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soursherbat · 6 months

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Sensation; Chapter One

Graveyard Shift

A Springtrap x OC fanfic

Word Count; 2,390

This job was seriously taking years off of my life. I’d started as a night guard a few nights for the new horror attraction opening up in town soon, and honestly? I’m not sure if this pay is worth it. Especially not after the last two nights...

My shift had been going fine, nothing out of the ordinary. I mean, aside from everything wrong with this place. I could deal with the hallucinations from the piss poor ventilation, I was already used to it before starting here, but a visit from my superiors made the mood deteriorate entirely.

It was nearly time for me to clock out when they showed up, wheeling something in on a hand truck. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw them wheel it past me while I was sitting in the office.

It was a large animatronic, a Spring Bonnie model from what I could tell. It was badly damaged and looked incredibly dirty and disheveled, but its outward appearance wasn’t what had scared me.

Its eyes were following me. They were looking directly at me, its gaze staying focused on me as they wheeled it past the window.

Their eyes had a look I couldn’t place. It didn’t feel like the typical eye contact mascot suits would make with you, their eyes designed to create the illusion that they were looking at you when they simply weren’t. No, this thing had been staring at me, studying me intently, its eyes containing a liveliness behind them that made me squirm in my chair.

It was difficult to disguise my discomfort when they told me before clocking out that it would be staying here in the building, as they had plans to incorporate it into the attraction. I left without a word, driving home in silence as I ruminated on what that would mean for me going forward.

Sleep eluded me that night. I was hoping it was just another hallucination, but every time that moment played itself over in my head, I became more certain that I hadn’t imagined it. It even haunted my dreams, stalking through the dimly lit hallways of the building to find me.

Oh, how I wished that dream hadn’t come true. My next shift had come quicker than I would’ve liked, barely functioning from my sleepless night and surviving off of energy drinks and espresso shots for the first two hours or so.

The first time it appeared on the cameras I felt my skin crawl, my hair standing on end as I locked eyes with it once again.

It... it felt like it could see me through the cameras. I felt sick to my stomach as long buried feelings of panic and worry crept back into my mind, reminding me of events forgotten ages ago. My hands shook as we stared at each other, my breathing shallow and ragged when it started to move.

It shambled toward my location like a reanimated corpse, one of its joints clearly locked at the ankle. I realized quickly that it was drawn to the audio lures, following them mindlessly as I tried to make it move as far from the security office as possible.

I noticed it wasn’t just mindlessly following them after a few uses, when it... seemed to become confused that nobody was in the room it heard the sounds coming from. It was hard to tell, but it seemed to look around like it was searching for the source of the noises.

Its gaze always returned to the camera in the end, like it knew that I was watching it limp through the empty hallways. When it eventually reached camera ten I got a good look at it, my eyes wide with shock when I noticed exposed bone and old, decayed flesh and sinew visible in the tears in the suit.

Just what was I dealing with here? I wouldn’t find out until the next night, as the... creature didn’t move from that spot in the corner of camera ten for the rest of my shift. It just stared into the camera, its unblinking gaze burned into my memory at this point.

I left the moment my alarm beeped, punching my time card and leaving the building as quickly as I could. I closed the shutters and locked up, fleeing to my car without looking back.

I almost didn’t return to work the next night. I don’t know why I was even here, staring at my hands in the empty parking lot outside the building as I questioned my life choices up to this point.

Something was drawing me back here. That machine, that thing- there was something more to it. It didn’t seem particularly hostile, though the most interaction I’d had with the thing was a staring contest when they first recovered it.

However, once I got into the building, I had to question if that was true. Was it looking for me, or was it hunting me? I can’t tell- but it seemed particularly desperate to find me tonight.

I’m watching it move toward my desired spot for it- the room furthest from mine- when the entire system shuts down.

I panic. I flip the maintenance panel up, frantically resetting everything at once. I sit there anxiously, a pit forming in my stomach when I hear it dragging its metallic body through the vents.

