Imagine the DCA learning your cues so well that you don’t even need to say a word. That Sun can tell when your shoulders slump and your head is a little too lowered, so he places a hand on your shoulder and says a joke to get your attention. To any outsider it may look like he is being his usual ‘cheerful’ self (the one that he reserves for the Daycare and the kids he cares for there), but there’s a subtle way that his thumb rubs along your shoulder and you know he is asking if you’re okay, without saying it. That Moon places a plate of food in front of you because you ‘looked tired’ (even though he’d rather you just sleep at that moment). But it was because he hadn’t seen you eat that day and could tell by the way you would sometimes clutch at your stomach that you were hungry.
Imagine knowing them just as intricately. Knowing that when Sun’s hands fidget subtly he is nervous, even if his faceplate doesn’t show it. Imagine being able to gauge Moon’s mood by simply knowing that if he grows a little too still, something is wrong. Knowing how they’re feeling by the subtle ways their body shows it, just like they do for you.
Montgomery Gator x GN!Reader (18+ only. Not explicit, but still leaning more mature/suggestive.
WC: ~4.3k
Summary: "Don't seem fair for me to be the only one gettin'—what'd'ya call it earlier? Dental work—done, now does it?"
OR: You're sent in to fix up Monty's shattered teeth. He strikes a deal with you.
CW: None, really! Monty is a bit of an ass but is worn down kinda easily because he thinks you're cute. You literally just showed him human decency, but whatever. Also! I had a raging fever while writing this + it wasn't beta read, so let's just blame any errors on the fever ok!
AO3 Link
Admittedly, you'd been putting this off.
It's not often that they send someone only just hired by Fazbear Entertainment to work on the Glamrocks. Well—considering that you were so recently hired, you can't exactly say that with certainty. It could be something they send all newbies off to do. A hazing ritual of sorts, maybe?
"A fucking stupid one," you huff to yourself, feet weighed down with your reluctance as you amble your way to Rockstar Row.
In what world do they consider it safe to send someone with the least hands-on experience to work on the animatronic rumored to be the most volatile? The AI in these things aren't like the robots you grew up celebrating with in a shady little pizzeria years ago. They're scarily human. Sentient, one might say, if you can look past the hulking metal frames and scarily sharp faux teeth that someone somewhere along the way insisted on putting in animatronics for the purpose of children's entertainment.
It's ridiculous, really, how much faith they put in their code—meant to be used by and around kids—when it's seemingly so faulty. A robot shouldn't eat, a robot shouldn't be vain, and most of all, a robot shouldn't be prone to emotional outbursts that destroy their entire room.
Whatever, you think, belligerent, as if internally snarking to yourself is enough suppress the nervous anger simmering in your gut. It burns a bitter path up your throat, well on its way to giving you heartburn. A bitter expression overtakes your face no matter how hard you try to school your brows into something more agreeable.
You just hope the gator is cooperative tonight and you can get this over with quickly.
Any lingering hopes are squashed the second you hear a loud crash, realizing with a starling clarity that you can't keep putting off what you've been trying to all day. The avoidant part of your brain that makes you feel anxious, like a petulant child who's just been scolded rears its ugly head for a brief moment. You could leave. You could say, fuck this, I'm out, send someone else to deal with the animatronic going against his coding to throw a tantrum.
It'd leave you without a job and unable to pay rent, but you could technically do it.
Funnily enough, it's not the looming threat of losing your shitty little apartment that fills you with enough courage to stand in front of Montgomery's metal door. It's that incessant reminder rooting its way through your skull that you'll look bad if you fuck this up. First job after getting your degree, and you can't even do a measly little part change?
Besides, you try to reassure yourself, you can count on the programmers to at least have coded in a fail safe that doesn't allow him to attack humans, right?
You snort to yourself under your breath, the quiet sound so full of derision it briefly draws the attention of a straggling mother herding her child away from the bangs and clangs reverberating through Montgomery's walls. It's glaringly obvious that your brain is scrambling to find a reason to force yourself to knock, what with all the waivers and NDAs you signed to even go through the interview process.
You smile (though you're sure it must look like you're being held hostage) at the mother-child duo, the older of which looks alarmed at you having stopped in front of the source of all that awful noise you're sure she's going to file a complaint about. You take a brief moment to thank whatever higher being willing to listen that you aren't working in the department handling that.
Seemingly not wanting her child to watch the disaster that's sure to unfold in just a moment, the mother scampers along at a quicker pace, hand held firmly on the back of her kid's head so he can't turn around.
So much for hoping some scared mother would plead with you to leave Montgomery well enough alone and put a ringer in your plans for tonight.
Shaking the tension from your shoulders, you stare up at the door, half wishing you were able to see the damage through the heavy curtain blocking the green room window. Of course Fazbear Entertainment wouldn't deign to let any of their precious visitors they care oh so much about be privy to any malfunctioning animatronics, leaving you shit out of luck along with any nosy customers.
Your knuckles are rapping against the door before you can psych yourself out again, and the silence that follows is almost eerie in how sudden it settles across the vicinity. The sound of him ripping into something soft—plushies, maybe, though you wouldn't put it past him to maim his couch again— comes to a complete halt. There's no tearing of fabric, no shouts, only the subtle huffing and puffing of a pissy animatronic you can hear through the door.
"Montgomery?"
You clear your throat before you carry on, cheeks running hot at how unsteady your voice had sounded. "I'm here to replace a few teeth of yours? We had guest complaints about the band—you in particular—not exactly looking up to snuff today, and your teeth were one of the main complaints."
Still no answer, but your whole customer service spiel only served to piss him off even more if the sound of something being launched at the door is anything to go off of. It's not like you meant to ramble on about something that would have your team leader beaming with pride at your professionalism, but years of customer service (and a lengthy Fazbear Entertainment training seminar) leave that an easy state to slip into. It's mindless, really.
It probably would have worked on Freddy, anyhow, but then again, Freddy wouldn't be in a situation like this to begin with if what you've heard about him is correct.
Rocking back and forth from the balls of your feet to your heels, you continue, "It'll be quick and easy, so long as you work with me."
You just barely hold back a snort of laughter at the thought. Montgomery Gator, working willingly with a member of staff? Let alone the fresh meat.
Much to your shock, you get a response that isn't the crash of something being broken.
"Let 'em complain. Not like they're ever gonna be happy."
The response gives you pause, if only for a second.
"While I'm inclined to agree," you reply, "I'll be out of a job if we just let you guys fall into disrepair, so…"
The silence that settles over you both is heavier than before, so suffocating it feels like a physical weight on your chest. Unfortunately for you, the silence makes you act. Your next words come spilling from your lips before you have even a second to mull them over.
"Look, Montgomery. How about this: if you let me in, we can stay in the comfort of your green room? I won't even have you make the trek back to Parts and Services."
Well, shit. So blatantly dismissing protocol is sure to fuck you over if management finds out, and you have a feeling Montgomery absolutely would snitch on you if you're on this guy's bad side. You certainly aren't on his good side, but maybe his lack of response is a good thing? Maybe he's thinking it over? The more pessimistic part of your brain warns you that he could already be sending a message to your team leader, which means you might be fired before you even-
The door slides open.
Stunned, you're left blinking at the now open space. That worked? Montgomery was letting you in? Of course, this could be all some trick, but…
"You just gonna stand there lookin' stupid?" Montgomery barks, the lashing of his tail visible even in the dim green lighting of his room.
You could have sworn you once read somewhere that a gator's tail lashing is a territorial display, yet somehow, despite all odds, he's inviting you in. His voice shocks you out of your stupor and you nod, tentatively stepping in.
Before you can even think about turning tail and running, the door snaps shut behind you.
Anxiety forces your body to move, and before you know it you're plopping your work backpack on the ground and rifling through it for the plastic bag of teeth. Montgomery stays in the corner of your vision as you do, a constant presence that you're all too aware of. Every rise and fall of his shoulders with the simulated breaths he takes, every flick of his tail, leaves you all the more frantic in your attempts at finding the bag.
Really, how hard can it be to find a bag of fangs?
You make a pleased little hum under your breath when one of the fangs pricks you through the plastic bag they're settled in, ignoring the pinprick of pain in order to focus on what you'd accomplished.
It's not until you stop digging through your backpack that you realize the state of the room you're in. Lights shattered, tables overturned, and a massacre of—admittedly cute—officially licensed Montgomery Gator plushies insides turned out around the room.
The couch, at least, seems only half destroyed.
Suddenly bashful at your gawping, your eyes flick back over to meet Montgomery's red ones. "Uh, thanks for letting me in?"
Montgomery only mutters something under his breath in response, tail lashing all the more harshly at your shaky tone.
You gesture towards the couch and he gives you a bewildered look.
"When'd I actually agree to let ya work on me?"
You suppose he's got you there. Indignant, you huff, running your free hand through your hair. Bargaining worked once, but would it again? You don't have anything left to lose, though you need to find an angle to come at this from.
"Sorry?" you mumble, scratching at the back of your head. "You let me in, so I assumed playing dentist was free game."
For a brief second, you swear you can see a flash of humor in Montgomery's expression at your dentist comment, but it's gone as soon as it appeared.
"How'd ya like if I was rootin' around in your mouth, huh?" he spits at you, arms crossed like a protective barrier across his chest. His snout is pointed up into the air where thin puffs of agitated steam filter from his nostrils as he huffs.
The words that slip from your lips are decidedly not what you'd intended on saying.
"I'd probably like it more than having to put my hands in there," you huff, gesturing wildly at his grimacing maw.
He turns to look at you, his expressive gaze somehow managing to look incredulous. It's something in the way his faux brows furrow at you, but you're left reeling for a moment. God, you don't think you'll ever get over how human these things can truly be.
"Okay, fresh meat," he says, voicebox suddenly sounding so delighted it lights the exposed skin of your arms up with goosebumps and snaps you out of your curiosity. "Here's the deal. Let me mess around in your puny little human mouth, and maybe—maybe—I'll let ya near mine."
This is a terrible idea, but you had been looking for an out…
At your silence, Montgomery continues.
"Don't seem fair for me to be the only one gettin'—what'd'ya call it earlier? Dental work—done, now does it?"
You hate this. Hate the programmers who made this stupid gator so eerily human in his mannerism, who made him able to bargain.
On the other hand, the techie, engineering part of your brain is absolutely marveling at the advancements made in these guys alone. Sure, you might not exactly be in programming, but you work closely enough with the people who do to know how insane these guys truly are. The fact that he seemingly wants things is a wonder in and of itself, but the way he's able to bargain to achieve those goals is… impressive.
You suppose you have to hand it to the programming department, even if this habit of his is annoying.
Clenching the bag of pearly white fangs tighter in your hands, you level the animatronic before you with a scrutinizing stare. While you really don't want to be without a job, you also don't want to chip a tooth. Or worse, have the animatronic knock one out. Or rip your tongue out, or-
Shaking your head to clear the graphic images invading your mind, your eyes trail up and down the ornery gator before you. His large, mechanical arms are still crossed, though with one elbow propped up against the other side's hand as he runs a hand through his mohawk. Despite his tail still swishing back and forth menacingly behind him, something in the challenging glare he shoots your way almost seems to suggest that he's enjoying this back and forth.
