Hour Until Midnight

˚₊‧꒰ა hello, angels ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ doom 〃 dolly 〃 turner ⋆˚࿔

𓏲ּ𝄢 he ᰍ she ᰍ they ᰍ it ⊹ . ݁˖ .

𐔌 . ⋮ just a bunny .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

𑣲. this blog is 16+ ‧₊˚

Writing Requests

Status: Open .ᐟ.ᐟ ⋆.˚ Rules ♱ ⋆.˚ Fandoms ♱

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

𑣲. taglist:

ask if you wish to be added<3

Risk-Reward

Oneshot: Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN!Medic!Reader

Warnings: Smoking ────────────────── Tags: Johnny "Soap" McTavish lives, Not beta-read, Second Person POV, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining ────────────────── Chapter Word Count: 2.4k ────────────────── Description: “He likes you too—a little too much, though. Aside from you being just so damn beautiful, you’re kind, charismatic, and you never fail to (even if you can’t see it) make him smile. But, he’s never planned on taking his affections any further than just friendship; he has never been one to make advances on people—and besides that, he doesn’t want to affect what he does have with you. He loves talking to you—or he did, until you stopped doing so.“ ──────── One shot where two emotionally unintelligent people try to ignore their feelings (spoiler: it doesn’t work)

Ghost is a wonderful soldier—an efficient killer. Swift, stealthy, ruthless… But Simon? Simon is a good man. He’s funny, respectful, a shockingly good listener for someone so closed off, and you like him. He’s an amazing friend. You’re lucky to have someone like him in your life, especially in this line of work.

He likes you too—a little too much, though. Aside from you being just so damn beautiful, you’re kind, charismatic, and you never fail to (even if you can’t see it) make him smile. But, he’s never planned on taking his affections any further than just friendship; he has never been one to make advances on people—and besides that, he doesn’t want to affect what he does have with you. He loves talking to you—or he did, until you stopped doing so.

You began to avoid him, starting small; you wouldn’t sit with him during dinner. Now, in your free time you never seem to visit him; you can’t even meet his gaze, and that beautiful smile is never on your face when he enters a room. It all makes him think he did something wrong, but he has no clue what that could possibly be…

So, today, he decides to at he’s going to confront you about it. He doesn’t make very many friends and he doesn’t want to lose one over something he isn’t even aware of how to fix. You’re in the medical bay, idly tapping your pen against the paper, when he finds you.

“One second and I’ll be with you.” You say as Simon stares at you. He feels… almost nervous? That doesn’t typically happen to him.

“It’s me.” His gruff voice barely comes out. He can almost see you visibly tense, but it could also just be you sitting up in your chair. Your eyes are finally focused on him, but they aren’t the friendly ones that normally look back at him.

“What are you here for?” You ask.

“You know why I’m here.” Simon doesn’t hesitate to answer and he can see your frown worsen.

“I don’t read minds, Lieutenant.” A quick pang of both shock and hurt hit him; you never call him that—you never have. Even when you first arrived at the base, you refused to call him it. It was one of the things he grew to appreciate with you…

“Lieutenant?” He asks, almost offended. Even though he wouldn’t admit it, Simon let his walls down for you—and here you were giving him the bricks to rebuild them. “See, this! This is what I’m talking about.” He says, walking further in the bay, closer to you. I had to have done something.

“What do you mean?” You ask him. You both know the truth, though; something is wrong, but only one of you knows what it is.

“Did I do something to you?” He asks and finally your eyes look away—he was right. What did I fuck up on?

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong.” You say quickly, but your leg is bouncing and he can tell obviously that isn’t true.

“Well, something is. You don’t talk to me anymore.” He steps closer once more and you frown at this. “You ignore me—you can’t even look me in the eyes.”

“Nothing is wrong. I’ve just busy and stressed, and I haven’t had nearly any free time.” You lie through your teeth. He’s a little offended you think he’ll believe that.

“Did something happen? Did someone say something to you?” He continues to probe, just wanting any confirmation—he’s starting to get aggravated.

“No!” You huff, eyes narrowing as you finally look back in his direction. “I’m fine, and I have work to do. You know that better than anyone.” Ghost stares at you as you turn in your chair. He isn’t sure what to say.

“Fine.” He says, chest hurting a little.

I hate this. All of this.

He turns around and leaves. No goodbye from you or him, just silence and a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

•• ━━━━━ •* * *• ━━━━━ ••

“Can ya’ stop whingin’ and tell me what happened?” Johnny asks, looking over to Ghost. He’s been silent, sitting in Johnny’s room for maybe the past hour?

“Nothin’s wrong.” He says, his already thick accent always got worse when he gets irritated.

“Aye right…” Johnny roles his eyes and Ghost frowns. “Come on, mate, tell me what’s wrong? We both know you’re talkin’ out your arse.” He asks, leaning on the back of his chair.

“I got into a disagreement with someone.” Ghost says, crossing his arms, mostly to hide how he can’t keep still.

Johnny just stares, he doesn’t need to ask who. He knows it’s you. And Ghost knows he knows it’s you. You’re the only person who can get him worked up like this, make him really hurt—even if he won’t admit it. “Why?”

“They won’t talk to me. Not even just that—they called me Lieutenant.” He frowns more under his mask.

“Did you do something?” Johnny asks, he doesn’t know you super well, but he does know Simon.

“I would love to know.” Ghost groans, he’s getting himself upset again.

“I ‘unno then, just wait for them to say somethin’ to ya.” Ghost rolls his eyes. He doesn’t want to do that. He wants to talk to you now or never again. Either would work right now…

“Whatever.” He says as he stands up, earning a groan from Johnny.

“Bye, LT.” He waves, even if he gets nothing in return. He knew he probably wouldn’t.

Ghost shuts the door behind him and decides he just needs to go outside for a moment—to clear his head, he says.

When he goes out of the back of the base, he sees you sitting on the bench smoking. He narrows his eyes; you were very aware of the rules, and you of any of the soldiers here should know not to smoke. That was one of the many things he really disliked. I hate that smell.

“Smoking on the base?” He says and immediately sees you jump, looking over to him.

“Shit—uhm,” You stomp it out as he walks over. “Sorry, it won’t happen again.” You look away. You don’t leave, though.

As Ghost stares at you, he really takes in how disheveled you look. With a deep breath he sits down beside you, thinking you’ll immediately get up and leave, but you don’t. You both stare out at the tree-line as the sun settles over them. He doesn’t say anything and knows that you sure as hell aren’t going to either.

“How long?” He asks and you shrug.

“Recently. I’m still on the first pack…” You frown and before he says anything you continue, “and yes, I know how bad they are. You don’t have to lecture me for something I already know.” You bury your face in your hands as you lean forward on your knees, letting out a shaky breath. He nods. No point in arguing if you already know. “I’ve just been stressed.” He can hear the hesitance in your voice, even muffled by your hands.

“Are you going to tell me this time? Or are you just busy?” He asks, coming off a little more aggressive than he meant to be. You finally sit up, leaning back against the bench. He can see your eyes—no longer angry like they were but tired, defeated. He almost feels bad about aggressive, but he doesn’t apologize.

“I want to,” You start, “but I also don’t.” Ghost stares at you.