Before I can react and long before any of the systems have reset, it shows up outside the window, looking at me. I feel the color drain from my face, my hands cold and clammy as we stare at each other through the glass once more.

“You... aren’t the one I had expected to find here.”

Did it just speak to me? A silent terror overtakes my rationality, making me freeze like a deer in the headlights. Not only was it a walking corpse in a rabbit costume, but it could talk as well? Its gravelly, strained voice was slightly muffled by the glass, though it... sounded like a person, more or less.

“But you still came back... why?”

I feel my throat tighten, constricting my breathing and making me tremble like a leaf. I’m still too stunned by the fact that it can speak to even consider responding, just waiting for it to lunge at me.

It tilts its head as it gazes at me, perhaps realizing that it had scared me. We both stay silent for a time, its eyes never leaving mine. It... he? They? They don’t seem intent on hurting me, though I knew from experience that not everyone let their violent intent show so easily.

“I... I don’t know.”

It’s the only response I can muster, still not sure why I’m here either. The longer I stared at it, the more it seemed like it was alive. A bio-mechanical abomination stood before me, asking a question like it was a concerned parent fretting over their child.

“May I come in... please?”

The question hits me like a ton of bricks. Every judgment and assumption I had made about this thing- this... person? Felt like it had just been thrown out the window.

They sound so desperate, so earnestly polite that I felt terrible for even considering being afraid of this... creature. I still don’t exactly know how to address them...

I can’t even form a response, just choking on what I want to say before I finally just give up and nod. They seem to perk up at that, making their way into the office. I recoil a bit, though I feel terrible about it.

They... they smell like a musty carpet that’s been left to rot, making me force back a gag. It makes sense, they are a corpse inside an old, ill-maintained suit...

It’s especially clear to me that this person is dead now that they’re standing directly in front of me, cracked bones wound with wires and desiccated muscle visible in the holes in their chassis.

I felt terrible for them, their past completely unknown to me, but their suffering was evident. I had still been hoping all of this was just a hallucination, a manifestation of my paranoia made worse by this place’s terrible ventilation, but the crushing weight of this strange reality was demolishing that idea entirely.

“Who... who are you?”

The question finally leaves my mouth, I’d been wanting to say something, anything, but until now it had felt like I was being choked.

They finally look away from me, the question was obviously a bit of a loaded one. They... chuckle, softly. It catches me by surprise, further humanizing this creature in front of me. They- he seems to be considering the question, as if he didn’t know how to answer.

“A dead man. No one... has called me by my name in a long time.”

He was obviously avoiding the question, acting as if he was stalling for time while he tried to make something up.

“Just call me... Springtrap.”

My brow furrows upon hearing his name. It was obviously bullshit, probably something he just now thought of. I could tell he was in a Spring Bonnie suit, remembering long-lost Polaroids of my parents visiting the old Fredbear’s Diner before it was shut down.

I’d heard from the recorded calls about the multiple springlock failures that happened around that time, wondering if that was the same fate that... “Springtrap” had met. God, what a silly name- I could hardly take him seriously now.

“Okay... Springtrap. You said you expected someone else- but who?”

He seems to tense again, avoiding looking me in the eyes as he answers my question.

“Nobody you should concern yourself with. You... were a pleasant surprise.”

I feel conflicted upon hearing him say that. The way he’s speaking, it sounds like I would have been much less fortunate if I had been the one he was expecting.

Before I can really consider that line of thinking, I notice that he’s been slowly inching his way closer to me. I wonder if he’s drawn to my voice the same way he is the audio lures, or if he’s planning something else.

No... he wouldn’t attack me at this point, right? The paranoia lurks in the back of my mind, my shoulders tensed when I see him take another step. I look up at him- suddenly feeling incredibly tiny, he was towering over me at this point- his eyes are focused on mine again.