Despite the gator's temper tantrums, there had to be some programming lodged deep in there to make him capable of being… gentle? While some parents filed complaints about their children being scared by the hulking gator, that had more to do with his… being a hulking gator, not because he'd intentionally scared or harmed the kids. Surely that could extend to you?
You eye his claws warily for a moment before meeting his gaze, shrugging a lazy roll of your shoulders. "So long as you're gentle—very gentle—then… I guess you're right?"
You raise the bag of teeth fitted for him as if to remind him of why you're here. "You're not exactly a dentist, though, and while I'm not either, I am qualified to be digging around in your mouth as a mechanic. You… not so much."
"'M not gonna hurt ya," he growls, chest puffing up in defiance as he saunters closer.
The way he stomps your way seems to suggest otherwise, but you manage to mostly hold yourself in place, body tensing instead of cowering away. Montgomery slides to a stop just in front of you, a hair's breadth between the sharp edges of his clawed feet from the leather of your work boots.
You expected such close proximity to the gator to be more intimidating than it is. It still is, of course, seeing as you're only human. It'd be nigh impossible to squash down the unnerving chill that settles in your bones while being glared at down the snout of a 7 foot tall gator made of metal. But still, you don't feel like you're in immediate danger. After all, if he truly wanted to hurt you, he could have the second you stepped foot through the door, right? Why drag out what's obviously an annoyance to him?
Jutting your chin out in defiance, you stare up at the towering form that is Montgomery with a glean in your eye. A sick thrill radiates from your pounding rabbit's heart throughout your body, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, adrenaline tingling in every nerve lit up in your body. In your proximity to Montgomery, you can feel the irritated huffs of air coming from his nose only inches away from yours as he looms over you.
Why they decided to make these things seem as if they have a respiratory system is beyond you, but it does make an impressive sight when viewed in such close quarters. Perhaps it's to make children feel more at ease with something so similar to them? For all you know, they could do educational science events and teach children about the body and what keeps it going. You don't know the reasons upper management makes you do the things you do, you just know to do what they ask.
Still, Montgomery's hooded gaze staring you down makes you fluster, if only slightly. You can only take eye contact in such close proximity for so long before it becomes awkward. While you wish you could just write it off as an animatronic not being coded with human social concepts ingrained in them, the smirk lighting up the gator's face makes you all too aware that he's doing this just to see if he can make you tick.
Instead of giving him what he wants, you smile. It's shaky and uncertain, but not what Montgomery is expecting if they way the smarmy look on his face seems to fall for a second is anything to go off of. He looks almost vulnerable under the weight of your smile, even as sarcastic as it may be.
You wonder, briefly, just how often people smile at him to get this reaction from something so small.
To his credit, Montgomery at least has the decency to hold his paw out for you to slot your chin into as opposed to just yanking your face towards him. You're almost shocked with how easily you come to rest your face in his giant hand. Obedient, a nagging voice seems to say at the back of your mind, but you shove that thought down deep before it can get its bearings.
Clearing your throat, you slowly open your mouth, jaw hanging open wide enough to expose your teeth and tongue to the gator before you. Montgomery looks almost startled that you're actually going through with this despite your previous compliance, brows shooting up in… shock? Embarrassment? You're not quite sure, but the expression almost looks cuteon him.
If anyone were around to see you shiver when one of his clawed fingers comes up to tap against your canine, you'd vehemently deny it.
Montgomery freezes, voicebox shaky when he finally rasps out, "Even yer bitin' teeth are small. Just like you."
You move to pull away and respond, but the gator grips your jaw tighter, locking you in place. He wags a finger in your face and you (feeling much like a child being scolded) furrow your brow in annoyance, but let him continue. Montgomery lets out a quiet hiss.
"I'm only just gettin' started. Ya've got plenty of time to talk me into low power mode when ya fix my teeth."
Rolling your eyes, you relax in his grip once more. Montgomery seems almost lost in thought as he trails a claw along the front of your teeth, gaze locked on your tongue and how it tenses with each accidental brush of his finger against it.
You're so soft. Pliable. Tender. Montgomery doesn't know why that realization has an unexpected spark of warmth shooting through his wires. It comes as a surprise when Montgomery jerks back, releasing your jaw and pulling his finger out of your mouth as if burned. You're left unable to do anything but tilt your head up at him in confusion as you regain your bearings.
"Was… that all you wanted to do?" you ask. You aren't particularly sure why you're asking—you should be glad to no longer be poked and prodded by a clawed finger. Still, if Montgomery thinks your exploration of his mouth is going to be so short lived, he's sorely mistaken.
The only response you get from Montgomery is a growl and a tense nod of his head yes.
"Okay…?" you trail off, confused by his sudden change in temperament.
"Just—uh, realized I've got better uses of my time than diggin' around in some stupid human's mouth."
Huh. If you were talking to a human, you'd almost say he seems flustered. Yeah, these things are programmed to be emotive, but not that in tune with emotions, surely.
Fortunately for Montgomery, you aren't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. You clap your hands together, ignoring the phantom weight of his paw against your jaw.
"Well, good!" you exclaim.
It's honestly unbelievable how well this is going. You aren't quite sure why your coworkers all wished you good luck when seeing this was on your schedule. Sure, the gator is stubborn, and there's rumors about a much darker side to him,but you're starting to believe they're just that—rumors and gossip spread to keep the work days interesting and newbies scared.
You gesture towards the half torn couch behind the animatronic. "Do you mind sitting for me? It'll be easier for me to get in your mouth from that angle, and then I'll be out of your hair, promise."
Montgomery looks like he wants to argue, hissing and spitting much like an angry cat under his breath, but acquiesces much to your surprise. You smile in response, digging through the bag previously clenched tight in your hands and pulling out a few metal teeth.
You're just about to rest a hand under his jaw when Montgomery mutters, "Don't go gettin' any ideas about me 'cus of this. I'm only lettin' you do this because I want you goin' on your way."
Smiling, you cup a hand under his jaw as you nod. "I'm sure you are, Montgomery."
He says something so quiet it leaves you straining to hear it. You breathe in deep, forcing yourself to build up the courage to ask, "What was that?"
His voice comes out glitchy, but coherent. "I said you can call me Monty. You even listenin' with those stupid ears of yours?"
Now there's a shock. You freeze, hand faltering on the edge of Monty's mouth.
"Oh!" you exclaim, smiling down at the gator beneath you. "Well, thank you, Monty."
Monty grumbles something low and unintelligible, suddenly interested in staring at everything else around the room if it means avoiding eye contact with you. You pull your hand back, tapping at your name tag. It seems to do the trick, Monty growling out your name so quickly it's as if it might choke him if he chews on it any longer.
"Open up, big guy," you say, tapping at his mouth. Monty's hands grip at the couch hard enough to tear a brand new set of tears in the beat up thing, but slowly releases the pressure in his jaws and allows you to reach inside.
He's almost shocked when you only hesitate for a brief moment. You must really, really need this job if you're willing to stick your hand in his mouth. He's not stupid, he knows word about his temper has spread to all corners of the megaplex. You must be some breed of crazy to be dealing with him.
For your part, you fall into a comfortable rhythm quick enough. It's a simple process, unscrewing Monty's shattered teeth, lining the new one up, and screwing that one in before repeating. You've always felt at home with your tools, and even staring down the mouth of an animatronic that could easily shatter your arm with his bite force can't shake that confidence.
Monty finds himself almost relaxing under your care, something he's not sure he's ever felt in the presence of staff. The other band members sometimes—maybe, and you didn't hear it from him if that was the case—sure, but surely not a human who was either terrified of him or ready to berate him at the drop of a hat.
You… seemed like neither of these things. A bit scared, maybe, but not shaking in your boots. You'd managed to hold your own against him well enough.
Far too quickly for Monty's liking, you tap the end of his nose and gesture for him to close his mouth.
"How's that feel?" you ask, gesturing for him to snap his jaw a few times and test the new teeth out. "They shouldn't be too tight—or too loose, for that matter—but let me know if I need to adjust anything before I go."
Monty rolls his jaw around, biting at the air a few times before glancing up at you. To his surprise, you'd done pretty much perfect on your very first attempt. Not so loose they feel like they'll slip out, but not so tight it radiates any unneeded pressure through his jaw.
An idea runs through Monty's processors unbidden. He could easily lie and say he needed you to take another look, just to keep you around in comfortable silence for a bit longer. For once, logic wins over whatever it is that leaves his processors whirring loud enough that he's sure you can hear them from your position hovering over your backpack a few feet away, and he shuts that line of thinking down quickly. You were polite enough, yeah, but he doesn't know you. There's no reason to be thinking this about you, and he's almost certain you'd be the type to call him out on his lie.
It's only once you start hovering that he realizes that you're still looking for an answer, mouth snapping shut at the realization.
"Feels… fine. Just fine."
He can't have you getting too big of a head so early into your career now, can he?
The way you seem to deflate at his lackluster answer almost has him backtracking. You nod over at him as you sling your backpack over your shoulder, rocking back and forth on your feet. "Alright! Well, my shift is pretty much done for tonight, but if you've got anything else needing looking at, I'm sure there's someone else in my department working later that can handle it for you."
Monty only huffs half-heartedly, gesturing lazily towards the door. "Get goin'. You've been here long enough, don't ya think?"
Nodding, you make your way towards the door. It slides open with ease, but you hesitate.
"And Monty?" you call, glancing at him from over your shoulder.
He raises an inquisitive brow at your question.
You gesture around at the carnage of the room. "I'll see about getting someone to fix your room up for you soon, okay?"
You slip out of his green room before he can even think of something smart to say in response.
william afton and henry emily having a breeding kink with their s/o - nsfw headcannon. I'm back ig
warning: breeding, swearing, name callings and minors dni
notes: thank you for liking my content!! you asked and I shall delivered, encore !!!
William Afton
he was crazy, crazy stuffing you full of his semen inside you. heck even thinking about it makes him go feral all of the sudden.
as much as he enjoys killing kids while stuffing them in a suit, he likes to also stuff kids inside you too.
he can't stop thinking about creaming in your little pussy that he loves so damn much, god he couldn't resist
this man is a creep. would literally hump dry ur panties because he can't cum inside you rn.
after he came home to you, he immediately slammed your body into the wall and started snaking his hands into your thighs, wanting that stupid fucking panties be off and have his way to you.
mating press. no buts. he will fold you in two as keep pounding in your sweet pussy because he loves how his cock is just fits perfectly.
he also likes to cum inside, he ain't like the mess after all
"You take me so well, I'll make you a bitch in no time."