“Don’t be cryptic with me right now. You know that shit irritates me.” He says and your frown worsens. You looked focused but in distant kind of weird way? It’s hard to pinpoint the exact emotion you’re feeling just by your face. His stomach still twists seeing you, though; while he isn’t sure what feeling, he knows it isn’t positive.

“There is something wrong, but you didn’t do anything wrong.” Your voice was quiet, almost expecting, but he stayed quiet. He was going to make you speak. “I… God, I don’t know what to do.” You laugh a little, but not out of any real humor to the situation.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.” Ghost says, and he almost lets himself reach out to your hand. But he doesn’t.

“You’re a great man, Simon; and you’re an even better friend.” You say, cheeks tinged pink from the chill of the wind. Only the wind.

“I love being your friend, and I care about you more than I should. You’re not supposed to get too attached to people in this line of work.” His eyes soften, he knows the feeling. “I don’t want to lose you… and if I get any closer it’ll just hurt more if you do actually get ripped from my life.”

“You won’t.” Ghost says, trying to lighten your mood. He knows it is possible, he can die one day—he will die one day. Probably in the field, during an unimportant mission. Like most other soldiers. But, it doesn’t hurt to hope.

“You don’t know that. Any wrong move, any fuck up, could send my heart shattering into millions of pieces.” He tries not to think too deeply into that. Maybe he should, but he was never really good at reading people; the ones he liked, at least.

“I believed that for a long time.” With a long breath, Simon speaks. “It’s not fun, being alone. I owe Johnny for pushing me out of my comfort zone because if he hadn’t, we wouldn’t be friends.” He says, hands folded over each other. Simon wasn’t really good at this whole ‘talk about your feelings’ kind of thing.

“I don’t just tolerate you, I like you a lot.” He says and you avoid his gaze. “I like being friends.” He quickly adds after. Damn it. Why can’t I just admit it?

You hesitate but smile, “I like being friends with you, too.” Your voice is still quiet but you look more sure of yourself now. “I like you in general, though. You’re a great friend; I’ve said that already.”

Don’t give me false hope. Please, god…

Simon feels nervous for once, truly anxious. He’s nearly never anxious—even when gunning down enemy soldiers or defusing a bomb or any other dangerous situation he’s typically thrown in. Now—though—here he is, chest tight and heart beating faster than he thought it could. He can feel a heat in his cheeks; he’s blushing. Ghost—the intimidating killer, violent soldier—dumbed down to a blushing, nervous man. He almost can’t believe it, believe that you do all of this him.

You take another deep breath, you may be more nervous than Simon is.

“I think I like everything about you. You’re strong, you’re intelligent, you have never given up on me, even when you maybe should have… You're respectful and kind and tell the worst dad jokes.” You let out an amused huff, smiling more now. He can’t help but grin a little too.

“You’re really great, Simon.” He loves how his name rolls of your tongue; delicately, lovingly, almost as if it’s an honor to say. “I… I feel like it may be obvious already, but I admire you a lot. Not just as a Lieutenant, or soldier, or a friend—I mean, yeah, all of those are true, but…” You pause, and he can see the struggle in your eyes.

Please say it. Tell me what I want to hear.

“I want to be more than just your friend.” He feels a quick shot of happiness through his heart, but he doesn’t show it; at least he’s trying not to. “Romantically, I mean…. If that wasn’t, uhm, clear.”

Simon isn’t sure what to say, does he say he also is romantically interested? Does he go into detail? Do you like it when he’s nonchalant or would that be weird??

“I’m scared, though.” Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “Honestly, I'm fucking terrified. I’m terrified that you’ll like me back. I’m terrified that if we get any closer, then I’ll… lose you when I’m already in love.” You choke a little, trying to keep your breath steady. Simon takes the first of a few risks, and gently takes your hand in his. You look over to him and—damn—those eyes get to him.

“I’m not the type to take unnecessary risks,” he can see your eyes flicker down to your interlocked hands. “but… I like you enough to take this risk.” His face is burning and it gets worse as you tighten your grip on his hand.

“I remember when I first came here, you really didn’t like me.” You smile, holding back a laugh. “I really liked you, though; I thought you were so cool.” Simon smiles.

“I am cool.” He says and you nod. “You’re cool sometimes too.” You grin at him and stares at your lips for only a small moment.

“I know,” You boast and Simon laughs a little. “I’m glad we can both admit that.” He stares at you for a second. Then at your hands. Then out by the trees. He’s kept this part of himself locked away for so long that it’s weird having it back open.

“Close your eyes for a second.” He says, looking over to you. His heart is beating so fast, despite how calm he feels. Is this how people normally feel?

You look at him, as if he’s crazy. “Pardon?”

“Just do it,” he huffs, still blushing under his mask. You listen to him and close your eyes. He stares at you for another moment before he smiles, gently bringing his hand to hold your face—his touch softer than he ever imagined it could have been. His other hand moves up to the bottom of his balaclava, pulling it up slowly, hesitantly.

He can tell you’re confused as your brows furrow. He doesn’t keep you waiting for an answer and tentatively presses a kiss to your cheek. Your eyes immediately open to look at him, balaclava now skewed up to reveal his lips and red cheeks. He quickly pulls back, for some reason you staring at him makes him feel all fuzzy. Embarrassed. He clears his throat and pulls his mask back down, keeping his eyes away from you.

After a moment, you laugh at him. It’s not a mean one, but it is teasing. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, even if it’s through the mask.

“I’m willing to take the risk.” You say, leaning on his shoulder. Simon looks at you, heart swelling with an amount of admiration he didn’t think he could feel for a person.

“Me too.”

taglist: [empty] ──────────────────

Always Come Back (to Me)

Springtrap/GN!Minimun-wage worker!Reader

navigation/masterlist

Chapter One: It Burns! Fazbears Frights Burns to the Ground! Chapter Two: Creepy Crawlies Chapter Three: Creepy Crawlies

games i write for

୭˚. ᵎᵎ modern warfare series (pulling from both the original and reboot depending on the fit) ୭˚. ᵎᵎ ghosts

characters i will write for

୭˚. ᵎᵎ Simon "Ghost" Riley (mw) ୭˚. ᵎᵎ König (mw) note: i do not speak german, so if it's included, i'm trying my best ୭˚. ᵎᵎ [platonic/familial] Captain John Price (mw) ୭˚. ᵎᵎ Keegan P. Russ (ghosts)

i will obviously include others in fics, as well as i will include them in socmed au prompts or simple imagines

characters i will not write for

୭˚. ᵎᵎ Vladimir Makorov (mw) ୭˚. ᵎᵎ Phillip Graves (mw) ୭˚. ᵎᵎ [romantic] Captain John Price (mw) sorry, that's my dad, i don't feel comfortable.

if you're curious about someone specific, ask!

Fics

one shots

୭˚. ᵎᵎ gentle (ghost x gn!reader) ୭˚. ᵎᵎ risk-reward (ghost x gn!reader)

taglist: [empty]

just a reminder, i am a college student, that means updates likely will not be very often, but i'll try my best for you<3

Always Come Back (to Me)

Chapter Three: Things that Go Bump Springtrap/GN!Minimun-wage worker!Reader

Warnings: Eventual Smut, Smoking, Drinking, Arson, Lots of Crime, Lack of Communication ────────────────── Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Animatronics are furries, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, William Afton is not Sprintrap ────────────────── Chapter Word Count: 1.5k (tis the intro) ────────────────── Description: ɪᴛ ʙᴜʀɴꜱ! ꜰᴀᴢʙᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʙᴜʀɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ!

