to look into your eyes and scan over your face for any changes or scars, making sure everything was right. Everything looked alright to him, other than your tired eyes.
After his evaluation, you pull him back into the embrace and bury your head in the crook of his neck. "I'm home," you say into the collar of his dress shirt.
Lawrence sniffs. "You're home." He hugs you tighter and longer.
Your heart feels fit to burst and all the stressors that weighed down your shoulders seemed to fall away. The tension and exhaustion leave you body in an instant. As you breathe in his cologne mixed with a more familiar scent of vanilla, a deep sense of safety and protection wraps around you like a blanket. It was always hard being so far away from him. No matter how many letters, emails, or calls passed between the two of you, nothing compared to having him physically there with you
As much as you didn't want to leave the hug, you needed to breathe, so you slowly pull away from his arms.
Lawrence releases you slowly, lingering, hesitant to let go. As soon as you fully step back from each other, he holds your hands in his and looks into your eyes, his own tearful and sparkling. "You really are back home," he murmurs, smiling brightly.
Noticing some people staring, you clear your throat. "Can we get out of here? I've had enough airports for one lifetime."
"Oh, of course, kiddo!" He grabs the bag off of your back. You try to resist. "No, no! Please! Allow me!" Lawrence chuckles at the light struggle. His hand slips into yours, warm, as you walk out to his car together. He keeps stealing glances at you as you walk. Your hand is calloused, roughed up and scarred from your work overseas. Lawrence doesn't mind this at all, just happy to have you back in his care.
"I missed you," you murmur to him, swinging your hands back and forth.
"Not as much as I did!" he replies quickly. He swings your hand higher as if proving a point.
On the drive home, he mostly rambles about everything that has happened while you were gone, which hasn't been much. It's just been him alone in that big house, only leaving occasionally for work purposes or for the few people he actually considers friends.
You nod along, listening intently to his words and taking them in. You'd forgotten what his voice sounded like after so long without hearing it in person.
When you get home, you notice it hasn't changed a bit. He's grabbing all of your luggage before you can even protest, using all his strength to lug everything inside. Once it's in the foyer, he wraps you in another long embrace. "I'm never letting you go ever again," he says into the top of your head.
There's a pause, before you pull away. "Well, I guess you won't have to worry about the military again. I got discharged. Honorably."
He gasps. "Huh?" Fear fills his eyes. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?!" Once again, he starts checking you over.
You nervously laugh. "No, no. Um. I don't really wanna talk about it, but I'm fine."
"No, hey, sweetie—" His grip on your upper arms tighten as he looks you in your eyes. "I'm here for you, y'know. Always will be. I wanna help you through anything. No matter how old you get, you'll always be my baby." He smiles kindly at you, leaning in and kissing your forehead.
"I know, I just..." You let out a shaky breath and nod. "I will tell you about it eventually, just... not now." He nods, gently releasing his grip on your arms and giving you a gentle smile.
"Well, how about I order take-out? We could celebrate! What are you hungry for? And how much? I'll order a million burgers if that's what your heart desires. I bet you miss normal food, yeah?"
"Wow, you offering take-out? This is a rare experience."
"Well, I was originally gonna use it to bribe you into quitting the military, but now I just want to treat you to something tasty. And then movie night! How does that sound, munchkin?" Lawrence boops your nose, grinning.
"Weeell... if you insist." Even under said circumstances, you feel glad to be home.
WARNINGS/TAGS: Food cravings, pregnancy, massages, flirting (depends how you want to perceive them), playful bickering
WORD COUNT: 1.7k
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Lawrence taking care of a pregnant Charlotte! This was another commission! Charlotte and Lawrence can either be interpreted as intimate besties or something more.
...
"Lawrence, do you seriously need to buy five different types of bread?" Charlotte sighed. "I don't even like banana bread."
"And you're insane for that, by the way," Lawrence chuckled, unpacking all the groceries. "But for your information, I got a bunch of stuff you don't normally like because all your cravings have been things you normally hate. I'm just preparing for the inevitable."