Henry Emily
this guy. this guy is a busy man.
but you know one thing he won't be forgetting is how your cunt hugs his member so perfectly.
he found out that he had a breeding kink after you ride him and you refuse to let him pull out.
gosh seeing his cock creamed while still inside you still reminds him of this day.
he was hard, so fucking hard in his pants .
he called for you, leaving the animatronic that he was trying to fix in the past 4 hours in his basement, your twins are probably sleeping now
you came for his call, just for him to grope your sweet juicy breast, still producing milk until this day.
he started pinching your nipples as little dribble of milk spurs out. he wants to lick it.
he didn't even touch you yet you're so wet. he proceed to grind on your ass, wanting to have a release after a long day's work
his cock just melts inside your sweet velvet cunt as he whines on how he is gonna add another angel to the family
"let me make you pregnant mama, let me breed you and stuff you with my cum oh god-"
warnings: kind of horny in like, a pg 13 way (not specified fem!reader but reader does wear makeup if that makes a difference)
a/n: oh yeah. i went there. give mike a goth gf in fnaf 2 petition starts here
not requested
Knowing where the blind spots were in the security cameras around the mall, Mike knew just what to do on his breaks—and it included you. It didn’t take long after Mike started to notice you during his rounds, maybe it was the hair or the makeup, or maybe it was the way you waved at him every day as he walked by, or maybe the ambiance of your store or the way you carried yourself. Whatever it was, he wanted to see more of you.
Which was how you came to be pushed against a wall making out with Mike in the back of a vacant storefront, a habit happening at least three times a week. “You sure you’re not gonna get us caught?” You broke from his lips to ask in a hushed voice.
“Don’t worry, Jeremiah’s looking out for us.” Mike assured before closing the gap again. He seemed a little desperate at times, but that didn’t bother you—after all, this was really the only free time he got in a day, it was flattering he’d want to spend it with you. “Hey, are you working tomorrow? Want to get lunch?” Mike offered, making you smirk as he licked his thumb and tried to fix your makeup. “Sorry, your lipstick is kind of smudged.”
“I don’t mind, your spit’s already in my mouth.” You joked, which made his cheeks turn a little red. “Lunch sounds nice, but maybe we can meet outside of the mall one of these days?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He sighed, which you expected knowing he had other responsibilities, but you didn’t mind. “You still wear all the spiky stuff and the black clothes outside of work?”
Mikey is sooo the type of boyfriend to hold your hands while he fucks you.
You don´t even care on how roughly your back is pressed against the wall of a random storage room of fazbear´s,or about how his hard on is pressed insistently against your hip,not that you can when his mouth is so busy giving atention to your neck.
The open mouthed kisses on your neck were gentle,like the soothing feeling of his hand always gripping your delicate one. The grip suddenly gets tighter when the kisses that were taking gasps out of you turns into possessive bites,the both of you having the amazing feeling that youre being marked.
The only moment your eyes shot open is when his hand left yours,but only for a split second to grab your waist and pull you into his lap while he sits on a chair in the corner. You fail to stifle a needy whimper when he roughly presses your drenched pussy against his boner. His smirk shows you he didnt missed it.
"Youre liking this arent you?" His lips are toying with the lobe of your ear "Naughty girl" His low guttural chuckle ignites something in you.
"Please mikey..." Boy,he swears he will never get tired of his name coming out your pretty lips with a beg.
"Relax princess,ill give you just what you need."
And the last thing you recall befre being ravashed and getting absolutely cock drunk is his hands once more holding yours tenderly.
summary :: mike schmidt did not realize the weight of his mistake before it was too late. when he had first met you, his baby sister's beloved teacher, he couldn't imagine ever leaving you. with his aunt's demands to see her niece, however, he had no choice. now, a year later and two states over, everyday is spent suffocating on misery and memories. mike does not know how much more of this he can endure before he breaks.
word count :: 9.2k.
content warnings :: obsessive!mike, yandere!mike, fnaf movie spoilers, drugging, kidnapping, violence, stalking, & insinuations of s3x.
mike schmidt's yandere traits are . . .
obsessive, paranoid, & nervous
──── Everything is hazy.
Fuzzy. Blurry. Serenity in its sheerest form. The absolute definition of tranquility.
That April morning in Nebraska. The scent of sugar and crayons, the sounds of children playing outside, the scattered toys left on rainbow carpets. You're sat at the desk in your classroom. Warm light bleeding through the window behind you, framing you with flowering leaves and sunshine.
Across the room, Abby Schmidt sits on the floor. Her small fingers tap the glass enclosure where the class pet is. Mr. Cupcake, your iguana. Or, as you like to refer to him, your teaching assistant. His claws plunge into his food dish, copper-colored eyes scrutinizing his surroundings. Abby watches as the reptile chows on the fruit and foliage left for breakfast.
Sitting in the chair opposite your desk is Mike Schmidt. Sweat beads on his forehead, ineluctably distressed beneath your gaze. The suit he wore for this occasion juts uncomfortably into his skin. His fingers fidget with the trim of his tie. He looks at the woven basket of exotic butters sitting on your desk, wondering why he had gotten you such an aimless gift.
Mike is quiet, as usual. Austere, his permanent disposition. Despite his tireless efforts to express his thoughts to you, the words remain nestled in his throat. Conjuring any syllable in your presence is impossible.
You, however, do not have any wavering confidence. You reiterate the legal documents obligatory for Abby's complete transition to a new school. Noting how all necessities are now in your possession (albeit languidly, as Mike has been painfully trying to buy more time here), the relocation was complete. The obvious insinuation of your words, however, brings crippling dread like no other.
The last time you would ever see one another. Your goodbye.
Standing to your feet, you make your way to Abby and bend down beside her. You will miss your star student, as you have a soft spot for all the children in your classroom. In the process, you do not take notice of the way Mike instinctively reaches out to you. He's sure your touch would kill him, but it does not stop him from wishing for it. Even just a sliver of the precious rarity.
"I think Mr. Cupcake is going to miss you." Abby looks at you with wide, curious eyes.
"Don't tell the others, but you're definitely his favorite." That earns you a smile before she averts her attention back to the iguana.
When you stand, you find Mike breathing down your neck. Horrifically, as this memory still haunts him, he thought it'd be a good idea to hug you. And he practically throws his entire body weight on top of you. When you reject him by placing your hand on his chest, offering a handshake instead, fire spreads with your touch. Knowing he will never know what it feels like to hold you close to him is more excruciating than he is willing to admit.
Abby skips out of the classroom, an adorable pep in her step. At the same time, every step Mike takes from you feels like walking through an avalanche. Dragging him backward, begging to return to you. Almost as if it were his instinct, his body is trying to reject his advances of leaving you.
"Why do you always look at them like that? Like... Like they're a dinosaur or something?"
Abby's question causes Mike's brows to furrow. His feelings for you were certainly discernible. Even his young sister had taken notice of the odd behavior. Had he made it that obvious? He answers her with a weak, affirmative grunt. Too emotionally fatigued to find words to speak.
A sudden flare of biliousness deluges through his body. The hallway walls adorned with children's paintings have morphed into a colorful blur of vertigo. The floors disturbingly stretch in size, making the journey away from you all the more torturous. The suit he had tried to wear confidently sticks to his hot skin. Nausea squirms in his stomach like a dying cockroach. The room begins to spin, lights sway in his vision, and his knees fight for balance.
Mike hears his sister shriek his name before he falls to the ground.
One year later, Mike wakes from this same dream, once again.
Every night of this past year, he has dreamt the same thing. Your final goodbye and the sheer impact it took on him. It is a gut-wrenching memory, but he welcomes the echo of you with open arms. To feel your hand on his chest, see your eyes looking into his. This yearning heartache is the only thing keeping him alive.
For the umpteenth time, Mike faces the harsh, violent reality of his current life. Now, he is somewhere in Utah. Praying straight to God he'll somehow wake up back in Nebraska. Where he could see you again, where he could be happy again.
Tearing the headphones of his Walkman off, the song he had played on repeat comes to an end. He rubs his sleepy eyes. With newfound clarity, Mike shifts his gaze upwards. Taped to the ceiling is a drawing Abby drew. It's of you and him beneath a flowery altar, Mr. Cupcake as your marriage officiant. The picture aids him in his efforts to feel closer to you.
Mike doesn't even know how he survived seeing the drawing for the first time. Someone else validating his feelings for you and the realness of your nonexistent relationship was too much for him to handle. Even if it is a child doing so through a frivolous drawing.
When Mike shuffles over to place his Walkman on the bedside table, he skims over the assortment of clutter left there. Several bottles of sleeping medication had been indolently thrown onto the surface. The pills help his dreams feel more real, as though he were at your side once again.
A glance over, Mike's heart wrenches at the sight of the picture frame. Beside the mess of pills is a photograph of you he had torn from Abby's yearbook. As if you were watching over him while he slept, reaching out to him in the presence of his dreams. It's a comforting thought of his, to imagine you watching over him. Like his personal guardian angel.
Surely, he would prefer to have you physically with him, instead of just relying on these fantasies to hold him over. His stomach flutters at the mere idea of you being in his bed with him. Mike feels empty without your warm weight beside him.
Laying against his chest, huddling up to him for an early-morning cuddle before the day starts. He would ensnare his blanket around your still-sleeping form. He'd press ardent kisses to the top of your head and inhale the aromatic scent of your signature soap. Massaging his hands across your back. Caressing the balmy flesh of your body. It is the physical manifestation of nirvana brought directly into his palms.
Mike shakes the thoughts out as quickly as they come. So cheesy... What on Earth is he doing?
Although he has tossed around the idea of giving in and leaving Abby in their aunt's care, what kind of man would you think him as if he abandoned his family? And if he were to take Abby back to Nebraska, Social Services would surely hunt him down. The mere idea of being locked behind a prison cell is terrifying, but the prospect of never seeing you again provokes terror like no other.
Mike's head pounds as these thoughts haunt him. Reveries of brighter days in your presence, trepidation of being separate from you forever — this is how every morning usually begins. His dreams nestled in a nightmare. The chaos in his head brings him to where this story had begun altogether.
February. Two months before the last time he would ever see you.
Jane had demanded Abby live with her in Utah, threatening legal action in the process. Mike had no other choice but to succumb to her orders. It had begun as a minor inconvenience, considering his life in Nebraska was futile to begin with. However, it would soon become the worst decision he has ever made. He knows he should have fought harder, but Mike hadn't met you until after he verified their relocation. It wasn't until he had stepped foot into your classroom for the very first time had he realized the weight of his mistake.
With the start of his shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza approaching, he struggled to bring these rampant thoughts to rest. Resentfully, Mike rises from his bed. The sun has begun to set and his unsatisfactory power nap has come to an end. He trudges over to the foot of his bed and begins his usual set of push-ups. Triggering adrenaline through his body is essential to his daily routine. It helps ease his brain from all the chaos. An area he is in dire need of assistance.
For a moment, his thoughts are blank. It is such an oddity, that Mike is left stunned. Having a silent mind is a privilege that is unknown to him.
And just when he thought he had found coherence, the memory of you comes sprinting at him from the shadows. Mere seconds of emptiness pass before thoughts of you invade his mind.
A week after your final goodbye.
His disposition has suffered from a harsh descent since then. Mike is now irritable and aggressive to anyone who even faintly nudges his buttons. Snapping like a feral dog. Rough like a calloused hand.
Acknowledging weakness has never been his strong suit, but Mike is not a fool when it comes to how he feels around you. The overwhelming nerves stirred together with unwavering devotion make for a sugary-sweet, poisonous concoction. Something he could get drunk off for years to come.