We all remember Freddy Fazbear’s Diner! The tragedy! It seems the bad karma has caught up with the franchise once more! A new local attraction based on the ancient pizzeria chain burned down overnight. The fire department has just finished as of noon.

Based on the statement the local police issued, authorities have not ruled out foul play; but at the moment it seems to have been caused by faulty wiring… However, was it really? Or was this a strategic act on the location? Is the franchise truly haunted? Police chief, Larry Beardings says, “I think we oughta have known it was gon’ happen sooner or later. The place was falling apart far before it even opened doors. It was bound to happen.”

Very little was found at the scene once the fire department cleared it for search. The few items that were salvaged will be sold at public auction. Some antique collectors seek to have the old, supposedly haunted attractions, but most people consider it junk.

---

That’s crazy… Now I have to see it.

Your funeral When you die, it isn’t my fault…

Coward.

──────── Chapter Synopsis: You return to Fazbear Frights and nearly get arrested. It's awesome! ────────

“Thank you! Have a wonderful day.” You smile, waving the elderly man good-bye as his grandkid grabs his bags. The doors open, ushering in a warm breeze from outside, and it feels nice against your cool skin.

After they leave, you sigh and slump down, leaning your head on the counter. You let your eyes close, just for a moment, you tell yourself. You slept incredibly awful last night. Every time you close your eyes, you can’t help but see that person. Part of your brain, the reasonable and intelligent part, tells you that it was just some squatter and you should forget about it; there’s that other part of your brain, though, that keeps telling you there’s something more. Those eyes—it’s just something about them, you don’t know what, but you feel so off put by them.

“Yoo-hoo!” You hear a whistle before your name follows, you don’t need to look up to know who it is.

“Piss off, Ben.”

“That’s no way to speak to your manager!” He scoffs, and you feel him lean beside you. With a groan, you push yourself off the counter, glaring at him.

“For the day,” you correct, “just let me have this.” His smile would be infectious if not for the fact you knew an asshole hid behind it. “I didn’t sleep well, and there’s no one here. I can’t just relax?” You groan, leaning on your hand as you blink slowly at him. “Oh, I’m just playing; don’t be a sour-puss.” You very visibly roll your eyes. He watches you for another second before leaning a little closer. “Why didn’t you sleep well?” His voice is quieter, lacks that snark.

You shrug, “I don’t know.” You do know; in fact, you know very well; but, what are you supposed to tell him? Yeah, I can’t sleep because when I broke into that place you told me not to, I ran into a homeless person—except I think they may have been possessed or something because they had glowing fucking eyes like it’s a horror movie. That will certainly work. You continue, letting your eyes fall closed for a moment, “I guess I’ve just been overworking a bit, but, I’m not one to complain about hours.”

“You know you can always request off, you have enough days to probably take a nice-ass vacation.” He suggests, and you almost considerate for a second, but you can’t. You have too much shit to do all the time.

“I’m the only one who knows how to work the intercom right,” you look back at him, “do you honestly think you guys could last a week without using the intercom once in inevitably breaks?” He cringes and shrugs a little, tilting his hand in an unsure movement. “Exactly.”

“I think we’d be fine.” You stare. He stares back. “I think Janeen could figure it out. I could figure it out.”

“You locked yourself in the supply closet last Wednesday.” He frowns, huffing something under his breath.

“Those two things have nothing to do with each other, and you know that, and you’re being mean to me.” Your eyes flutter past him as a customer walks up to the register. “That’s a demotion.”

“Still not my manager.” You pull on your best customer service—but still really relatable and not too much, of course—smile. Ben pushes off the counter and walks away, swatting you on the shoulder. A young blonde places a few items on the conveyer, as you begin to check her out. “I hope you found everything you needed.”

────────────────── ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ ⚠︎.’ 11:41 pm .’⚠︎ ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ ──────────────────

You have to go back.

You’ve been lying here since you got out of the shower after work, just staring at the ceiling. You can’t sleep, not without tossing and turning. You tried everything, from meds to exercise to stupid online tips to even more meds. It’s driving you insane. You keep telling yourself that it’s not good to break in somewhere when it’s dark, especially knowing that there’s probably someone still staying in there. But, you’ve gotta go. You’re not sure why, probably stupidity, but you’re just too curious. You just want to see them again, with a light, see that mask, who it is.

You didn’t even think you fully decided before you realize you’re already out of bed, pulling on socks and some pants. Despite the warm summer evening, you know that the temperature has fallen significantly, the chill from your cracked window tells you that. You shut it before grabbing a hoodie.

You run through your checklist, making sure you have everything you need. Phone, keys, bear spray, flashlight, batteries, med kit… Only thing that’s missing that you would typically have is your mask, but that’s no longer in the picture. You take a deep breath. This is such a bad idea. Ben was right. I’m going to end up killing myself. You try not to psych yourself out of your spur of the moment, poor decision and pull on your boots.

It’s even colder outside than you thought, making the hair stand up on your arms and back. You keep moving to stay warm, shoving your hands in your pockets. No wonder your neighbors don’t like you, they probably make awful assumptions because you keep leaving your house covered head to toe during the late night and early morning. Maybe they’re warranted in their assumption, you are breaking the law. You frequently break the law; but, in your defense, of the laws you could be breaking, trespassing isn’t the worst one. You could be selling drugs or… killing people, or something. You’re just exploring, and frankly, you don’t think that should count as a crime. It’s not like you’re vandalizing anything or messing a bunch of shit up, just looking around. Since when was curiosity such a bad thing? Well, right now curiosity definitely is a bad thing, considering you’re probably going to end up in a ditch before morning after going to this sketchy-ass attraction.

You enter the same way you did originally. The hole under the fence still wasn’t fixed, and you’re careful not to rip anything this time. After, you move the boards to the side—you’re acutely aware of the fact that since you had to move them from that spot, that means someone fixed them after you left. You ignore it. You have bear spray. Bear spray isn’t just for bears, it can be used on other things too, like people who may or may not shank you in an abandoned horror attraction.

You hesitate to think anyone is around, though, you shine your flashlight through the halls, seeing dust and ash kick up in the light. Catching some dust in your lungs, you cough, hearing it echo throughout the empty halls. The following silence is awful; it’s almost too loud that you’re tempted to start talking to yourself to quiet it. It blankets everything with this heavy, thick aura that you can’t quite shake. The only audible disturbances are from outside, cars driving in the distance, wind blowing; but inside, it’s completely still. Your feet lead you back to the office. Maybe it was the mystery of what happened that’s bringing you back here. Who would set a haunted house on fire? That’s basically what this is, anyway.

You squat down, seeing a glint under the grime. You knock debris off of the object and see a tablet. It’s thick, “How old is this thing?” It was at least two inches thick, why would any tablet ever need to be this thick. The screen is cracked, obviously, and glazed over where battery acid spilled on the inside. You don’t bother to try and turn it on, it’s literally melted at some parts, so you’re certain it won’t work. You turn it over to look at the back; the logo, while scratched to all hell, is still slightly visible. Two large letters, capital A and R stand together in a circle. You take a photo of it, you don’t recognize the brand, nor the logo. Was this specially made for Fazbear Frights, or was it an artifact from the franchise that they found? “Hm,” Your eyes narrow in thought.