She huffed, but there was no heat behind it. "Had no idea you memorized all my likes and dislikes."
"It's easy to. Most foods I like, you tend to dislike," he snorted. "Pickles, mustard, chili... probably every single good thing in this world." He dodged as she swatted at him. "Now go sit back down, I can handle getting some groceries put away. You hate doing physical labor, don't tell me you suddenly found the joy in it after being seven months pregnant."
Charlotte sighed, sitting on the barstool. "I hate this. My ankles hurt, my feet hurt, my back hurts..."
He frowned sympathetically. "I know, Char. But that's why your savior is here, and he's gonna give you a nice warm bath and a five-star massage."
"My savior? Where is he?" Charlotte managed to tease.
Lawrence shot her a playful glare. "Watch it, or I might not be so gracious as to offer my amazing service."
"I think you're just so egotistical, you want me to worship the ground you walk on for your services."
"Saying that as if you wouldn't be exactly the same, if our roles were reversed."
She chuckled. "I'm now more amused at the thought of you being pregnant. You couldn't even survive that period cramp simulator. You actually cried."
"Perhaps I cried because I realized how much pain some women have to go through every month."
"Was that you being empathetic, or are you just a baby?" she challenged with a teasing grin.
"You're walking a thin line tonight," Lawrence snorted. He frowned when she seethed in pain. "What's wrong? What hurts?" He cupped her shoulder, suddenly nervous when looking her over. "Talk to me, love. Are you alright?"
"I think she's going to be an Olympic swimmer or something," she muttered. "All she does is kick around... right when I try to relax."
Lawrence gently pressed his hand against the swell of her belly. He gave a tiny smile at feeling kicks against his palm. "Don't be too hard on your mommy, kiddo, you're stressing her out. She already has to handle me right now, and that's bad enough."
"It's exhausting having to be a mother to two brats," she teased, straining a weak smile.
"Hey, Sadie told me brat is a good thing nowadays, so I'll take that as a compliment."
Charlotte laughed at that. She then winced again. "Can we go ahead and get that bath ready?" she asked. "It'd feel so nice if it relieved any stress..."
"Of course, darling," Lawrence smiled. "Let me go turn the water on, okay?" He pressed a loving kiss to her cheek before darting up the stairs into her master bathroom, quickly getting everything set up for her to relax. After a few minutes, he stepped back downstairs to find her curled up on the sofa. "C'mon, love, everything's all ready for you, just the way you like it."
"...help me upstairs," she mumbled. "My feet are killing me."
His gaze softened. He wrapped one arm around her waist, making sure she could use him to lean on. Charlotte clung onto his forearm as they shuffled slowly up the staircase and to her bedroom.
"Want help getting undressed, too?" Lawrence laughed when she narrowed her eyes at him. "Not me being a perv, I promise! You've had a difficult time bending over lately, so I figured I'd offer..."
She sighed. "Please."
He helped her take off her leggings first, before pulling off her shirt. "There we go," he grinned. He lifted her up carefully, bringing her into the bathroom and placing her in the tub. "Do you want candles, too?"
Charlotte smiled warmly. "You know what I like."
"Oh, trust me, I do," Lawrence chuckled. He placed a couple around the rim of the tub, lighting them. "The best part about us is we've known each other for so long we always know how to please each other."
"That is true," she agreed with a sigh. The water seemed to be relaxing her.
"I'm gonna go ahead and head back downstairs to cook dinner, alright? Holler if you need anything from me, I'll run right up."
She nodded with a small smile.
He turned down the lights slightly until it was at her usual preferred brightness level.
...
Thirty minutes later, after Charlotte had enjoyed a warm soak, and Lawrence had gotten all the groceries put away (along with having dinner cooked and halfway through the dishes), Charlotte was finally stepping down the stairs.
"Char, I told you to holler when you needed me," he lightly scolded.
"I'm barely on my third trimester. I can still handle a little walk down the stairs," she defended. She settled in her favorite seat in the living room, the armchair that was comfy beyond belief. "What's for dinner?"