Although his mind is stained in consideration, he cannot storm through the school doors and take you with him to Utah. Merely standing in your presence is enough to make him stop breathing. Contriving an abduction, one that includes you, no less, would fail miserably. And as he stated before, the prospect of being stuck behind bars and never seeing you again provokes terror like no other.
So, he gives in. He resentfully gives in to what his Aunt Jane wants and goes about his life.
There was only two more weeks before he'd leave his job as security at the mall forever. Mike meanders through the large expanse, actively averting his gaze from all the happy couples. Hands held together, eyes brimming with adoration, feeding each other ice cream. It never fails to make him bitter, which he prefers to assume it is because of how sappy the sight is.
He wonders what flavor of ice cream is your favorite, the look in your eye as he feeds you a spoonful. What kind of sweet words you'd give him and the way you'd blush when he drowns you in adoration. Within the safety of his mind, he has molded himself into the man of your dreams. You will just have to look past all the sweat and nerves to find him.
A flicker of movement captures his attention. Something strangely familiar in his peripheral. When he turns, his breath gets caught in his chest.
His wide eyes stare at you. Standing alone across the mall.
All Mike can do is gawk. Like a newly-born fawn, staring goggle-eyed and weak-kneed as he takes in the sight of the world for the very first time. A gasp of your name parts from his lips. He sways in his stance like a boat on the sea, his body melts like snow beneath the sunlight. Stood still in place, he feels that familiar sense of light-headedness return. He embraces the dizziness as a comfort, this time around.
Mike could almost laugh at this. At the same time, he could cry his heart out.
Of course, your roads would intersect. Of course, you would find each other in the end. Even when he had fully accepted he would never see you again, you return to him. Like a cloud of happier days, here to hide the torment for all.
And then, he's interrupted.
Walking uninvited into the scene is a stranger. A man approaches you, daring to drape his arm around your shoulder. Mike's eye twitches as he watches. The stranger then plants a kiss on your cheek, something Mike has wished to do since the first time he stepped foot in your classroom. With this man's hands all over you, the two of you begin to walk away.
The word "heartbroken" was something Mike had never felt before. It was something he never understood. He only heard of the word through brainless movies, where he swore he'd never let himself fall apart like the dumb characters do. At this moment, however, that term is stamped all over him in thick ink. A vivid exhibition of all the good and bad you have done to him.
Without another thought, Mike takes a step. Then another. Before he is breaking into a full sprint toward the love of his life and the parasite latched onto them. It's as if a puppeteer was controlling him, grasping hold of his spine and snatching a fistful of nerves. He shoves past any shoppers in his way, a few losing balance and falling to the floor. His speed accelerates with every hastening step, growing closer and closer.
The stranger looks over his shoulder a second too late before he is tackled. The two fall into an adjacent fountain with a loud clamor. Mike's fist clenches, before it surges down into his face. Then, he does it again and again and again.
Again. Again. Again.
And again.
Grunting like an animal, Mike can't stop himself.
Fuck you. Fuck you.
Fuck you.
Don't you ever fucking touch them.
It is blinding, how enraged he is. In a mess of blood and water. The mere thought of someone laying a finger on you boils red-hot rage like he has never felt before.
Someone ensnares their arms around him and drags him away from the mess he created. When the splashing water eases down to calm ripples, he finally looks over to you to ensure your safety and- who is that? A different person is standing there, utter horror plastered on their face as they watch the scene play out.
They have the same height, the same clothes, almost the same everything. But, now that Mike is able to scrutinize who he thought to be you, he realizes he was completely wrong. He had only formed a desperate personification of you from memory. What has he done?
The dread is soul-crushing as the weight of his mistake crushes him. Other bystanders watch in shock. Mike's fists are bruised red, his clothes are wet and stained with blood. What on Earth was he thinking!? All he ever wanted was to protect you! To protect you from men like that!
Mike's vision doubles and his body shivers. All he ever wanted was to protect you. The only thing he can think about is you and the sheer devastation you have rained down into his life.
This memory playing through his head is abruptly cut short. Mike is then forcefully shoved back into reality when his hand slips during his set of push-ups. He falls face-first into the carpet, grumbling from the harsh contact.
It is a vile memory to have, as it is the reason he lost his job at the mall and truly eradicated any chance of staying in Nebraska. However, it showed him how irrevocably devoted he is to you. How the feelings he has for you are completely and utterly real. Someone like him, who prides himself in being aloof and controlled, was capable of causing such calamity. All for your safety.
It was a terrifying revelation, but it soothed him in a way he had never felt before.
Michael Schmidt needs you.
And unfortunately, his feelings are not powerful enough to stretch into physical reality. Even though it feels as though they are capable of doing so, they cannot mold the world to bring him back to you. They cannot protect him from the inevitability of leaving his home and being dragged to Utah.
Now, he stands at the entrance of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Ivy grows amongst the bricked walls. Bright paint fades from years of neglect. Mike breathes in the scent of midnight brume as he unlocks the doors, trying once more to rid his brain of the thought of you.
The flashlight in his hands illuminates the inside of the pizzeria. Specks of dust permeate the air. Flashy arcade games are riddled with age. Toys on the prize shelf are covered in a blanket of cobwebs. The once gaudy carpets are caked with dirt. And those God-awful animatronics still stand on that rickety stage. Mike takes note of all these little things with a sigh. If this place was still alive today, he knows you'd adore taking your students here.
As his nights have been spent for the last year, he walks through the dilapidated establishment as usual. On the desk is a stack of chunky monitors displaying several angles of the pizzeria. The "CELEBRATE!" poster on the wall mocks him. He plops down on the adjacent swivel chair. The old fabric peels and the wheels whine from his weight.
Unzipping his ragged backpack, he grasps hold of the book he had taken with him, Dream Theory. Adjusting the headphones of his Walkman on his head, Mike then flicks the dog-ear over and resumes his reading.
God only knows how many times he has read this damned book. And every time he rereads it, he prays he can somehow find an anecdote for this torment. A magic step-by-step guide that will bring him back to you.
Despite perusing this book from front to back, he still searches for more. He hates being awake. He'd much rather be asleep, where he can return to you. Any second not spent with you, even if the moment is not tangible, is a second gone to waste. No matter what the circumstances are, he could only ever wish to be with you.
Lethargy hits Mike like a slap across the face. The book in his hands is now reminiscent of a brick. The song that plays on repeat in his Walkman soothes him like a mother's lullaby. All of these sensations embrace Mike; they pacify his brain and body of any unease. And with a few more leveled breaths, Dream Theory falls from his hands and he drifts off.
With a beat, he's woken up with a sharp gasp. This time, however, he does not awaken in the same dingy pizzeria. He finds himself sitting at a picnic table. Located in the very same forest he had lost his brother years ago.
Looking down, Mike finds he is dressed in the same hunter-green sweater and jeans stained with grass. His eyes scan around the expanse, searching for the faces of his family. He cannot find his mother, his father, nor Garrett. No one. Everything is to no avail.
There's a shuffle from behind him. He looks, only to find swaying trees and fluttering birds. And then, a voice.
"I'm sad to see you both go." The familiar cadence has Mike's head snapping back forward. He is struck with desperation.
There you are, sat across from him at the picnic table.
If it weren't for the campgrounds you were both at, this moment would be identical to when he first met you. In that same classroom, on that same day. Every mannerism and timbre of your voice is a picture-perfect copy of that moment. Same look in your eye, wearing the same clothes and bead bracelets your students made for you. Same everything.
It is a precious memory. To sit here with you feels so real, as though the heavens had answered Mike's prayers and brought him back to you.
"Abigail has always been a stellar student. I have no doubt she'll flourish in her new school."
Your smile makes his heart sink. Everyone always looks at him with anger. Not you, though. You're different.
"She does have a tendency to keep to herself. But, I think she'll adapt well to the new environment." He remembers every word from your mouth.
The emotions he was struck with when he first met you come back in a near-fatal rush. Irrepressible tension and rapture plunge through the barrier of his flesh. Practically a duplicate of the exact memory.
Going to a standard school meeting for his sister was an event Mike intended to do briefly. Getting it over as quickly as possible is his standard approach to most if not all, aspects of his life. This day, however, he was thrown in a whirlpool when he found himself wishing to stay with you. Leaving you felt like something he could not bear to endure.
Mike is abnormally pale, drenched in sweat, and mere seconds from passing out. You place your hand on his arm, inquiring him about if he was feeling alright. Hook, line, and sinker. Your mere touch sent him charging away from any perceived sanity he once possessed.
The strictly platonic concern you had for his well-being is addicting. To a point where Mike abandons all morals to indulge in these newfound feelings you give him. Once a poised man has now been reduced to a gooey puddle of sheer fervor.
All he can do is nod in response, completely entranced by the sight before him. You take his assurance hesitantly, before reaching into a basket of children's toys beside your desk. As this memory usually plays out, you retrieve a bear plushie. You then tell him of how it is Abby's favorite to play with and how you wish to gift it to her before your final goodbye. He agrees, of course. Nodding once more to compensate for his inability to speak.
In these woods, however, you show him that orange toy plane his brother treasured. His gaze remains latched to you as stand from the picnic table and walk away. To his utmost surprise, you then bend down beside Garrett. When you present him with the plane, he accepts your gift with childlike elation. He is quick to abandon his recent endeavors in favor of playing with his new toy.
You stand on foot, watching with an adoring smile as the young boy takes off. Mike watches you. An emotional, muddled intensity in his eyes.
"This isn't... This isn't how it happened... This isn't real." In his state of confusion, Mike has found the ability to speak.
He captures your attention and your gaze reverts to him. In response, his mouth goes dry and all coherent thought vanishes. Just one look from you and his entire capacity to speak is robbed, once again.
"But, it could be... It's what you want, isn't it?"
You are correct. You have always been veracious and that attitude does not fail now.
So despairingly, Mike wants this with you. To raise Abby and Garrett together, he can only imagine the wonderful people they'd become under your care. Maybe you and him could even bring a few more beautiful lives into this world. He can only imagine how exultant his own life would become if this dream turned into reality.
The rest of his life would be spent with you in Nebraska, just like this. Mornings and nights spent together at the dining table, all delicious laughter and nourishing meals. He'll even let you bring that lizard, too!
Playing frivolous games in the backyard until the sun sets, dressing in ridiculous costumes to take the kids trick-or-treating, and helping them blow out the candles for every birthday cake. Hell, he'll endure the sweltering temperatures and screaming kids at Disneyland. Only if you're there with him.
And maybe after the bedtime stories and last tuck-ins goodnight, you and him can occupy yourselves with other activities. Mike is no stranger to these kinds of fantasies, after all.
You wouldn't fail Abby and Garrett. Not like he did. You could all be a family. Exactly like he has always wanted.
For a moment, Mike had forgotten how his life had inevitably turned out. He was so warped in the domestic bliss he could have with you, that he didn't anticipate how the next chapter of his life would manifest in this dream.
You are tackled to the ground. You fight, you kick, you scream — you do everything in your strength to get the man off of you. The very same man who took Garrett all those years ago.