A board slips, slamming down on the ground from behind as you jump out of your skin. Backing up to the desk as a shuffling arrises, your eyes fling around the room. Your heart slows a tad when you see a small rat, probably a baby, quickly dart across the floor and out of a crack on the wall. “Hah,” you sigh, almost laughing at yourself. You pant, trying to calm your now racing heart.

“Scared of a little mouse?” You hear a voice and your heart stops racing; it stops completely for a moment. Your eyes move to your right, to the office doorway.

What the fuck, what the fuck. Your legs fail you, so do your hands when they try to grasp at the desk. You hit the ground, knocking the wind out of you. You didn’t even realize you were screaming until you couldn’t anymore. “What the fuck.” You look up at him, at it. It’s not a man, or woman, or person at all. You almost believe it’s a fursuit for a second, but you know that’s wrong. You can see the whites of its eyes, its chest rise and fall, its fur spotted where scars lay. For a second, you rationalize it as a bear, but that’s not right either. It looks like a rabbit, or hare…

Before you know it, you pushing yourself away, as fast as possible, you’re not sure where until your panic filled brain leads you to the vents. Awful idea. Doesn’t matter.

“Wait! Come back here!” You hear its voice behind the ringing, but you don’t stop, you can’t stop. Not until you get out—dammit why did you leave the bear spray in your bag?

You tumble out of the vents, seeing the glow of its eyes as it rounds the corners. You lunge off the ground and sprint to the front door—why is this place built like a maze—when you see it, you almost cry. Then you almost vomit when you see the red and blue lights approach with matching sirens. You take a step back, then another. You don’t know what to do. What do you do? You’re going to get arrested. Either you’re going to get arrested or get mauled by the weird fucking not-bear, bunny mutant. In simple words, you’re fucked. You are so fucking—

“Fuck!” You gasp, as you feel two hands pull you into the darkness, hearing the front door swing open. A hand over your mouth, another across your stomach, a heavy heartbeat agains your back, hot breath on your scalp… You look around, finally taking in where you are. You watch as the flashlights of the police turn the corner. You’re hidden, behind some arcade machines, in a nook in the wall you didn’t even know was here until just this moment.

“Sh,” You don’t have to try to look to know what’s holding you—who. You can feel the fur. HIs breath is hot against your ear as you watch the police walk by. You could scream for them, have them shoot the not-bear, but… something stops you. Maybe your disdain for the police, maybe your fear of getting put back in jail, losing your job. You stay silent.

The police yell for someone, you, looking around for an intruder. You hear bits and pieces of their conversation. “There’s no one here.” “It was probably a fuckin’ coyote again.” “The building is breaking down, no wonder there’s noises coming from it.” You feel nauseous as you watch the police walk past once more, calling into the station. Final chance. But, you do nothing.

It’s silent for a long moment after you hear the cars pull out. He doesn’t move, and you don’t dare try to move either. “Please, don’t scream at me this time.” His voice is quiet, and words slow. Then, deliberately, he lets you go. You tumble away from him quick, spinning around and letting your back hit the other wall of the nook. You pant for a moment, trying to take him in while also trying to form any one thought in your still-spinning head. “I’m sorry I grabbed you, I panicked…” His voice is rough, as if strained.

“What the hell are you?” It slips out; then—newly afraid—you brace for impact, surely you offended him, but it doesn’t come. He just takes a deep breath and looks away.

“Would you rather talk in the office?” His eyes glow a faint muted yellow, almost green, but it’s difficult to tell.

You nod, then realizing he probably can’t see that, force out a few words, “I would prefer that.”

────────────────── ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ ⚠︎.’ 12:38 pm .’⚠︎ ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ ──────────────────

The both of you have been sitting in silence for a few minutes now. It feels incredibly awkward. He gave you back your backpack; you didn’t even realize you dropped it in the heat of the moment, but apparently you did, and he had to hide it in the vents behind you. As the fear slowly simmers down in your chest, it’s replaced with a burning curiosity. You’re still freaked out, obviously; but as well as that, you’re in awe. Moving officially past the not-bear assessment, you are certain that you’ve never seen anything—anyone—quite like him. You’re sure his disheveled state detracts from some of the amazement, but it mostly makes you feel almost pitiful towards him. His dirty golden fur looks more green in the dim flashlight, and that’s just the fur that remains, huge scars cover portions of his body, revealing what remains of what looks like incredibly painful scars. His claws—which, last time you checked, rabbits do not have as an “identifiable trait”—are long and chipped. He picks at a newer scar, at the scabbing growing over. He hasn’t looked you in the eye since the two of you sat down in here. You’re just swinging your legs idly on the desk as he fidgets on the floor.

You clear your throat, trying to break the heavy silence over the two of you. “So,” you start, and he looks up at you, those cold eyes sending a shiver up your spine again, “what are you? Like, you’re not human, obviously, but also that’s—you—are you?” You stumble over your words, tapping your hands anxiously against your knees.

“You look like a rabbit, but rabbits are not—what are you, seven and a half feet tall? I’m just so confused and part of me wonders if I breathed in mold or too much ash and now I’m seeing things?”

The rabbit sighs, running his fingers through his fur, “I can try my best to explain, but they never really explained much to me.” He says, adjusting his position on the floor; he’s bent over, curling down in place as if he’s trying to make himself seem smaller. It doesn’t help much, really, he’s massive. Even if he took a foot off his height, he’d still tower over you.

“They?” You prompt.

“Fazbear Entertainment, the company that made me.” He says, sparking your interest. “I don’t know if you’ll know you’ll know the place, but you look old enough… Fredbear’s Family Diner.”

“Like Freddy Fazbear’s?” You ask, and he looks back up to you, away from the scarring on his arms you were trying to ignore.

“Yes, actually. They had a few other locations around the state, but the Diner was the original. Fazbear Ent. originally used mascot suits like everyone was using around then; they worked, sure, but they always wanted something bigger…” The rabbit closes his eyes, you can see his ear twitching. “The owner wanted the best of the best, and one of his closest friends owned a company—Afton Robotics.”

“So you’re a robot?” You’re still so confused, he doesn’t seem like a robot—you felt his heartbeat. But, that would explain that tablet: AR.

“I wish it was that simple,” he shakes his head, “let me finish?” He watches you until you nod. “The owner of the company, Afton, he signed a contract with the Fazbear, but he didn’t do what they wanted. He didn’t want to make animatronics, he wanted real mascots. The man was a genius, and I’m not just saying that because he’s listening.” You open your mouth to ask what he means, then close it. You think his joke just didn’t land right.

“But, he also got in way too far over his head. He thought he could do anything. My head hurts when I think too hard about it, like he’s trying to make me forget it all. You know the way they lab-grow meat? Through animal cells and shit? He did something similar, mixed rabbit cells, human, and some other organic sciencey stuff I don’t understand…” He scratches the back of his neck, smiling. It doesn’t stay long. “I was never good with hard stuff like this. Uh, anyway, I have a metal skeleton, then all those grown cells—meats, fur—were grafted around it. He also used animal organs to transplant into me, to function. It’s almost the opposite of how a normal robot works; instead of a shell-casing or exoskeleton, I have an internal one, an endoskeleton. I was the first he made, I remember him showing him off to—uh, the owner.