Now that he’s this close, I can see an obvious longing in his expression. How could a suit even form an expression? It vexes me, nothing about him makes any sense to me- though I suppose not everything will.

“You... you are real, aren’t you? Please...”

I’m pulled from my thoughts by his voice, he’s leaning down toward me now, his mouth open. My eyes widen as I see the gnarled and twisted flesh underneath, his tattered remains still inside the head of the suit as well.

I flinch away from him, instinctively reaching out and pushing my hand against his face, as if I was pushing an overly eager kitten away from my plate of food. He freezes as my fingers make contact with his grime covered fur, the texture of which is making me sick just from brushing against it- let alone placing my hand firmly against his cheek.

We stand there for a long moment, both of us stunned into silence. I only just now process his original question, my expression softening as I start to move my fingers, scratching his molded faux fur.

It feels terrible against my hand. I can tell it was soft, once. Now it was rough, coated in a thick layer of dust and splotched with blood, a lot of it matted up and tangled.

“I... I’m sorry. You surprised me...” I finally manage to say, apologizing for pushing him away. “How... how long have you been like this?”

He’s leaned into my touch, a soft, warbling purr emanating from his chest cavity. His eyes have softened significantly, looking as if he’d been relieved of a heavy weight.

“I... wouldn’t be able to tell you. It... feels like an eternity.”

I feel stupid for even asking, realizing that he’d been boarded up in a room for god knows how long. My sympathy for him is growing rapidly, unable to pry my hand away from his disgusting fur.

Both of us jump when my alarm sounds, forcing me to tear myself away from him. I silence it, staring at the clock. I had been dreading coming in here today, and now... now I didn’t want to leave. This poor man, all alone in this death trap of an attraction, surrounded by the remnants of destroyed animatronics...

“You... need to leave now, correct? It’s... okay. You should go.”

I can tell he’s forcing himself to be polite at this point, his desperation for human contact thinly veiled by his urging for me to leave. I nod my head in understanding, sighing heavily.

“Yeah... I’ll... I’ll be back tomorrow.”

He seems a bit put off by the notion, as if he didn’t want me to come back. He obviously didn’t want me to leave, but... he looked conflicted.

“An unwise decision... but I can’t stop you. I’ll see you tomorrow... Hawk.”

I’m left shocked as he slinks out of the office, until I realize that I had been wearing my name tag this entire time, making me breathe a sigh of relief. Everything else about this situation was odd enough, I didn’t need any more weirdness tonight.

I locked up the building, sitting in my car and just... staring at the exit door for a while. The thought that he was just sitting alone in there, waiting for me to come back made my heart ache. I knew nothing about him, but... I couldn’t help but sympathize.

It took me a while to finally start my car, lingering a bit longer before actually driving home. He was the center of my thoughts during my drive, parsing through my complicated feelings as I headed home.

I couldn’t stop my racing thoughts, heading straight to bed to try to sleep it all off. I’d figure out what to do about this when I was able to get some real rest...

Next Chapter

#this is titled after my fav crosses song that just SCREAMS the vibes these two have going on #g.txt #my fics #fnaf fanfic #fnaf au #fnaf springtrap #fnaf fandom #springtrap x oc #springtrap x self insert #springtrap fic #honestly i couldve branded this as a springtrap x y/n but i feel like hawk is distinct enough #springtrap x hawk #springtrap

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glitchysquidd · 1 year

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a future scene with y/n and springtrap from my recent fic

(Don't worry I'm still working on I'm Not Paid Enough)

#my art #springy boy #fnaf springtrap #springtrap #fnaf 3 springtrap #springtrap x y/n #y/n x springtrap #frighteningly intriguing #frighteningly intriguing fic #<3 #fnaf #fnaf 3 y/n #fnaf 3 #five nights at freddy's 3 #five nights at freddy's #fazbear frights

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spunky-spunkster · 11 months