Not a picosecond passes before Mike picks himself up, rushing to your safety. He intends to beat the man to a bloody pulp. His sole purpose on Earth is to protect you and ensure your safety, after all. In his efforts, his foot gets caught against the legs of the picnic table, sending him to the dirt floor. Mike is quick to scramble to his feet. His heart races a mile a minute; his eyes are blown wide in crazed worry.
When he stands, he finds that somehow within the few seconds spent on the ground, you had been shoved into the back of a car. You bang your fists against the rear window, pleading for him to rescue you. And that, Mike desperately tries to do.
He sprints after you in a blind, blurred panic. The sudden, swift movement of his body is painful, as though needles poke and prod at his skin. It is all he can see, hear, feel, think of. Losing you and the gut-wrenching devastation that would inevitably follow.
The car begins to accelerate faster and faster. His running pace gets slower with every step forward. Mike tries, God, he fucking tries, but you slip away from him like sand between his fingers. Just the same as it was when he lost his brother.
With his speed receding, his body loses all mobility and he cannot bear to run anymore. The harsh punt of his body falling to the ground pulls a grunt out of his throat. Mike whispers mantras of "I'm sorry," hoping that you can somehow hear his pleas. He prays that by some miracle, the man who took you will have a change of heart and bring you back. Sobs plunge through his chest. The misery seeps in like water leaking through a weak dam.
Consciousness comes back to him all too suddenly. A loud yell of your name erupts from him and echoes through the security room. Mike plummets from his desk chair and splats against the ground. His mind is still plagued by that scene, he is still racing to save your life.
Cold sweat drips from his head. His hands shake with a terrified tremor. He hyperventilates, as though he had escaped the depths of the ocean and were inhaling fresh air for the first time. Mike weakly props himself up against the desk, trying to calm himself.
An entire year of agony. Over 365 days of absolute Hell. Living without you has tortured him in ways he never thought was possible.
Sitting here on the filthy floor of this old pizzeria, Mike finally waves his white flag. He has given up. He cannot do this anymore. It is more than he can handle.
And without so much as another breath, Mike springs into action.
Max is surprised to see him back home so early. Flustered and ridden with sweat, Mike explains how there is an emergency at work and he needs her to watch Abby longer. She obliges and accepts the hefty pay he shoves into her hands. He is driving away before she can process what has just occurred.
The song he plays every night in his Walkman blares from the car radio. Your song. The idea brings him ephemeral ease. A dash of excitement.
This is what his life is supposed to be and if all goes well, it's what it will be in mere hours. Mike's foot slams harder against the gas, doing what he should have done long ago.
All he has to do is explain himself. Surely, you will listen and understand this is for the better. You will see through all his stuttered words and irrepressible nerves. You will taste the sickeningly sweet devotion dripping from his mushy, candied heart. Surely, you will understand this is all for you. And of course, you will love him, too.
Hours pass like gusts of wind. The welcome sign of Nebraska passes in a flash. Mike remembers the route like the back of his hand. He'd never forget the roads that lead back to you, after all.
Dawn is moments from rising. The sky is a dark blue, covered in blotches of dark, orange sunshine. Mike pulls into the parking lot of your school where only one car is present. Yours. And of course, he parks directly beside you. The prospect of being close to you, even with something as negligible as this, sends a hot shiver coursing through his body.
Mike tries to soothe himself as he lets out a shaky breath. A heavy trepidation is nestled in his stomach, still mixed with that crisp excitement. Sweat cascades down his face. His dark, curly hair sticks to his forehead. Nothing can stop these feelings. He may try, but his scattered heartstrings stubbornly remain ensnared around his throat.
When he stands, he has to latch onto the roof of his car to catch his balance. Any passerby would think he was drunk. Being at an elementary school would certainly not help his case, either. Fortunately, the only people here are you and him. No one else. Just the way it is supposed to be.
The path leading to you is familiar. The trees blossoming, the chalk drawings on the sidewalk, and the scent of the early-morning breeze. It reminds Mike even more of how much he missed you.
His wet palms grasp the handles of the front entrance. He pulls, only for the door to remain locked in place. A few more desperate tugs and he watches as his ploy peels apart from the seams. The consideration of breaking down the door is only present momentarily, before any and all function of his is cut short.
The door is unlocked and opened. Stood at the threshold is you.
And with more intensity than Mike had anticipated, the euphoria only you are capable of conjuring comes rushing back.
"Good morning!" is all you say. Your expression is cheerful. Kind. Gorgeous, as you always are. Exactly the way he remembered.
Now that you are finally here, Mike cannot fathom how he had survived so long without you. The pieces of you sprinkled throughout his life are brought to revelation. Your name carved into his bones, your warmth threaded through his veins, your breath stirred with his every word. It is as terrifying as it is exhilarating. The fact he had not collapsed upon making mere eye contact with you is a miracle in of itself.
"Oh! Are you the new security guard? I wasn't aware we were getting a new hire." You break the silence, referring to the yellow "SECURITY" stamped on his vest.
You...
You don't remember me?
The words don't manage to escape him. Instead, you send him into a state of stupor.
The impact your words have on him is nothing short of surreal. When Mike had memorized every sliver of you down to the tilt of your jaw and the curve of your spine, you had forgotten him entirely. For the year he spent longing for you, he was merely a bystander in the background. An apparition within your mind. You do not remember him. And no words in the English language could express the lethal heartbreak.
It has rendered Mike speechless and his inability to speak fills you with unease.
"Please, come in." Opening the door further, you try and usher him inside. All you wish to do is escape this conversation and the fervid eyes of this stranger.
Gaze still glued to you, he grasps hold of the door handles. His unconscious brain still decides to take the weight off of you. Mike has no choice now, he must convince you to stay with him. To beg you to choose him, to remind you of everything you once had with each other. To show you what losing you has done to him.
When you turn and walk away, he tries to find his voice. Mike wants to express all of this to you, but his efforts are futile. He is frozen and can only watch as you leave him again. The opposite direction of your classroom, this time. Towards the office. Most likely to ensure he was actually in the system.
Mike does not take this choice of yours for granted. Gathering up whatever morsel of strength is still left in him, he takes a few wobbly steps. He stumbles through the dark hallways, clutching his hand over his heart as he walks. His rampant heartbeat does not calm itself, no matter his attempts to soothe it.
Upon practically collapsing into your classroom, a flare of fleeting ease envelops Mike. To be surrounded by you is absolute ecstasy. Paradise is personified through flamboyant decorations and the scent of strawberries and books.
He scans every detail of your classroom. The new drawings on the wall, the jumble of recently purchased toys. He sees the new changes you have made in the past year and is shattered to know you were not thinking of him at all. As opposed to every second of his life being enmeshed with you.
Mike soon finds your desk. The first and last place he had ever truly felt happiness. On the surface, some of your clutter had been left behind. Too cute. A colorful planner had been left open to this exact date. A few papers are sat to the side, where students' assessments are in the process of being graded. Most important of all, your thermal scattered with stickers sits on a pained coaster.
Mike knows he should not consider it, no less think about it. You just need to be reminded, that's all.
With a paranoid glance at the door, he takes the orange bottle of sleeping pills from his backpack. He swiftly pours out several onto the desk. Then, he takes a stapler you had left out of reach from children's sticky fingers, crushing the thin white circles into a chunky powder. Your thermal opens with a quiet pop! and Mike pours the residue into your drink. He uses the straw to stir it around for effective measure, trying to ignore the incessant urge to take your straw for... personal use.
A storage closet resides right behind him. Mike leaves everything on your desk as it once was and is swift to hide inside. He leaves the door open a mere creak, within perfect distance to watch his plan unfold.
The minute without you feels torturous, as though it had lasted a millennia. When the aching sound of silence is filled by a creaking door, his heart practically plummets. Through the small peep, you enter his field of vision. You trot over to the iguana enclosure. Saying a quick hello to Mr. Cupcake, before making your way to your desk. Oblivious to the uninvited guest just inches away.
You take a sip from your thermal. Mike cannot find air to breathe or the ability to function.
You take another. This is actually happening.
One more sip. Your pen scribbles on your planner.
You take a sip. It is a blessing straight from God you cannot hear the hyperventilated breaths behind you.
Then, another sip. Holy shit, this is actually happening.
As you work, you reach over to grab some sticky notes. Your elbow accidentally nudges your pen, causing it to fall from your desk and roll across the floor. You stand to retrieve it with a grumble before a sudden wave of lethargy envelops you. It is all too sudden and acute. You have to lean on the edge of your desk to stable yourself.
Before you can question the sudden fatigue, your body fails you. When you inevitably fall, Mike is quick to catch you. Hell, his arms were around you before your legs even wobbled. Slowly, and with loving attentiveness, he guides your limp body to the ground. The adrenaline inside him is so penetrating, that he does not have a moment to process the fact he is touching you.
With you fully unconscious, Mike knows exactly where he'll be heading next. Only now, he'll have an additional passenger with him.
He secures your unconscious form into the back seat of his car. Fastening your seatbelt and triple-checking they are in proper function. Mr. Cookie, or whatever his name is, is in the front seat within his cage. Moving his enclosure and necessities from your classroom was a hassle, as told by the bite mark on Mike's hand. For you, though, he would endure far worse.
With the birds beginning to sing, there is little time before the world wakes up and his intentions are jeopardized. Mike drives off before anyone can see what he has done. Not even he has fully processed what he has done.
Leaving your car, your home, and your life behind, he begins the treacherous and exciting journey back to Utah.
Every car that passes has him gripping the wheel tighter, foot reader to slam harder on the gas. He had already lost you once, he cannot lose you again. Mike does not play music, either. The sounds of your breathing is his new favorite harmony.
He casts a glance in the rear-view mirror every now and then. You're draped among the back of the car, cocooned in the numerous blankets he brought for this trip. Beneath the windows, your head is rested against a fluffy pillow. He even snuggled a few plushies into your arms. The sight is so gut-wrenchingly adorable, Mike nearly crashes the car with how painfully distracting the sight of you is.
This was the state he stayed in for the first several hours of the drive. Mindless driving on freeways, checking on you (as well as continuously cooing over your cuteness), and holding his breath whenever he passes through busy areas or cops. Then, he gets knocked off course.
With blurred vision, you can barely discern where you are.
Sunlight makes you squint. Your mind is messy. You can hear the rumble of a car engine, feel the vibration against your form. The blankets wrapped around you are suffocating. You peel them off from your body, a few random stuffed animals fall to the car floor when you do so.
Mike nearly snaps his neck with how fast he turns around. His efforts to take you away were frivolous, yes, but he was sure he had given you enough pills to sleep through the trip.
"Hey, you're okay. Y-You're okay. Everything's gonna be okay. Okay? Just don't freak out... Please don't freak out."
You do the opposite of what he advised. Little by little, the pieces begin to click together. Panic settles in your stomach like a fresh sheet of snow. Hyperventilating breaths leave your shaking body, accentuated by your frightened whimpers. Who is this man? What the fuck is going on? Tears stream down your face with every question that litters your mind. And every cracked sob you let out is a fatal strike to your assailant's fragile heart.