"Mushroom rice pilaf and salmon," Lawrence answered, bringing her a plate. He offered some silverware, which she gratefully took. "I know you aren't a huge fan of seafood, but salmon is really good for you, chalked with omega-three fatty acids."
"You and your health craze," she scoffed, though not maliciously. She took a bite, savoring the flavor. "You should have been a nutritionist or something, instead of an actor."
"Then you'd be way out of my league," Lawrence chuckled.
"As if I'm not already?" She bit into the salmon once again. "This is surprisingly good. I usually hate fish... but this seems to be hitting the spot, thank you."
His expression melted into relief. "Really? That's good to hear," he hummed. "After you're done eating, I can give you that massage. I stocked up on those essential oils you said smelled nice a couple weeks ago, so we have a variety."
"I hope these massages won't stop after I've had the baby," Charlotte murmured with a smile.
"Of course not. I enjoy giving them. Speaking of, how long of maternity leave do you get?" He sat down on the couch across from her, sipping on some wine.
"I have more than enough money to take as much time as I want off or even retire, but I think only two weeks was in the contract I signed." She sighed, stirring her food around in thought.
Lawrence gasped. "Seriously? Only two weeks? What kinda bullshit is that?!"
"The corporate kind."
His grip tightened on his wine glass. "You can't tell me you're not gonna fight for more than that!"
"Oh, I will. And even if they don't relent, I'll still take at least three months off."
He felt himself relax slightly. "Good..." he sighed. "If not, I'll show up there personally and argue with those assholes myself." He stood up, grabbing the now empty plate from her hands. "And now let's get you upstairs and nice and comfortable again." After letting her wrap around his forearm again, he helped her carefully up the stairs and to her bed. "How do you wanna lay?"
"On my side. Easier to breathe when she's not crushing my lungs," she snorted.
Once she laid flat, Lawrence grabbed a few pillows to stuff underneath her head, legs, and beneath her stomach. "There we go," he grinned. "Ready?" He started by massaging her calves, kneading out any knots.
"You could easily start your own spa with these amazing massages," Charlotte mused. "I would never go to another place in my life."
Lawrence smiled warmly at that. "I only give them to people who I think deserve it." He reached up to her thighs now, repeating similar actions of rubbing away tension.
"People you think deserve it, hm? Anyone else who has received your magic touch?"
"Jealous?" Lawrence teased.
"You want me to be jealous. I think that helps fill your ego."
"It does," he agreed. "What can I say? I like to see you fawning over me."
She chuckled, groaning softly when he rubbed her hips next. "That feels nice..." Charlotte breathed out. Her eyes were half-lidded in contentment.
"Yeah?" Lawrence hummed. "That's good to hear... do you just want me to focus here for a bit, then?"
"...if you don't mind."
"I'm all yours tonight, Char," he promised. "Whatever you want me to do, I'm doing it."
"Is this also boosting your ego? Knowing I'm essentially helpless without you right now?" She ran a hand through his hair, not bothering to hide her amusement when he pressed into the touch.
"It makes me feel appreciated," he admitted. He kissed the inside of her palm, still continuing his hip massage.
Charlotte cupped his cheek, guiding his gaze to meet hers. "I appreciate you, darling. Even if my hormones are making me short-fused with you sometimes, I'd be lost without you. I always feel better when you're around. You make my day. And when I'm fully recovered and can do certain things again, I'll pamper you back. I'll pay you back every single night that you took care of me, I promise."
"I'm not doing this to make you owe me. Contrary to popular belief, I can be selfless sometimes."
"I know you can," she smiled.
"If I ever got pregnant, you'd do the same for me, right?" He worked his way up to her shoulders.
"Oh, how amusing you being the one carrying a child around instead of me."
"I'd look damn good while doing it," Lawrence smirked.
"I agree," Charlotte chuckled. "But yes, I'd treat you just as kindly and help with any discomforts you'd have. And then I'd make fun of all your cravings that you gave me hell for."
"Yeah, I definitely see you doing that," he laughed.
Charlotte yawned, shifting positions, signalling Lawrence to stop. "I think I'm ready for bed. Are you joining me?"