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HHH

uhhh not me speed reading @glitchysquidd fic Frighteningly intriguing

take my art :]]]

#Fnaf #springtrap #fnaf william afton #purple guy #frighteningly intriguing #fanart #literally dying #first post bouta cry #first post #this fic ate so hard

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kloi · 3 months

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i was possessed to draw this

#fnaf #william afton #matthew lillard #springtrap #art #artists on tumblr #listen.....................idk anything about fnaf #i just watched the movie #but i read a really good fic the other day and now im aftonpilled #also him being played by matthew lillard does him a lot of favors

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querical-equinox · 1 year

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“Dave, what did you think you were doing?” your heart was beginning to calm down. “What. Were. You. Doing?”

This was one of those scenes that has been bouncing around in my brain non-stop since I read it and I'm so happy to have it drawn out finally! Like serious kudos to @glitchysquidd for this chapter of Frighteningly Intriguing, I have been knawing at this for days now. I was originally just gonna thumbnail the scene out for funsies, but the inspiration hit hard lol and here we are. And as an extra treat here are said thumbnails cause i still like the sketchiness of em (not pictured however are the other variant pages lmao i did quite a few)

#tw gore #frighteningly intriguing #glitchysquidd #springtrap #forreal love how intense this scene was m still not over it #also glitchy thank you for being the first springtrap fic author i came across #i wasnt expecting to fall this far but i adore your characterization it's so fun #fnaf #fazbear frights #my art #also please ignore that i forgot their jacket #we do not see lol

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alexthesillybilly · 16 days

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infatuation

what if springtrap just being completely infatuated with you. youre one of, if not the first person he's seen in so long and although sure, he remembered what he'd looked like as a human- to finally be able to be around you was just so. validating for him.

loving to trace your fingers with his own, holding them ever so gently in fear of accidentally hurting you.

laying his head on your chest to hear your heartbeat and the movement of your breathing was oddly comforting to him. sure, it made him miss being truly alive, but really, it was more like that melancholy nostalgic feeling. "I may never go back there, but now I am here. I am here."

loving to see you happy, excited about things. he'd love getting to do anything with you because after so long, any contact he can get is more than euphoric.

jus springtrap being totally infatuated with the fact that you are alive like he used to be- but mostly just being infatuated with you.

#springtrap #fnaf #fnaf 3 #girl talk #self shipping community #fnaf f/o #springtrap x reader #fnaf x reader #william afton x reader #dead flowers fic #yooo im writing!!#my hcs :3

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frost-queen · 4 months

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To his liking // part 3 (Reader x Steve Raglan /W. Afton)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly,@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @formenis

Summary: The animatronics are alive and ready to hunt. Will you make it out alive on your first night or be devoured? [part 1 & part 2 ]

You slowly turned your head to the side. Eyes widening when you looked over your shoulder. Eye to eye you stood with shiny eyes. Those of an animatronic.

The eyes darkened as you saw something sinister in them. Hearing the clicks of boults and mechanics Freddy’s face fell forwards to you. You screamed. Screamed your lungs out when his mouth opened revealing his murderous hunger for you.

Freddy’s hand grabbed for your wrist as you jumped back in time. Not lingering any moment further, you ran. Ran for your life for the animatronics had come to life. Freddy straightened his posture again, looking back at the stage. Chica and Bonnie narrowing their eyes. Chica lifted her hand up with the cupcake in it. It snapped its mouth a few times before being send off.

You had run off into another room. Coming to a stop when you suddenly heard music blasting through the old boxes. A song that send you back to the 80’s. It's down to the sound of a heartbeat. I can hear the things that you're dreamin' about. When you open up your heart and the truth comes out. The song began. Slowly backing away, it felt like they weren’t following you anymore.

Or perhaps they were just taunting with you. You kept backing away keeping your eyes on the entrance. Your eyes widened when you came to a stop, feeling a curtain behind you. The snap of a weight on your shoulder made you scream your lungs out. You slapped the weight off you, turning round.