Mike is quick to comfort you, as you can always count on him to do such. And how badly he wishes to climb into the back seat himself and hold you close. Everything he is doing is for the better, you must know that. As scary as this all may seem for you, he will do whatever it takes to convince you of this truth.
He reaches his hand back to soothe you, only succeeding in the opposite when you cower away from his touch. Mike cannot hide how poignant your rejection is, he is shocked he hadn't broken down into tears alongside you.
"... Are you going to hurt me-?"
"I would never."
He answers without a sliver of hesitation. Your shattered, sugar-sweet voice absolutely destroys him.
The weight of his declaration is so immense that you could almost believe him. You should believe him, as he only tells the utter truth. The fact you have been drugged and shoved into the backseat of a stranger's car, however, convinces you otherwise.
Looking through the window, you take note of the rural area you're in. Nothing but miles of trees to comfort you. No distinct landmarks to help you navigate your location.
Mike oscillates between looking at you and the road. While he's occupied with the road ahead, you take action before thinking thoroughly. Sweltering blankets torn off of your body, you unfasten your seatbelt as silently as you can. You mentally prepare yourself for the turmoil up ahead. Then, within a matter of a single second, you unlock the car door and jump.
Debris slices into you as you fall deeper into the forest. The world becomes a blurred frenzy of trees and cloudy skies. Your frail body is drowsy from the drugs still pumping through your system. Your ribs ache, your ears ring, and you are covered in gashes. Still, survival is the only prospect present in your brain. You pick yourself up from the dirt and dash forward. Never looking back.
April puddles and fallen pinecones ruin your expensive work shoes. Fresh flowers are squished beneath your steps. There is no path you intend to take, you only wish to get as far as you can from that man. Poison ivy and low-hanging branches slash at your skin. You do not think, you only push and push and push. Anywhere away from him.
The second you had opened that car door, Mike slammed down on the brakes. The scream of your name hurts his throat from the sheer volume. To see you jump, leaving him again, sparked fear like no other. He does not even bother to turn off the car or close the door before he is racing after you. He cannot lose you again. He can't, he can't, he can't.
Mike barrels into the forest like a feral animal. He is met with a terrifying sense of déjà-vu. He's seen this movie before, he's heard this song a million times. This dream has haunted him forever. Just when he is inches from touching salvation, you will be snatched away from him. And he will have to watch as his life crumbles before his very eyes.
His legs grow heavier with every step. He screams for you until his voice goes raw. His lungs feel as though they may collapse into themselves. Still, his efforts to find you do not falter. You would have to kill him if you wished to keep him away from you.
A tree branch crunches.
Mike stops dead in his tracks. Listening.
There's a pained whimper. Quiet amongst the soft winds.
He dashes toward the sound. Swift in surging through the steep hills and overgrown forestry in his path.
While you were running, you failed to notice a protruding tree root. When your foot hooks beneath it and sends you tumbling to the ground, you try and scramble to your feet. However, the burst of adrenaline that had gotten you this far could not combat the lethargy still in your body. You lay on your back, exasperated with debility. Entirely paralyzed.
"Y/N! Oh, thank God!" Mike collapses beside you, all while you stare at the stranger in utter terror.
Dirt and sweat paint his body. Eyes blown wide and crazed, his hands reach for you. Fearfully searching for any wounds. One hand cradles your face, caressing your skin with his thumb. The other rests against your hairline, petting the expanse with tender intent. Cries of both relief and terror fill the empty silence. To lose you all over again is a horrifying prospect he cannot fathom the weight of.
"N-... No..." Your voice is weak. Barely able to crawl out of your mouth.
Fingers latched into the mud, you try to drag your body away from this maniac. Mike brings your attempts to a halt, hands still latched onto your body.
"I'll be good, Y/N, I will... Just-Just stay with me!"
Your assailant does not listen to your feeble demands. Instead, Mike wraps his arms around your torso. Further ensnaring you in his locked embrace. He buries his face into your neck and rocks your body back and forth. Trying to soothe you into another slumber. His sniffles are overpowered by his sharp inhales of breath. Consuming your scent.
"You're not leaving me. You're not fucking leaving me!" Mike bawls out.
He is now a complete mess. Face twisted with ugly sobs. All hot tears and running snot.
"Just sleep now, okay? I'm right here..."
Blunt nails dig into your shoulder blades. His weight on top of you is suffocating. Please just love him and never leave him. That is all he could ever ask for, all he could ever want. He has spent so long without the one he loves most, he cannot bear to ever part from them ever again.
With a choked groan, Mike lifts your limp body from the ground. Sniffling reassurances echo as you reach a state of unconsciousness. He lifts you over his shoulder and your body loses all mobility. As he takes you away, your mind fades into a peaceful rest. Escaping is now a pipe dream.
Faint sounds of shuffling are what you're next awoken to. Pipes bang and thump. It is far more quiet than your last conscious encounter.
Darkness pervades your vision. Your body feels weightless, as though you are floating through a dream. You cannot move, no matter your efforts to try. As if your limbs had been glued to the fluffy expanse you've been laid upon. All you are capable of doing is releasing a guttural moan of disdain from the back of your throat.
"Easy, cub. Easy now."
No.
The voice is fluffy and easy. Horrifyingly familiar.
This can't be real; this can't be reality. This cannot be what your life becomes: rotting away in this stranger's embrace.
You were granted several mere seconds of solitude before hands were on your body, once again. The grasp lifts your body, to where your assailant sits behind you and rests your back against his chest. His efforts are gentle. Comforting. Though, the movement still has you wincing in discomfort. You hadn't anticipated how many injuries you had given yourself.
Speckles of your sight return in short spurts. There is light against the darkness, everything is gold. Drowned in the hues of candlelight scattered around the room. The glow is cast against a fuzzy expanse, to where you could almost convince yourself you were in a dream. And my God, do you wish it was.
You miss the rich, headache-inducing colors of your classroom. The judging stares of other parents who drowned their homes in beige decor never felt more comforting. You miss the screeching children with their constant need for attention. Their dramatic tears and obnoxious attitude would bring you peace like no other.
Mike plants his chin against your shoulder and all you can think about is the beautiful life you have lived until this point. His arm slithers across your torso, tightening with vehement need. It is loving in the most suffocating manner. You then hear a bottle unscrew through static noise. shushes you as he presses the lid against your lips. Water cascades into your mouth and down your dry throat, all while Mike presses impassioned kisses to your temple.
"There you go. Very good... You're perfect..." His tone is cordial as he ushers you to drink.
As much as you had tried to fight his attempts to give you water, it has fortunately provided you more clarity. The environment surrounding you fades into something more lucid.
You've been swaddled in a thick comforter. Soft and floral-scented, fresh out of the dryer. The king-size bed is at the end of the room and provides you with a clear view of everything. The lack of windows and decrepit staircase tucked in the corner tell you this is a basement. Soundproofed and locked up, your chances of escape are minimal. He does not want to let you go, that much is for certain.
Across the room is a chunky television. Movie cassettes sit in the cabinet supporting the television, where a newly purchased GameCube is left beside, as well. There's a bookshelf to your left, which is filled with old novels and children's books. Nothing was bought recently. Is there a child in this house? Lego sets and puzzle boxes are stacked next to the shelf. You come to the chilling assumption that it is intended to be something for you to occupy yourself with when he's gone.
Much to your satisfaction, Mike leaves from his spot behind you. He guides you back onto the pillow with romantic, loving ease. A gentle caress to your cheek before he goes. As if he was your doting husband taking care of you while you are ill.
When you look to your right, your heart accelerates when you find your iguana enclosure on top of a rickety table. Thank God he is alright! You do not know what you would do if this man had harmed Mr. Cupcake.
As words have failed you consistently, you whine out like a baby to express your wants. Your assailant's attention is back on you at record speed. The persistent need he has to ensure your comfort is almost pathetic. Teary-eyed and pouty, you reach for the enclosure holding your iguana.
Mike's body goes rigid. A gentle gasp emanates from him.
Are you... Are you reaching for him?
He practically throws himself back onto the bed. Sat beside your laying form, he almost can't bring himself to believe it. His deluded fantasies have bloomed into existence.
"Yes? What do you need, cub?" Please say him. Please say you need him like he needs you.
Mike looks at you and his eyes melt into candy. A gentle smile plastered on his face, he brings his finger up and boops you on the nose. Affectionate is his natural disposition. You're too fucking cute.
Mike had wasted an entire year without you. Too much time spent neglecting you of his love. Oh, you must have been so lonely without him. This is all he has wanted, after all. To take care of you. To take the weight off your shoulders and bring you ease like no other. He will spend the rest of his lifetime making up for the lost time. He would spend forever for you, slaving away to earn your forgiveness.
When you firmly establish what it is you actually want, no amount of sleeping pills in your thermal cup could stop you from seeing how defeated he is. Your rejection cuts like a dagger. Anyone can see this genuine fact. Still, Mike abides by your request. He'd tear mountains asunder for your happiness, after all.
Begrudgingly, he leaves your side. He opens the enclosure with struggle. Too many notches and slots. When he takes Mr. Cupcake into his hands, the iguana squirms and twists. Almost as if the reptile grasped what was happening. He propels his tail like a whip, reaching for the hands around him with his sharp teeth. His nails dig into whatever part of this stranger he can find.
When Mike plops him into your lap, Mr. Cupcake relaxes instantaneously. You snuggle him into your arms and are provided comfort from him, as well. His scaly flesh and jagged spine abrade your face, but you have never known a more soothing embrace. You plant a myriad of kisses and adoring nuzzles on Mr. Cupcake's skin. At the same time, you ignore the third wheel standing there.
Mike watches this and is nearly sick with want. Never in his life had he ever thought he'd wish to be an iguana this bad. The things he would give and the things he would take to be on the receiving end of your affections bridges off insanity.
Averting his gaze, he cannot watch the scene anymore. He had never expected to be so envious of a goddamn reptile. Mike grants you the time you want with that prickly bastard and leaves the basement. You hear the tumultuous clatter of all the locks and bolts being put into place once he is gone.
The time without Mike is something you do not take for granted. Silence is precious, solitude even more so. During his absence, you reel through the supercut of your life. You cannot find this man in any of your memories. You do not remember that face no matter how hard you try. He is the bad guy, the villain. The very definition of 'stranger-danger' you teach your students about.
When Mike returns, all of that disturbed turbulence comes with him.
In his hands is a cracked dinner plate with spaghetti and meatballs splat on top. The closer he gets, the faster your heart pumps. Setting the plate down on the bedside table, he takes your iguana from your tight hold. Mr. Cupcake still thrashes in his grasp, trying to bite and hit wherever he can. Good boy.
When the beast is locked away, Mike is idyllic to be alone with you again. He acts as though the current circumstances were romantic, where you and him are enjoying an amorous vacation. He then places the meal carefully in your lap, wary of the hot plate burning your precious skin.
"You need to eat, cub. You've been through so much. Too much." Mike's hand finds your face again, thumb caressing your cheek.