“He was so proud of himself, but he didn’t think about all the shit that would affect us later. But, he had a deal, so he made more. When I was younger, still getting used to this body, I hurt all the time. It takes a lot of energy to keep me going, at the end of each day I was exhausted.” He smiles again, wider this time, “It was always worth it, though. Afton was right about one thing, the kids loved us. They were so happy when we preformed. It was so worth it to see them all so happy, have them look up to me… even if I wasn’t really much older than them myself.”

“Wow.” You hum, earning a stare from him. “How did this technology not spread, how did you get here? Fazbear as a company has been shut for over a decade at least…”

“Afton had Fazbear sign an NDA, they couldn’t say anything, and by the time that it was no longer in place, there wasn’t anyone left to tell the tale.” What does he means by that; well, you can guess what he means, really, but you don’t like it. “The Fazbears Frights scouters found me in an old back room. I don’t think they knew that I was, uh, alive. They just kind of threw me in one of the corners and hoped the night guard could take care of me.”

“What happened with the fire, then? The police said it was faulty wiring.” You pull your legs up, folding them over each other.

“It was that damn night guard. I barely saw him, he kept messing with my head with the audio tapes on the speakers; but the night it happened, he disappeared half way through the job. I noticed when it got too silent, then the whole place got really warm…” He looks down at the floor, under where you sit at the desk. “That bastard set the place ablaze and ran away, I don’t understand why… Some sick prank or,” You see him grip his head and grunt.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” You tense, pushing off the desk. You squat down as he looks up at you; he quickly pushes himself back. You take the hint and move back as well.

“I’m fine, I’m sorry. I just get headaches sometimes.” His voice is quiet as he mumbles, running his hands over his eyes and down each side of his snout.

“No, you’re alright. It’s not your fault…” You pause, thinking for a minute. All the scars, you hadn’t put much thought into them, but you wonder if he got them trying to escape. “Is the fire the reason you’re all banged up? The scars, your fur?” You sit fully on the floor, and even when he’s looking down, he’s still able to catch your eye.

“Some of them, some I’ve just gotten over the years.” He’s back to holding his arm again, it where the longest continuous scar is. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

You nod. From what he’s said, he’s been through a lot, and you’re sure there’s more. You wonder, Freddy’s had been closed for over a decade, and it was one of the last places to close. What was he doing between the years of then and now? How was he eating? He said there were more mascots made, what about them…? You think that if he didn’t share unprompted, he probably won’t want to if you ask. You’ve already asked him a dozen questions, any more large ones may scare him away. You look up at him, picking at your fingers.

“I’ve only just realized that we haven’t actually given proper introductions.” He looks back at you, nose twitching. You outstretch your hand and tell him your name. “May I have yours?”

He stares for a moment, hesitating. Then, slowly, he takes your hand. His palm is rough, covered in callouses more small scars, and it’s much larger than yours. You look up from his hand to meet his eyes, smiling. “Trap. Call me Trap.”

You wonder why that’s his name, you certainly don’t remember a character at Freddy’s called Trap. You don’t say anything, maybe he doesn’t want to be associated with Freddy’s. “It’s nice to meet you Trap.” You let his hand go and let it fall by your side.

“So, why did you break in here anyway? Are you trying to get lung disease… or arrested?” He asks, and you grin, pulling out your phone.

“I’m an urban explorer. I sneak into abandoned places and take pictures, sometimes I take things to sell, mostly I just walk around, though. I post on a forum with some other people.” You give him your phone, letting him awkwardly hold it. “I haven’t posted anything about Frights there since it’s a little too local.

He stares at your phone, you thought he would swipe to see the other photos in the album, but he doesn’t… He’s just kind of staring at it. Confused. “So, I’m going to take a guess, and say I missed something while cooped up in the diner.” He looks up to you and you cock your head to the side. “What is this?”

“What do you mean?” Then it hits you. “When’s the last time you, like, went outside? Aside from getting moved here, I guess?”

He thinks for a moment, tapping his footing as he does. His eyes focus hard, like it’s taking all his energy to remember. He looks back up. “Well, ’85, that’s when… That’s when the first Freddy’s Closed, but internally there was still a lot going on. After we officially closed, a few people broke in the next couple of years, old workers, looters, the police… They stopped coming after a while, though.” You stare for a moment, lips slightly parted—you’re trying not to let your mouth fall open.

“Trap, it’s 2015. You haven’t been in the world for nearly thirty years?” His eyes go wide. You think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. He just goes silent. You don’t say anything either. What can you say? He’s missed out on three decades. You look back down to his hands, still holding your phone.

He tenses when you move to sit beside him, but he doesn’t move. You’re smiling, then start to scroll on your phone. “This is an iPhone. They call people, but I can also do all kinds of other stuff,”

“Wait, wait, wait.” He stops you. “Phones go on walls.”

You grin, shrugging. “Not anymore.”

taglist: [empty] ──────────────────

a/n: i would say i'm sorry for the corny ending, but i'm not also, y'all are NOT ready for me to let my freak out because i was already giggling writing the nook scene

Gentle

Oneshot: Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN!Reader 18+ Post, MDNI

Warnings: Mentioned drinking, Mentioned Car Sex, Mentioned Drunken Sex ────────────────── Tags: Johnny "Soap" McTavish lives, Not beta-read, Second Person POV, Reader is originally from the States ────────────────── Chapter Word Count: 1.5k ────────────────── Description: Simon was a gentle man.

In bed, at least—or, actually, in an old, smoke-scented, Cadillac on drunken Friday night.

Your Lieutenant, Simon—Ghost—held himself to a standard to not drink at work, nor in front of his colleagues. No one can really control themselves when inebriated; and as much as he trusted himself, he wasn’t sure about the others. He also, much to the shock of many of the people around him—those who didn’t know his life, at least—wasn’t really even a drinker.

But, after a particularly stressful work week in which his team went on mission after mission, he desperately needed some relief. He just needed to wind down and take a breather; he deserved it. He was going to just light a cigar, of which he did regularly, and open a bottle. His captain had other plans though; Price, in order to let his team relax, hosted a small party with drinks in a private booth at a karaoke bar near the base. Ghost knew it was a bad idea, “work” parties never stay work parties for long...

When Ghost arrived, most of his colleagues were already at least a couple drinks in, but he tried not to judge, especially when Soap pushed a tall, large glass of bourbon into his hands. He tried to hold strong, slowly nursing his drink, watching everyone else take turns singing. Outside the small window on the back wall, he could see the light of the day slowly fade into a seeping darkness of night. That’s when he let himself really loosen up. It started with one drink… then another, and another. He didn’t mean to drink so much, but his mind escaped him in the moment.

Ghost only truly realized how drunk he was when he found himself flirting with someone else on the team. He was always a smooth talker, but never flirty—he kept his romantic life far, far away from work. But, there he was, getting handy, leaning close, laughing at jokes he didn’t think were funny… He forced himself out of the booth to go get fresh air, but he never made it outside.