"I'll go get an extra blanket, you always hog the covers."
"And sometimes you snore, so I suppose this would make us even."
He playfully glared at her, though there was no real heat behind it.
WARNINGS/TAGS: NSFW, waxplay/sensation play, submissive Lawrence/dominant Rowan friends with benefits(?), small age difference (10-ish years), light degradation and praise, fingering, anal sex, blindfolding, light bondage, pet names, CCE and FBM AU/crossover
WORD COUNT: 2.5k
...
"Thanks for letting me stay here for a bit," Lawrence said, putting his things down.
While the kids were being watched by a nanny, he decided to crash with Rowan since he was traveling for work. This also gave Lawrence a chance to catch up with one of his best friends, given how busy his schedule had been lately. It didn't take much convincing. In fact, Rowan had insisted upon it.
Rowan laughed as he opened his fridge and pulled out a glass of wine. "Not like it's an imposition on me. Hell, you know how I love to show off my new place whenever possible." He poured two glasses half-full, handing the older man one. "I hope you like Merlot."
"Oh yes, thank you," Lawrence answered, taking the offered cup gratefully before sitting down next to the fireplace and watching the flames dance around while thinking about Marshall. The poor thing, always so sensitive about every little thing.
He was anxious leaving him alone for this long even though Marshall insisted everything would be alright.
Noticing his friend's worried expression, Rowan took a swig of the rest of his wine, placing it on the coffee table.
"What's going through your mind?" Rowan asked gently, touching the other's thigh.
Lawrence tensed up briefly at the contact, setting down his own unfinished glass of wine. With a smile on his face, he turned his attention back to Rowan. "Nothing really. Just missing the kids. I'll probably call later tonight, make sure they're doing all right." But despite those reassuring words, Lawrence's frown deepened.
Rowan twirled a finger through Lawrence's hair, barely suppressing a grin when the blond leaned into his hand. "I know you miss them very much, but maybe you should try to not worry about them for a while, they'll be okay without you for a few days. You finally have time to yourself. You can relieve some tension..." His voice got husky, more seductive.
"I'm not a sex god anymore," Lawrence chuckled. "My stamina isn't what it used to be."
That got a laugh out of Rowan. "When is the last time you had sex?"
Lawrence thought about it. God, when was the last time he had sex? "Damn, no clue. Maybe two years ago? One-night stand, I think. Though with my hand, probably a week ago."
Rowan rolled his eyes fondly. "How the mighty fall. You were the life of every party, I remember you had the libido of a rabbit in heat. What happened?"
The actor smiled. "Got older, got less free-time, prioritized different things...but now, talking about it, I kinda miss the thrill." He laid his hands on Rowan's hips, pulling him close. "Care to help me re-live the glory days for tonight?"
Without saying anything, Rowan lifted the older man's chin up and pressed their mouths together in a gentle kiss, which Lawrence quickly reciprocated.
He ground his hips against Rowan needily, earning him an approving rumble.
After several minutes of this heated makeout session, both men parted, panting heavily and looking flushed with arousal.
Rowan held Lawrence's face in his hands. "Would you like to take this to the bedroom, darling?"
"Absolutely," Lawrence answered breathlessly, his pupils wide with lust. He let Rowan lead him into his room by the waist. He took notice of the dim lighting and large king-sized bed with satin sheets. Everything looked clean and spotless. "Did you prepare ahead?" Lawrence said between kisses as Rowan guided him towards the bed.
"Well, I hoped that tonight might turn out like this," Rowan admitted, nibbling along the nape of Lawrence's neck.
Lawrence groaned appreciatively. "Never knew you had this side to you, Ro," he purred. "It's definitely sexy."
Rowan bit down lightly. "Mmm, well I do aim to please. And besides, I've never been shy about how hot I find you." He tugged off Lawrence's shirt then worked on removing his own belt.
Once naked from the waist down, he pushed Lawrence onto the soft mattress and crawled on top of him before capturing his lips again. This time the kiss became rougher, full of unbridled desire as they ground themselves against each other.