His mere words make you want to vomit your breakfast all over what is supposed to be your dinner. Still, you obey and begin eating. The dish is mediocre, at best. You've tasted better from the kitchen play set where your students wear chef hats and cook plastic food. Kidnapped and trapped in a basement, however, you'll take whatever scraps you can get.
Eyes glued to your plate, you do not watch as Mike takes a movie from the cabinet and pops it into the VCR. "The Immortal and the Restless" whirs to life as he returns to where you sit. Mike lays down beside you and joins you beneath the warm comforter. He takes the fork from your hands. A shiver cascades up his arm upon the faint contact made by your fingers touching. Oh, it is love. He then begins to feed you. There is nothing but sugary madness in his eyes.
Bite by bite, you are forced to watch soap operas and listen to nauseating love declarations.
"I was so alone out there without you, baby."
If only you hadn't been so fooled by a security vest and pretty brown eyes, you could be with your students right now. You could be free right now.
If only.
⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ
perhaps she’s a police officer (or cop whatever people call them) like her sister or vanessa just brings her along.
Vanessa gets a call about a break in somewhere else and leaves her sister with mike at the pizzeria, one thing leads to another and mike her up against the desk.
(not the best at trying to explain stuff, sorry!!)
Good Cop, Bad Cop
PAIRING: Dark!Mike Schmidt x fem!Afton!Reader
WORDS: 2,352.
WARNINGS: swearing, p in v sexual intercourse, breast play, degradation kink, slight praise kink, dark!Mike, possessive qualities. Mike being a tease.
A/N - thank you for sending this request in! hope I did it justice x please feel free to leave a comment / reblog :)
It was nothing out of the ordinary, being paired with your elder sister, Vanessa, tagging along her side during the night shifts. If you were being quite honest with yourself, you had suspected it. Besides, she was your senior, a colleague, as you were just a fresh, new recruit in the local police department. To break the ice, your sheriff thought it best to pair you two together, nonetheless.
"Just need to make a quick stop-"
As the alluring neon red and blue lights flickered off from the reflection of the dark, stained glass, your curious eyes wandered towards the desolate, outdated building before you. From the sheer glimpse of the ruined exterior, an uneasy sensation, some hesitation to even leave the vehicle began to churn in the pit of your stomach. This place did not look welcoming by the least, despite the shattered fragments of cartoonish figures decorated on its exterior: most likely an attempt to appeal to the children of previous generations.
"Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria?" You confounded, naturally feeling the puzzling flex of your brows furrowing with confusion, as you turned to face your elder sister in the driver's seat.
"Just need to make a quick round, Mike here is the new security guard... This place is known for vandals and criminal activity. And he's only one person."
With the swift mention of his name, Vanessa's head instinctively nudged towards the direction of the older, rugged looking brunette, who stood by the locked entrance of the neglected complex. Eerily as if he had heard the mention of his name, even with the substantial distance apart, his head flicked upwards as means of a wordless "hello."
His features felt unthreatening, strewed with a tinge of exhaustion, as you noticed the dark circles that saturated beneath his eyes. Regardless, you could not deny, he was quite pleasing to look at, a handsome face nonetheless: it was a shame he spent his nights hidden away in some remote corner of town, and his days asleep.
"Glad to see you made it through another night. Just wanted to make sure you hadn't run into trouble already. This is my sister, by the way, and our new rookie, Y/N-"
"Dragged you along, did she now?" Mike remarked, and although you surmised it was his attempt to kid, his tone remained monotoned, except for the subtle, sly smirk across his face, as he assertively leaned his hands over to shake your own. His grip was strong against your own, his hand larger in size, swallowing your own, his texture rough. His lingering eyes had been fixated on you since you came into his vision: catching fleeting yet blatant glances, he showed no shame when you had caught him those few instances. A sudden, flustering wave of heat flashed across your face, feeling your cheeks turn shamefully scarlet. Even disguised in your uniform, declaring such authority, you felt bashfully meek in his presence, rather a school girl than a cop.
As Vanessa's familiar voice echoed in the background, your attention panned to the vacant, decaying building. It felt somewhat eerily familiar, a faint memory you could scamper in your mind in the distance and yet nothing jolted a clear vision.
The abrupt static whirring of the radio from the vehicle had snapped you back to reality: immediately she excused herself as she scattered off, leaving you to bask with Mike.
"S-So you've only just started as security... Here?" You softly stutter, intent on maintaining direct eye contact with Mike in reciprocation, even though it felt conflicting against your meek nature. Despite the practical training and experience dealing with delinquents, this vulnerability was a first. He seemed timid yet unnerving simultaneously: you felt uncertain whether he was simply just a quiet, introverted man or if he truly intended to disguise and deceit himself as one.
"No-No, I've been here for a month now, your sister just likes to make her rounds. Think she's still uncertain about me, but I don’t blame her."
His response ignited a satisfying wave of relief: as you leaned towards the hurtful notion that he would ignore you. The huskiness in his low voice almost made it feel as though he was sleep talking, only loud enough for you to hear.
"Just a curious thing though, your uh- sister. She's never mentioned you before...W-Why's that?" He uttered, as his brows frowned in sync with his words, a bemused look tinged across his face, as he patiently awaited your answer.
"W-Well V's always been private about her personal life. Since I could remember, sh-she's always been this particular way. Just her innate nature, I s'pose," Defeatedly sighing garnishing your final words, with an indefinite shrug, before glancing back at Vanessa, caught in her own world.
"Well, your sister took no time trusting me... But you- You are the undetected anomaly in her story. There must be a reason..."
Vanessa had abruptly left in the company of a man you had just met.. Having hastily returned from the radio call, from a fellow colleague requesting for her senior presence as backup, she was bound to follow. She had insisted you remain with Mike as he settled for the night, whether he approved of it or not however, you could not say with certainty. He remained silent and sullen, as you both carefully watched your elder sister driving off into the nightly distance, the glaring neon blue and red lights flashing in the distance.
Mike had led you in, gesturing you to enter first as a gentleman would, before shutting the entrance close once more. Thankfully, he had broken the awkward silence, excusing himself momentarily to boost the electricity, only to give you a brief tour of the premises before guiding you into the security office, where the blank monitor screens echoed your reflection.
"So you really just sit here the entire night? And watch the screens?" You intrigued, feeling the natural flex of your brows furrowing, as you fiddled with the papers and dusty stationary on the desktop. A part of you, unable to fathom that a job like this would exist in such a deserted place like this.
"A job is a job for me. At that point, I was willing to take anything they offered." The monotone level of his voice was unwavering, deep, his tiresome eyes remained fixated on you though, as you remained unwilling to return the favour.
"I suppose so, don't you get lonely all by yourself though? Nothing to make the time go by-"
With no spatial awareness, you hadn't even realised how close Mike had slowly crept towards you. Closing off the distance inch by inch, before he assertively strode towards you. The unfamiliar sensation of his arm snaking around your waist, was what had caught your deficient attention, as he plunged his lips against your own in a passionate kiss. And although your eyes had widened in bewilderment, your body froze like an ancient statue in the initial seconds, as your mind raced to comprehend. As he lingered on, pursuing the kiss, your tense muscles easing, you felt no obligation to shove Mike off. No urge to decline his advance, it felt destined, relaxed into his embrace.
"W-What was that about?" You breathlessly stuttered: not wanting to decline Mike nor give the impression that you had disapproved. Despite only having met the man an hour ago, he made you feel helpless, like some schoolgirl with a pathetic, little crush that devoured her from the inside out.
Was it truly the boredom of the night that had consumed his rational mind, to do something that seemed quite extraordinary for him?
"You don't think I didn't notice you blushing outside? How nervous I made you? You don't think I would take advantage of a pretty girl like you gushing on me, huh?
His soft lips once more made contact with you, although this time exploring the sensitive crook of your nick: eagerly sucking at your tender skin.
"M-Mike we sh-shouldn't, I-I'm an off-"
"Nah-Nah, baby... You're going to be my fuck toy tonight. My little, pretty whore to keep me company. That's what you really want to be, right?"
His gentle kisses in between the suckling of your skin was bewitching enough to send your mind into an abyss. You knew this was wrong, you knew that if Vanessa found out, if your department found out, it would stain your career, or worse. And yet, your body said otherwise, disintegrating into Mike's lustful appetite.
"I-I sh-shouldn't."
*tut tut* "You know you want to, baby... Why deny it? I didn't think there were any pretty girls worth it left in this fucking hell hole... You think I'm going to pass it up?-"
With his words, Mike had swiftly lifted you momentarily, nesting himself between your spread legs as you sat atop the desk. One of his rough, calloused hands remained pinning your hips, whilst the other snaked its way smoothly beneath your uniform, firmly cupping and kneading at your breast.
"No-No... I've already put up with enough, I deserve something special. M'gonna fuck you so good, I'll have you forgetting you even were on the job."
"Y-Yes" You pathetically whimper, your hands instinctively wandering over Mike's body, itching to feel his bare skin against your palms. You manage to sneak your arms beneath his shirt, feeling the thickness of his flexing muscles beneath his moving body, as you grip at his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh.
"Look at you, princess, already so needy for me. You desperate for my cock, huh? What happened to the talking stage?" He lowly teases, a smirk spewed across his face, as you feel its curvature press against your skin, his low chuckle in harmony to your mindless whimpers and moans.
"L-Later- I-I want you now, M-Mike."
"That's my girl," His deep growls vibrating against your tender, cool skin. You hadn't even realised how swift and slick Mike was, unclasping your bra, as he began to unbutton your polo shirt, before undoing your pants. Returning the favour, with much haste and eagerness, you began to unbuckle Mike's worn out belt, as you undid his jeans.
"Easy, baby, easy- What would they think of you back at the station? The police department's little slut... My pretty, little slut."
For a few split seconds, Mike ogled at your lace panties, savouring the sight before pulling them down to expose your bare, wet cunt. Noticing how his eyes lit for the first time since meeting, an ecstasy glistened in his dark orbs, as he licked his lips with desire.
"I'm gonna have you at my beckon call from now. Spoil me with your services."
Mike pulled his body apart from yours, the heat exuding, as both your bodies felt flushed and moistened with sweat: panting as you caught your breath. Mike naturally pulled his underpants down, exposing his rigid, girthy cock: just above average length, although the sheer size was mouthwatering. His tip reddened, with a few veins protruding with anticipation.
"Look-Look at what you've done to me, Y/N..."
Without a moment to spare, as Mike once again closed the faint distance between: his throbbing cock teasingly brushed against your sensitive folds, before plunging himself in. The lightning, raw pain was exhilarating, as you felt your walls stretching beyond relief to accomodate for Mike's bulky mass. His steady pace was sloppy, as his thrusts would quicken with each pump, pummelling your body further into the desk. If you hadn't been clinging to his back dearly, nails drilling into his skin [you were certain evidence of reddened, defined marks would show] that you'd knock of a monitor or two.
"F-Fuck you feel s-so good. So tight for me, baby. Th-This was meant to be. M-Meant for me."
Endless curses and swears escaped from Mike's mouth, in sync to your moans of his name. Each time his name left your mouth, his thrust grew more vigorous, igniting something animalistic in him.