You had stopped him before he got to the door, and his throat tightened. Of all the people that could have followed him, you were the one person he didn’t want. You had been his favorite thing to stare as of recent. He had rationalized it in that staring never hurt anyone. It surely never hurt him to stare. But, talking might…

He couldn’t tell you off when you leaned closer than you should have—to “check up” on him. He couldn’t not listen when you cooed your less the subtle advances towards him. He couldn’t help but love how your hands rested on his chest just so delicately… And, worst of all, he couldn’t stop his hands when he slid them around your waist and pulled you flush against him.

The next couple hours only got blurrier—he isn’t quite sure how the two of you got in his Cadillac all the way outside, nor how no one saw you slip away; they were all probably too drunk to notice. He does, however, remember the feeling of your hands roughly grabbing onto the fabrics of his clothes. He does remember how you pulled off his mask and crashed your lips into his in a sloppy, passionate kiss. He remembers how he let you, encouraged you even, as he grabbed onto any part of you he could.

He remembers your gasps, your moans, the sounds of your breath tangling with his, the movement of your bodies warming the cold car. He remembers stumbling out of the car, pulling his mask back on, and sneaking into the booth hoping no one saw the two of you and decided to be nosy…

Finally, he remembers how he immediately knew how desperately he had fucked up.

──────────────────

And now, you’re both sitting in a meeting over a less than important issue, trying not to steal glances at each other because every time your eyes meet, the tension between you grows stronger. Every one else is focusing on whatever Laswell is saying; normally you would be too, but it had only been two days since the party—and you can’t get the taste of your Lieutenant out of my mind or your mouth.

You know he’s thinking about it too. By the way he’s been bouncing his leg under the table, idly playing with the pen that was once abandoned on the table before he grabbed it just to have something to do with his hands.

You also know that your fellow soldiers were beginning to notice the tension. Not between the two of you; but Ghost was typically calm, collected, not fidgety and absentminded. They occasionally glance back at him as he stares quietly ahead, brows furrowed and shoulders tense.

“You’re all dismissed.” Laswell speaks, turning to power off the board behind her.

As she speaks, Ghost immediately stands up, not aggressively, but still swift. He walks out of the room, discarding the pen once more; you stare at it for a second.

“What do you think is wrong with him?” Gaz asks, his voice the typical smooth tone it always was. The two of you walk out from the conference room and towards the mess hall for lunch.

“I don’t know.” You shrug.

You know exactly why.

Gaz looks over to you; you try to keep a poker face—something you are horrible at—as he reads over your expression—which he is wonderful at. It’s always made you mad how good he is at reading people, it was just a talent he seems to naturally have, especially with you. As if the gods themselves decided to make your life as hard as possible

“You know something.” He says, and you can’t keep your face from flushing horribly, “You did something.” he continues with an obvious smile, one that makes your stomach twist.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You mutter, pushing the doors open to the mess hall. You avoid his gaze; can he please stop staring at you like that??

“What did you do…??” He whispers, nudging against you. “Did you say something stupid? Weird? Did he take off his mask and you caught him?”

“Stop.” You mutter, thinking back to when you pulled his mask off when you were pushed up against him, about to disgrace—

“Yankee?” Gaz snaps you out of your trance and you look up at him. The warm blush that spreads across your cheeks made him just knowsomething happened. “You did it, didn’t you?” He grins, and you feel like a fly caught in a trap.

“Stop it, Garrick.” You glare at him, but he’s already too entertained. Damn bastard…

“Took him forever to show us? How’d you do it?” He thinks back to that night, and as he slows down, you hurry off the grab your food. You feel your heart slow for just a moment, and doesn’t take long for him to notice and rush back towards to you.

“Come on, you can’t just not tell me?” He asks, continuing to trail you as you walked over a table in the corner.

You sit down with a sigh, “Gaz, I swear to god.” You say as you open a water bottle, beginning to take a sip to try and wet your throat.

“Does it have something to do with when you both disappeared for about two hours?” You choke, water coming out the sides of your mouth. You cough slightly, trying to recover as Gaz stares at you with a grin.

“What??” You ask, staring at him, trying to regain your bearings. “You noticed?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. When you realize your mistake, though, he’s already speaking again.

“Me and Soap.” Gaz smiles, and you can only sink down in your seat, feeling a wave of embarrassment and shame wash over you. “You have to tell me what happened now.” You can help but bury your head in your hands.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

You take a short, controlled breath as you try to speak, despite your embarrassment. “We were drunk. None of it matters and you need—“

Gaz cuts you off before you can finish, leaning close, “Yankee did you shag our lieutenant.”

“Kyle!” You yell, making a few people glance over, but no one really keeps paying attention. “How could,” You stop, sputtering over your words, “I cannot believe you—how could you even begin to insinuate…” You trail off and try to force the blush you had off your cheeks. When you realize you can’t, you just cover your face.

“That’s actually crazy.” Gaz grins, and you frown at him. “I won’t say anything about it, Yankee.”

You look away, you don’t now how or respond. You only know Ghost is going to kill you when he finds out you unintentionally basically told Gaz… Wonderful.

“I hate you.” You mumble as you take a bite of whatever bland food you had grabbed…

“So, was he, you know,” he clears his throat, still grinning, “good, though?”

“Gaz!”

“What!?”

taglist: [empty] ──────────────────

Always Come Back (to Me)

Chapter Two: Creepy Crawlies Springtrap/GN!Minimun-wage worker!Reader

Warnings: Eventual Smut, Smoking, Drinking, Arson, Lots of Crime, Lack of Communication ────────────────── Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Animatronics are furries, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, William Afton is not Sprintrap ────────────────── Chapter Word Count: 1.5k (tis the intro) ────────────────── Description: ɪᴛ ʙᴜʀɴꜱ! ꜰᴀᴢʙᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʙᴜʀɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ!

We all remember Freddy Fazbear’s Diner! The tragedy! It seems the bad karma has caught up with the franchise once more! A new local attraction based on the ancient pizzeria chain burned down overnight. The fire department has just finished as of noon.

Based on the statement the local police issued, authorities have not ruled out foul play; but at the moment it seems to have been caused by faulty wiring… However, was it really? Or was this a strategic act on the location? Is the franchise truly haunted? Police chief, Larry Beardings says, “I think we oughta have known it was gon’ happen sooner or later. The place was falling apart far before it even opened doors. It was bound to happen.”

Very little was found at the scene once the fire department cleared it for search. The few items that were salvaged will be sold at public auction. Some antique collectors seek to have the old, supposedly haunted attractions, but most people consider it junk.

---

That’s crazy… Now I have to see it.

Your funeral When you die, it isn’t my fault…

Coward.

──────── Chapter Synopsis: You decide to break in to the burnt down Frights to find more about the "accidental" fire, and nothing goes wrong... (Lie.) ────────

This is such a bad idea.

Yeah, probably But, like, when have I ever made a good idea?

I hate you Just, please, don’t die I need someone to cover me next Tuesday

Trust, I’ll be fine

You close your phone, sipping your coffee, and look up at the street. It’s early, only just barely past dawn. You’re sitting outside the all-hours coffee shop; it’s the best place in the town. Really the only good place. The town is still sleepy, no one is really out and about aside from cars of those who are going to their early morning shifts. You did not want to wake up this early on your day off, but here you are. Can you be blamed? It’s every urban explorers dream: a horror attraction—based off a franchise so core to their childhood—burning to the ground under mysterious circumstances in their own home town… Uhm, okay—fine, maybe it’s only your dream. That doesn't make it any less exciting, though. It does mean no one will be poking around to see you doing the same thing.