"I really had no clue you were so good at taking the initiative," Lawrence murmured.
"I'm a switch, I just prefer being dominant," Rowan answered with another nip, sucking at Lawrence's neck and leaving small bruises behind. "How do you feel about sensation play?" He ran his nails gently up Lawrence's chest, who shuddered at the feeling.
"Honestly, I'm into most things," Lawrence answered. "But I have to add, I'm not as flexible as I used to be, my knees aren't what they were twenty years ago."
"So nothing acrobatic, noted," Rowan said with a wink. "Any other requests or limitations while we're still in our right minds?"
"Aside from being mindful of the joints, I'm open-minded about kinks and whatever you wanna try," Lawrence replied. "Honestly, it's been so long since I've done anything that even missionary is exciting."
"Well, first things first..." Rowan grabbed two pairs of handcuffs he kept hidden away from sight. He cuffed his partner to the headboard with practiced ease, making sure not to restrict circulation too much. Then, reaching back under his pillow for supplies, produced a silk blindfold which he fastened over the blond man's eyes.
"I don't know if I should be scared or aroused seeing how prepared you are," Lawrence quipped. But his voice wavered in anticipation nonetheless.
He ran his fingers through Lawrence's hair, giving a gentle tug. "I think there's something thrilling in feeling both. But just for precautionary measures, we should have a safe-word."
"I'll go with the cliché traffic light system," Lawrence muttered, letting out a soft noise as Rowan pulled his hair again. "What all are you gonna do to me, handsome?" Lawrence asked with a smile as he struggled slightly against the cuffs, testing their strength.
"I'll use you until your mind breaks and your throat grows sore from screaming my name, among other plans." Rowan kissed the older man's Adam's apple, loving how he squirmed beneath his touch. "You really have no idea what effect you have on me," he whispered. He traveled down until he reached Lawrence's lower belly, trailing his tongue around the patch of golden hairs before stopping just before reaching his straining cock. "Gorgeous." He gave it an experimental lick and felt the man above him twitch involuntarily.
"Fffffuck," Lawrence grunted.
"My goodness, you really are pent up," Rowan laughed. He continued teasing the base and perineum with languid strokes, avoiding direct contact to Lawrence's dripping tip.
"You... evil fucker," Lawrence practically whined.
Rowan hummed against his shaft and lapped at the underside, dragging a needy cry out of Lawrence's lips.
"A-ah...fuck, fuck!" His hips buckled fruitlessly, desperately trying to gain more stimulation.
"There there..." Rowan cooed as he removed himself completely. He returned mere seconds later after grabbing something else from within his nightstand drawer; the pop of a cap being opened resounded across the room.
"What're you grabbing this time?" Lawrence rasped out. "Is that lube?"
Rowan didn't answer verbally. Instead he poured a generous amount to his fingers, then teased around Lawrence's entrance, massaging lightly, but never pressing inwards yet. "Color?" he asked.
"Green, green, holy shit," Lawrence breathed.
Smirking, Rowan proceeded further. With one digit already slicked up, he began applying light pressure while circling around, watching intently as his prey writhed beneath him.
A few more prodding and finally, ever so slowly, he inserted a single finger into his tight passage and watched Lawrence struggle against his restraints once again, mewling softly under such overwhelming pleasure.
"I remember you were always on the news for being a slut," Rowan murmured, though he sounded adoring the entire time. "Either you'd fuck the richest, most well known celebrities, or you'd let them fuck you. The biggest one was when you slept with a married husband and wife both, and neither of them knew you screwed their partner behind their back. Baffling to think you ever could quit that lifestyle for a day, let alone multiple years."
"Fuck..." Lawrence stammered out. "That was... another time... entirely."
Rowan hummed, licking another stripe up his leaking cock. "Did you enjoy living so licentiously? Do you miss it?"
Even though he couldn't see Lawrence's eyes, he could see a flushed smile. "How can I miss it when you're about to rock my fucking world? Feels like being celibate the past two years is making this even better. Either that, or you're just really good with your mouth and fingers. Here I thought you were a virgin."