With each sloppy, hasten pace and forcible thrust, Mike had finally reached his peak, shooting his hot, thick seed inside of you, drenching your insides. Your stretched, tight walls coated now, some seed spilling through the gaps onto your inner thighs, once again was a gesture that made Mike pleased. Pleased with himself, more so.
Inevitably, this ignited the same peak, as your wetness pooled over his cock, still buried and throbbing inside of you.
"F-Fuck Y/N... Th-That was s'fucking good."
After having regained your senses and thoughts, you'd managed to clean yourself up, Mike humbly passing you a spare cloth or two from the cleaning storage. He remained by your side, intently watching you from a shy distance, interjecting just once to make certain you were okay. As you finished, he exhaustedly sat himself down on the desk chair, rubbing his palms against his thick, sprawled thighs.
"You make sure it's you visiting me from now, baby. Your sister talks too much for my liking... And she's not as pretty to look at as you."
Despite the familiar, bashful feeling Mike made you feel, as foolish as butterflies in your stomach, you felt somewhat used, and dejected.
"I-I'm not some girl you can just sleep around with Mike. I have morals, and I have a respectable job... You can't just use me like-"
"I don't want to use you, Y/N... I-I want to make you mine, the fucking is just an ugh-added bonus."
Sighing in defeat, although Mike's sly smirk was a devious looking one, his eyes however remained unchanged and stern. In the pit of your stomach, your instincts told you there was truth to his words.
Just as you were about to fathom a response, the sudden, screeching ringing sound of an outdated buzzer blared through the speaker. Mike leapt over towards the monitors, deciphering a button or two, before multiple screens lit up with the perspective of some camera in a corner. On one screen the familiar, blonde hair of your sister shot through, before her face turned towards the camera.
"Our time's up, princess. I'll see you later, okay?"
credit for dividers - @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more
Summary: Having lured William Afton back to the pizza plex. A game of cat and mouse begins. Will you make it out to freedom with everyone against you? | finale [series]
William groaned annoyed, fumbling with his car keys. The last thing he hated was when things wouldn’t go according to plan. Huffing annoyed he got into the car, slamming the car door shut behind him. Starting the engine, grabbing the stirring wheel firm. Knuckles turning white from the tension. He didn’t like taunting. He didn’t like to be defied. Certainly not by a little bunny that he saw so many potential in.
The phone call still ringing in his ear. Your words echoing through. Come and take your bunny. This was clearly a dare. Something that bothered him but also in a way pleased him. The dare that you had to speak up against him. For so long he was able to keep the children under his thumb. Of course, they were children. Easy to be deceived into doing his bidding. You were different. No child.
Stepping on the gas, he rushed off. Driving off to the abandoned pizza plex. Ready to meet the little bunny and unleash his punishment upon it. William sped up, not wanting to waste any more time. The more he thought about you, the more he filled with rage. A bunny not hopping to his bidding. Finally he thought he had found the perfect play thing for the animatronics… and for him. The animatronics had been lonely.
They needed distraction. A treat to keep them under his control. Needing to keep them busy. The last thing he wanted for the animatronics to get too much time to think. Wanting to keep them entertained. Speeding up on the highway, he rode off into the night. Just a few hours until dawn. The car rode up to the gravely road. Getting out. Slamming the door annoyed shut, he strode up to the pizza plex. A big thing in the 80’s. Now it only collected dust and blood.
William reached the doors, moving his hand against the window to peer inside. Trying to get a glimpse of any life force. The main room appeared empty. Nothing but still and dust. Grunting loud, he reached for his keys.
Hesitating for a moment, looking down at himself. With a loud huff, he returned to the car. Opening the hood. A yellow bunny’s mask staring right back at him. Grinning, he reached for the bunny’s head. Putting on the familiar suit that fitted him like a glove. Setting the mask on his head. Laughing manically with his head leaned back.
With a new attire, he walked up to the pizza plex once more. Opening the door, entering. Stepping into the darkness. Standing still for a moment to listen around. Not a sound to be heard. – “Y/n.” – he called out melancholic. Taunting you with his presence. – “Come out, come out wherever you are little bunny.” – he added walking forwards.
When no reply’s came, he tensed his jaw. If it was a cat and mouse game you wanted to play, he’d play. Taking big steps, the first room he would search for you was the security room. It was the safest place in the plex. Keeping a close eyes on his surroundings. Not even a sight of the animatronics yet.
Taking a few turns, he arrived in the corridor leading up to the security room. Pausing for a moment when seeing Foxy stand at the end of the hallway. Peeking inside the security room. Hook tapping the glass mindlessly. William marched over with big steps. Foxy turned his head at the presence of someone. Jaw dropping.
Glancing nervously from side to side, before stepping aside. William moved to stand in front of the little room. Peering inside. Seeing nothing but an empty room. – “Where is she?” – He wanted to know. Foxy’s hook moved, pointing at a place low by the ground. William’s gaze went to it. Seeing the raster open. So you had crawled through the vents. He had to give it to you that was a bold move.
Although it made his search a lot more difficult. William grunted loud, stepping away. Foxy turned around, unsure what to do till he started following the yellow bunny. William heard foxy stomp after him like a lost puppy clinging to his mother.
It made him stop and turn. – “Find the others!” – he ordered. Foxy saluted stiffly back at him, jaw dropping open. Lifting his feet up, he hurried away. Steel feet thumping on the ground. His faint voice dying away the further he got. Hur, hur, ha-hur-hur. Hur-ha-hur-ha-hur, hur, hur, ha-hur.
William searched further. Making his way through the party room towards the back corridors. Hearing two doors flap shut against each other. Making him follow the sound. – “Little bunny.” – he called out sweetly, opening one of the side-doors. Hearing munching sounds. Entering more, making him sigh loud. Chica was feasting on the garbage once more. Munching away without a worry.
When she sensed a presence behind her, she turned around. Her vocals screeching loud. Hands out, freezing mid-way at the sight of the yellow bunny. Immediately her hands dropped to the side of her body. Turning her head away.
“Have you seen your plaything?” – William asked. Chica turned around. Spun back holding the cupcake in the palm of her hand. Gesturing at it while her jaw dropped open. – “No!” – William shouted out, slapping the cupcake out of her hand.
The cupcake rolled over the ground. Narrowing it’s eyes at the yellow bunny. – “The girl!” – William specified. Chica’s jaw opened and closed. Pointing in a direction. He shoved her aside. Chica walked up to the cupcake. Kneeling down to pick it back up.
Both staring back at the last of the yellow bunny’s back with a glare. William pushed another set of doors open. Getting really agitated that he still hadn’t found you. For his anger would boil even more with each moment. Disobedience needed to be punished. You better be at your knees begging for forgiveness.
William made his way to the back area’s. Off limits to ‘guests’. Pushing another set of doors open. Staring inside a room stacked with items. Keeping quiet, trying to make his steps as soundless as possible. Listening in closely. Glancing from side to side around the room. A smile curling up to his lips.
Slowly approaching a stack of items in the corner. Reaching his hand out to it. Pulling the first items down hard. – “Gotcha!” - he called out, staring angrily down at you. Your screams filled the room, sending a laugher of pleasure over him. Hurrying up your feet, you tried to take a run for it. The yellow bunny grabbing you firm by your wrist.
He pulled you close to him, laughing even more. – “Let me go!” – you grunted out, fidgeting for freedom. Keeping the screwdriver hidden in your sleeve. William sighed loud, grabbing you by both your arms. – “You wanted me here, you got me here bunny.” – he spoke through the mask.
The mask made you swallow nervously as you still hadn’t gotten used to the view. – “You locked me up!” – you called out annoyed. – “Only for your own good, bunny.” – he responded letting his thick mechanic hand brush down your cheek. – “Why, you didn’t trust me?” – you spoke stalling your time. You just knew he was smirking behind that mask.
“Why don’t you take that ridiculous mask off.” - you shouted out. William moved his finger up to warn you. – “I say the orders around here, bunny.” – he responded with dominance. He lowered his finger down. Making you blink confused back at him. – “On… your… knees.” – he spoke lowly with a threatening undertone. – “Like hell!” – you snapped back.
His hand easily found a way around your throat with a quick motion. Head tilted back, gagging for air. Squeezing your airpipe just that extra shut. Pulling you up to his face. – “On. Your. Knees.” – he demanded once more. Wanting to keep you under his thumb. Cheeks puffing up, you tried to gasp for air. Slowly letting the screwdriver drop out of your sleeve into your hand. – “Li… like… hell.” – you repeated, jamming the screwdriver in his armpit.
William called it out in pain. Immediately letting go of you. Crashing through your knees, you gasped for air. Looking at the screwdriver in your hand. Dripping in blood. William stumbled backwards from the sting. You got up to your feet, taking a run for it.
William tried to sway his hand at you, but missed grabbing you by a hair. Panting loud, you started running. Screwdriver still in your hand. Leaving specks of blood on the ground from him. Looking over your shoulder, you heard him shout in a rage, that send a chill down your spine. Quickening up your pace, you hurried back to the main doors. That were open now due to him coming back.
Your eyes widened with fear seeing Bonnie appear at the end of the hallway. Hands in the ready to catch you. Running faster, you went straight for him. Diving down to slide under his legs. Sliding smoothly under them, scrambling yourself up to your feet afterwards.
Bonnie staring confused at the ground, before turning back around. Not leaving him any room to go after you. Running further. Gasping loud, you heard the chomping of the cupcake behind you. It came flying towards you. – “Not today cake!” – you shouted out, slashing your hand at it with the screwdriver in it. The cupcake got smacked against the wall, dropping down.
Jumping over the party tables, you avoided Freddy that had to manoeuvre around them. Finally reaching the main room. Running past the stage. Straight up to the doors. Smiling as freedom was upon you. Only a few more seconds and you would feel the sun on your face once more.
Hand reached out, you grabbed for the doors. A sudden force on your hand, preventing you from going. Looking at your side, seeing Foxy as his jaw snapped open and closed. – “Let me go!” – you screamed out, jamming at the door, trying to open up, but he kept his shut by force.
A hand pressed on your shoulder, turning you around. The yellow bunny standing in front of you. Eyes widening at the sudden piercing pain. Knife stabbing in flesh. – “You had so much potential…” – he said with a weary sigh. You grabbed onto him for support as he jammed the knife deeper into your rib.
Sputtering out some blood. Keeping your gaze on him, you reached your hand to his mask. Pulling it off. Revealing his face. – “Now you have nothing.” – you spoke, sputtering out some blood. William let his hand brush against your cheek, shushing you.
“My sweet bunny…” – he said leaning in closer. Forcing his lips onto yours. Kissing you deeply. Hand trembled. A mechanic shutting close. William’s eyes widened, stumbling back from the kiss. Staring down at the screwdriver jammed between some of the gaps.
Grunting more as he felt the mechanics pierce through his skin. Blood seeping out. Crushing him in the suit. – “You!” – he called out, wanting to run over to you, but another pressure point into his ribs made him double-over. You sunk through your knees, against the door. A last smile on your lips seeing him struggle and squirm in pain. Before everything went black.