You remember going to Freddy’s when you were younger. You think there was a diner, it was actually the original, but you only ever went to the sister location that they had. You can’t remember very much of the establishment anymore; it's mostly vague tunes of retro music and too-cheesy slices of pizza all paired with the sounds of cheering and laughing. The animatronics always freaked you out, their dead eyes, stiff movements, uncanny voice... ugh, it still makes you shiver. You vividly remember when the mascots replaced them; it was a welcomed change. Their first appearance was at the grand re-opening of Freddy’s; any revenue they had lost over the years from the magic seeming less so was blown out of the water. The mascots looked amazing. Maybe they only looked that way to you because you were so young, but you swear it wasn't that. They looked like cartoons come to life, as if they’d walked straight out of the tv. You wonder if they were some type of fursuit? They performed all day, any person in them would need at least a few breaks; so surely not? Maybe they just got better materials and endoskeletons for them. They certainly had to be better, though.

That is one reason you’re so excited to snoop around, though. Oh, it’s’ thrilling, the idea of finding some of the old parts left behind. Too broken for the fancy collectors, but still in well enough shape for the underground scene you’re in…

You stand up, tossing your cup in the recycling bin before walking down the side walk. The sun is rising slightly more now, so you want to hurry and get to the sight. It doesn’t take you long, either because of the excitement in your veins or the caffeine—probably both, honestly. You stare at the attraction past the chainlink gates. Caution tape and no entry signs are placed everywhere. Wanna know what’s not placed anywhere, though? Cameras. You walk around the side of the property, looking for any weak links in the fence. You eventually spot a decently large chunk of fence bent up off the ground, probably from animals digging under it. Jackpot. You slide your backpack under the hole then squeeze yourself through the space as well. Your shirt catches and almost tears, but you wriggle free from the free metal. Pushing yourself off the ground and grabbing your bag, you look to the attraction, closer now. You’re at the side, near the back. There’s a door labeled “Employees only” on the ground beside a boarded up opening.

You walk up to the doorway and look at the boards; they’re only lightly nailed in, but you didn’t bring any tools. You do notice, however, the boards at the bottom are just laid against the doorway instead. Pulling on your gloves, you drag the boards to the side one by one, letting them rest against the wall. You duck under the remaining wood and step into the attraction. Your step rouses ash and dust to float around. You cough and wave a hand in front of your face; you probably should have guessed there would still be plenty burnt remains of the building still sitting inside. From your bag, you grab your face mask. It’s nothing too fancy, just a plastic one with a small ventilator, but it works. It’s hella uncomfortable, though.

Before stepping any further into darkness, you point your flashlight into the dark, watching it flicker to life. The ceiling is fallen in at places, enough where small streams of light trickle through. No hole is big enough to let you look around without a light, though. It's made worse because everything is covered in a thick layer of ash—it's good you put on the mask. You look around the entrance, feeling the ash squish under your boots. There are a few posters that still hang all the wall, albeit covered in soot; they're a mix of Advertisements for Freddy's during their animatronic era, spooky drawing that you think are made to look like kids drawings, and a few photos of the old pizzeria. You use your phone to take pictures of the posters that interest you, but you don't you could bring any of them home. They're far too messed up to restore with just what you have at home.

You stop in front of one set of decorations hanging on the wall. You lean closer, gently lifting one of the posters off of the wall. It reads "Entertain!" The odd part is the character, it's a drawn character that you don't recognize. You remember Bonnie vividly—he freaked you out even after the mascots started performing. The character looks similar to Bonnie, but still different; he's a warm yellow with bright green eyes instead of red. He's also holding a banjo rather than Bonnie's normal guitar. You look at the other hanging posters, which are actually more photos. You certainly can't recall each, or probably any, room in the old pizzeria; but you know you don't recognize any of these places. They look like they're from a smaller, more quaint location. You realize it's probably the diner. Did the diner have different characters?

You hum, letting the advert slip from your hand and continue walking down the halls. The deeper you get into the attraction, the more sooty things seem to get, as well with more expensive looking. You realize that the firefighters probably decided it wasn't safe enough to wander this deep inside. One well example of expensive things still sitting inside are a few arcade machines. You let out a whistle, leaning to read the sides. You recognize a few of them; Foxy Fighters, Chica's Feeding Frenzy, Freddy's Pizza Chase. Damn, these things are old. You almost consider taking one, they'd sell for a shit ton of money even in their broken state, but you have no idea how you would haul it out of here. You move on, looking at fallen decorations and shining your light into empty vents. Eventually, you make it to a hall with a large window; dust and ash have settled over the glass, so you can’t see through it, but walking through the doorway near it reveals an office. Entering the room and even just taking a quick glance around, you notice something very quickly. It looks, by far, the worst. You turn your flashlight off because the roof is broken in enough the morning sun brings in a considerable amount of light.

You notice an old box of items; the box itself is scorched, but a few of the items inside look fine. You gently pick up the burnt metal scrap and take it out, looking through what survived. It looks like old animatronic parts. They must be beyond old, you don’t even recognize some of the characters. You pick up a mask. It looks like it was once white, but the ash has smudged it grey. There are dark blue—or purple, you can’t really tell—streaks that trail from each eye of the mask. The freakiest part are the completely black eyes and mouth. What kind of kid would like this? If you had seen this at Freddy's when you were younger, you would have never healed. You shove the mask in your bag and walk over to the desk. The chair beside it is completely decimated, the plastic melted beyond recognition. You look around, finding a small black, bonnie-looking figure and taking it, too.

You don’t seem to spot any thing else, until the light catches something under the desk. You squat down, noticing that the something is actually multiple somethings; they’re papers, dozens of them. Most of them are scorched beyond belief, leaving only ash and small scraps. A few are still in tact just enough for you to make out that they’re records of some kind, but you can’t tell for what… Most of the words that could have been read on the paper are blacked out with marker any way… You narrow your eyes, ruffling through the remains. Pushing past and thick heap of ashes, you uncover a small red box. You know immediately what it is. “What the hell,” you whisper, leaning on your knees to grab it—a matchbox. You push it open; it’s almost completely full, only missing maybe one or two. You rummage around to try and find a match, but can’t in the mess of burnt papers. Papers, you think. What are the chances that someone, not only, accidentally left a ton of redacted records laying around, but also manages to leave an almost full matchbox laying under the incredibly flammable material in a place that's so clearly not safe. The police ruled it an accident, it was likely faulty wiring; but this changes things. Did… no way, why would someone? Did someone set this place on fire by choice? There’s no way that this is by chance. The damage is the worst here; the fire was likely started here, then spread out to the rest of the building. And—and—the papers. They’re not just random papers, they're records, what if someone was trying to destroy something?

The matchbox slips from your grasp when you hear a loud thud. Your whole body tenses, and your breath stops in your throat. The air seems even more stagnant, and you don’t dare move. Dust floats around you, disturbed from your movement. You can hear your heart beating, even it seems too loud. Another thud, and another. It sounds like footsteps; heavy footsteps; heavy, you wouldn't win in a fight footsteps. Oh no, oh shit. You quickly push off the ground, slipping slightly on the ash. You catch yourself on the desk, suddenly breathing hard. Using the corner to propel your movement, you tumble out of the office and rush towards the exit. You remember seeing it just outside the office. You get to it as the steps get closer you. You’re totally getting arrested—or shot—or both! You push on the door, shoving it hard, the metal around it has warped from the heat.