Rowan bit Lawrence's inner thigh for that comment, earning a lewd moan from him. "Are you into punishments or is this just part of your usual act?" he growled.
"That depends—can you deliver a punishment?" Lawrence dared.
"Since you want to know so badly..." Rowan removed his fingers from Lawrence's hole and left him clenching around empty air.
Lawrence bucked against the air, desperate for more friction. He paused when he heard a match being struck. It wasn't difficult to figure out what would come next. "Wax play?" he guessed. "I'll admit I've only ever tried this once or twice..."
"Oh sweet thing," Rowan purred, hovering the lit candlestick over the bare skin of Lawrence's body. He waited a minute before tilting it slightly downward and letting some of it drip directly onto his chest area. His reaction made it worthwhile—Lawrence arched off of the bed, hissing curses in between groans. "It's a different experience when you can't anticipate it because of the blindfold, hm?"
His reply was choked gibberish followed by a particularly hard tug of the wrist restraints. Rowan chuckled at the sight.
"Does it hurt?"
"Just the good kind," Lawrence slurred.
"Good..." Rowan trailed off, trailing the candle further down past Lawrence's torso. He stopped right above his pubic bone. With each drop of melted wax, Lawrence yelped at the sensation—the heat almost scalding hot but dissipating quickly enough. "The wax looks pretty against your skin," Rowan murmured.
"Am I pretty without the wax?"
Rowan was shocked at how genuine the question came out. Lawrence wanted validation...which was strange, considering how confident he was on television appearances and interviews. Even now as they were together, Rowan expected Lawrence to ooze dominance. But maybe that was the persona he wanted everyone to believe.
"Oh, my dear, you're gorgeous. You drive me wild," Rowan promised, moving the candle upwards, tipping more wax onto his nipples, watching them stiffen from the temperature. He peppered kisses across his chest. "It's been a while since you were last praised, hasn't it?"
Lawrence's laugh came out strained as another bead of sweat rolled down his brow. "...it's weird being on this end, usually I'm the flatterer."
Rowan shushed him gently as he continued painting patterns with wax. Once satisfied with his masterpiece, he set aside his materials and took off his own boxer-briefs, freeing his erection. Lawrence whimpered in protest, sensing everything through sound alone.
"Calm, calm...I'm not going anywhere. In fact, I'll be going somewhere deep inside you very soon," Rowan cooed. He squeezed lube onto his palm before slicking up his aching cock, giving several pumps to spread the lubrication. He took his sweet time, knowing Lawrence couldn't see him stroking lazily, teasing the both of them.
When he got in between Lawrence's legs again, spreading his thighs, he traced the tip of his head along Lawrence's waiting hole, pressing just close enough that the slit made brief contact with Lawrence's rim, driving the blond insane.
"You really know how to take your time," Lawrence mumbled.
"I promise I'll make it worth it," Rowan responded, aligning himself, prodding against Lawrence's ass, not fully entering, but just to hint what was coming next. He kissed his forehead. "I'm going to start pressing in now," Rowan warned.
He did so slowly, allowing time for Lawrence to adjust, but not too slow either.
He was determined to savor this experience; besides, judging by how loudly Lawrence was already gasping, it wouldn't do anyone favors to rush things.
Instead, Rowan kept pushing until every last millimeter slid inside. Then he stayed completely still, enjoying the sight before him: Lawrence panting heavily underneath him, chest heaving, blindfold damp from sweat pouring down his temples.
"There we go," Rowan muttered. He kissed Lawrence on the bridge of his nose next. "Good job, my love."
Lawrence responded with an undignified squeak.
"Do you want me to move?" Rowan asked, amused. "You have to ask me for things if you want them. Use your words."
"Move, please," Lawrence begged.
"As you wish."
And then, without missing another heartbeat, he started thrusting. Slowly at first, relishing every centimeter disappearing into Lawrence, feeling those warm velvet walls contracting around his length as far as he dared go.
Soon Rowan picked up speed, rocking harder into him and drawing delicious cries from Lawrence's lips.
They maintained this rhythm for several minutes, their bodies moving seamlessly together. Eventually, Rowan grabbed hold of Lawrence's hips and lifted him off the mattress slightly—just high enough so Rowan could pound deeper into his core.
It wasn't fast, but rather slow and hard, hitting perfectly. Involuntary moans escaped past Lawrence's parted lips. Rowan angled himself differently so that he grazed Lawrence's prostate, earning him a high-pitched keen.
"Shit, right there!" he hissed. "Harder!"
Rowan gladly obliged.
"You look ethereal," Rowan murmured into his ear after some time, brushing sweaty strands away from Lawrence's eyes. They were clouded with lust. He admired Lawrence's face, flushed red, with swollen lips from all the times he'd bitten down to stifle his noises. God, Rowan adored this man... "Should I cum in or on you?"
"Inside, please, wanna feel full," Lawrence pleaded.
"Oh, my darling..." Rowan gave an open-mouth kiss, biting the actor's lip as he felt his peak approaching rapidly, slamming into him in a frenzied fashion until finally reaching completion.
Rowan emptied himself inside Lawrence, and wrapped his hand around Lawrence's cock, pumping him enough to coax an orgasm out of him as well.
After the haze dissipated, Rowan carefully uncuffed the blond, rubbing the marks tenderly. He then slipped the blindfold off Lawrence's eyes and dabbed at his tears and soaked lashes.
"I didn't know I made you cry," he admitted, looking apologetic. "Was I too rough?"
"The good kind," Lawrence snorted. "God, I don't think I had such amazing sex in years." His legs were numb and quivering, but he managed to wrap them around Rowan's waist anyway. "Come here..." Lawrence held onto Rowan's shoulders and pulled him closer, burying his face in Rowan's shoulder. His body felt exhausted, yet content at the same time. "How about a nice bath to wash off, then I give you a massage?"
Rowan squeezed Lawrence's hip. "I don't think you understand how aftercare works...I pamper you now, not the other way around. Especially because you now have old man joints."
"Excuse me, I'm only ten years older than you."
"And what a difference ten years makes."
Lawrence shook his head with a fake pout. "Next time, I'm being dominant, and I'm kicking your ass."
"Next time?" Rowan almost giggled, but composed himself. "Already planning on more sleepovers, hm?"
Lawrence rolled his eyes, kissing him briefly. "I wouldn't mind making this a common thing."
Just a thought but how would Rowan and Sawyer be if the roles were reversed? (Sawyer being obsessed and Rowan being irked by him?)
How would that dyanmic go?
(BTW I'm so obsessed with these two and their whole relationship and how they function together - theyre gen so interesting ^^)
Thank you! <3
TW for toxic relationships/"yandere" and manipulative self-harm below
I think if this was in a universe where Sawyer was obsessed with him while Rowan kept his personality, Rowan would absolutely adore that. He'd leave his doors unlocked and windows open on purpose, even pretending to be asleep so Sawyer could sneak around his room and he could wait with baited breath.
But if the roles were really reversed, and Rowan was frightened, he'd probably do a good job at escaping Sawyer and finding security with his family (as much as he sometimes hates them aside from Griffin and Felicity).
But Sawyer would be probably more frightening than Rowan, with the whole yandere personality. He's good at masking his true personality, so he'd come across as charming and kind, having everyone love him and not suspect a thing.
He wouldn't get possessive or jealous unless Rowan seemed as if he were enjoying the attention other people were giving him unless family.
Unlike Rowan, who'd threaten to harm Sawyer; Sawyer would threaten to harm himself, or at the very least heavily imply he'd do something drastic.
As a last resort he'd kill someone else for Rowan. The only reason he'd try to avoid it is because if he gets caught, he fears he'll never see his beloved again.
On the bright side, Sawyer doesn't have as many resources to kidnap as Rowan does, so it'd just turn out like an extremely toxic relationship. The only way Rowan would stay in this is if he developed a love for Sawyer beforehand and fell for his manipulation, which would be pretty in-character, even if he weren't obsessed.