“Dammit!” You hiss as you take a couple steps back, seeing shadows move in the distance behind you. You just got your shoulder to stop hurting from a workplace accident, but you have no other choice. This is why Ben doesn't like you going place. The footsteps draw near and you don't dwell any longer. You run at the door, throwing yourself at it with a loud clang of metal and your body.

The door swings open, sending you flying towards the ground. You hit your head, and your mask cracks and falls off your face. You whisper expletives, holding your head as you try to ground yourself; under your fingers, you feel the hot liquid of blood oozing from a cut. Shit. You slowly push yourself off the concrete, trying to catch your breath. Your eyes flick around aimlessly before they reach the doorway, and your heart drops to your stomach. You see a shadow of a person, stumbling towards the light. You can’t make out much of them, but you notice two things very quickly. They’re large, bending over in the hall. What's worse? Their eyes; they glow a deep, cool purple. It sends a shiver down your spine. Are they wearing a mask—what kind of mask does something like that? No time to wonder.

You lung off the ground, leaving your mask behind as you bolt back the gate, not bothering to find the gap. You climb it quickly, feet hitting the ground hard. You pant, out of breath from running and partial fear. When you spot a few people staring, you continue to book it down the street, legs aching as you try to get to your house. While you don’t think the person inside was an officer, you really don’t want to get arrested for trespassing. The last thing you need is to be sent to the police station.

────────────────── ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ ⚠︎.’ 08:05 am .’⚠︎ ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ ──────────────────

You thought you would’ve caught your breath by now, but you haven’t.

It’s been a couple hours since you got home. You've showered, meaning you stood under the steaming water until your skin hurt and the water turned cold. You cleaned up the cut on your face—and the others you didn't even notice you got until now. Currently, you're sitting at the kitchen table, drinking another cup of coffee (it’s your third, actually), and trying to calm down. Yes, you know that caffeine is not going to help you calm down. You don’t care! You need this right now.

The reason you can’t calm down was the person in Frights. You’ve met ungodly tall people before; so that startled you, but didn’t stick. However… there’s something about those eyes that have stuck with you. They were deep and sinister and you swear you could feel a wave of unbearable nausea when your eyes met theirs. You were telling yourself that they were from a mask, like night vision goggles or those weird LED eye visors, but they weren’t. You know they weren’t. You saw their pupils, the red strain of tired eyes. The faint twitching.

A buzz from your phone sends you back into fight or flight before to tell yourself that you’re fine. You’re fine. You are perfectly fine.

I haven’t seen any arrest records yet?

You sigh, remembering what it was that you had forgotten to do. You send back a quick message, Yeah, no I’m fine, and another, Found some goodies! You send Ben some pictures that you snapped along with a new picture of the weird Bonnie figure you took. You don’t show him the mask yet, you want to clean it up more. He hearts the photos, and you turn off your phone.

Despite the sheer amount of caffeine and anxiety in your system, you feel beyond tired. Scratch that, actually; you think you’ve looped around from being so energized and in a state of panic to now being burnt out from it and crashing. You desperately need a nap, and you’re hoping you won’t see those eyes in your nightmares. You honestly don’t think your heart could take that right now…

You just know you won't get that luxury, though.

taglist: [empty] ──────────────────

Always Come Back (to Me)

Chapter One: It Burns! Fazbears Frights Burns to the Ground! Springtrap/GN!Minimun-wage worker!Reader

Warnings: Eventual Smut, Smoking, Drinking, Arson, Lots of Crime, Lack of Communication ────────────────── Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Animatronics are furries, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, William Afton is not Sprintrap ────────────────── Chapter Word Count: 1.5k (tis the intro) ────────────────── Description: ɪᴛ ʙᴜʀɴꜱ! ꜰᴀᴢʙᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʙᴜʀɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ!

We all remember Freddy Fazbear’s Diner! The tragedy! It seems the bad karma has caught up with the franchise once more! A new local attraction based on the ancient pizzeria chain burned down overnight. The fire department has just finished as of noon.

Based on the statement the local police issued, authorities have not ruled out foul play; but at the moment it seems to have been caused by faulty wiring… However, was it really? Or was this a strategic act on the location? Is the franchise truly haunted? Police chief, Larry Beardings says, “I think we oughta have known it was gon’ happen sooner or later. The place was falling apart far before it even opened doors. It was bound to happen.”

Very little was found at the scene once the fire department cleared it for search. The few items that were salvaged will be sold at public auction. Some antique collectors seek to have the old, supposedly haunted attractions, but most people consider it junk.

---

That’s crazy… Now I have to see it.

Your funeral When you die, it isn’t my fault…

Coward.

──────── Chapter Synopsis: Your friend sends you a news article that you find very interesting; of course, you need to go snoop around.

i haven't made master lists for each individual fandom and their works, so if you're curious about a specific character, ask! i'll have a definitive list when I'm finished doing those all<3

all fandoms i'm in

୭˚. ᵎᵎ creepypasta ୭˚. ᵎᵎ call of duty (mw reboot & ghosts) ୭˚. ᵎᵎ danganronpa (trigger happy havoc & goodbye despair) ୭˚. ᵎᵎ five night's at freddy's (1-4 & occasionally security breach) ୭˚. ᵎᵎ sally face ୭˚. ᵎᵎ stardew valley ୭˚. ᵎᵎ the amazing digital circus

open

୭˚. ᵎᵎ creepypasta ୭˚. ᵎᵎ call of duty ୭˚. ᵎᵎ five night's at freddy's (1-4 & occasionally security breach) ୭˚. ᵎᵎ sally face

Just a reminder, I am a college student, that means updates likely will not be very often, but I'll try my best for you<3

request in my ask box. if i have not yet answered it, assume i haven't gotten to it yet. i also may just not do one, if i do not want to, i'll likely still answer with what is preventing be from doing so. if you're willing to work with me, then i may change my mind.

if something isn't listed, ask! i don't bite... unless you ask for me to, of course<3

my fandoms are here

Will

𑣲⋆ headcanons 𑣲⋆ canon/canon (includes polyamorous ships) 𑣲⋆ canon/reader 𑣲⋆ short Imagines 𑣲⋆socmed au prompts 𑣲⋆ themed Incorrect quotes 𑣲⋆ suggestive themes 𑣲⋆ smutshots- however these posts will be 18+ and tagged as such, do not request them as a minor 𑣲⋆ violence 𑣲⋆ age-gap (With both adults 25+) 𑣲⋆ toxic relationships

Will Not

ꉂ`𖦹. oc/canon ꉂ`𖦹. pwp ꉂ`𖦹. hyperspecific reader descriptions ꉂ`𖦹. pregnancy ꉂ`𖦹. noncon/cnc ꉂ`𖦹. incest of any form ꉂ`𖦹. pedophilia ꉂ`𖦹. beastiality ꉂ`𖦹. necrophilia ꉂ`𖦹. anything that includes bodily fluids of a specific genre... you know what i mean... ꉂ`𖦹. ddlg

these are not debatable. i'm generally lenient with my writing, but i am not comfortable with these topics.