From between the curtains came a fox pirate peeking. It raised his hook at you. Screaming again you took off again. Foxy set his foot down from the podium, coming out of his hiding spot. There is another one? You thought. How many more were hiding here? Huffing and puffing you made your way around the maze of rooms of the pizzaplex.

You ended up in a long corridor. Looking up with a gasp, the lights flickered above your head. Sucking in a breath, you turned your head. At the end of the hallway stood the pirate’s shadow. Still and stiff like a statue. His humming started to bounce off the walls. With each note it felt like he was breathing down your neck. Slapping your arms around, you started to run again.

Making sure you didn’t trip on any rubbish littered in the corridor. Loud thumps on the ground made it aware that he was in pursuit. Adrenaline pumping in your veins as you panicked. Panted loud with the urge to outrun him. You had to get out of this corridor or he’d catch you. His thumping picked up as he was speeding up.

With a loud scream you grabbed a doorhandle on your left and jumped inside. You shut the door hard, locking it. Backing up you tripped over some video tapes stacked up on the ground. Hitting the ground hard gave you a reality check. A sudden snap back to reality out of the panic mode. Looking at your left you saw all sorts of security camera’s displayed.

One of the screens projected Bonnie slowly turning his head towards the camera. You wanted to scream but quickly covered up your mouth, knowing the pirate stood outside. Then your eyes fell upon the phone on the desk. Rushing up to your feet you grabbed frantically for the phone. In the corner of your eye you saw Foxy brush his hook down against the glass while he was peeking inside.

Your hands trembled, barely able to ring the right number. Eyes darting from the phone to the security camera’s. You thought you saw a glimpse of Chica on one of them, but where was Freddy. A loud thump against the other side made you jump and scream. So there was Freddy. He had pressed his face against the small glass space narrowing his eyes at you.

Now they were at both sides. The phone went over as you panted loud in the horn. – “Pick up, pick up, pick up.” – you whispered desperate to hear his voice. You were startled again when Freddy thumped his head gently against the glass. – “Pick up!” – you called out being scared to dead.

The phone rang. He turned his head curious at it, letting it ring a few times. Finally he picked up, holding the horn against his ear. – “Mr. Raglan!” – he heard in a panic being shouted in his ear. It made him move the horn away with an expression of almost going deaf. He brought the horn back to his ear with a smile. – “Bunny is that you?” – he responded. – “Mr. Raglan!” – you said again gripping tightly onto the horn.

“Help me! You have to help me!” – you shouted over the horn. You squealed loud when Foxy was bashing his hook against the door. – “With what bunny?” – Steve answered cluelessly. – “The puppets!” – you screamed at him. Steve cleared his throat. – “Animatronics Y/n!” – he corrected you.

“They are alive!” – you told him seeing that Bonnie had disappeared from the camera she was on before. – “They want to kill me!” – you shouted in utter panic. – “Have you been nice to them?” – Raglan asked. – “Mr. Raglan!” – you shouted back to protest against his stupid conversation. Why wasn’t he listening to you.

“I want to leave!” – you sounded desperate, getting all teary. – “I want to go home! Come and get me Mr. Raglan!” – you begged wanting it to end. You were truly regretting taking on the job. – “Now… now hold on Bunny.” – Steve said on the other end in an attempt to calm you. You spun around with a loud gasp, hearing sounds come from the vents.

The thumping sped up as it made you widen your eyes. The blockade got flung across the room, the cupcake jumping out. You screamed loud when it jumped at you. Mr. Raglan got up with a shocked expression on his face. He listened in hearing sounds he couldn’t quite place.

Then loud breathing in the horn. – “Steve! Steve!” – you cried out. Steve held the cord of the phone tight between his fingers. – “Help me!” – you screamed before the connection got broken off. Steve opened his hand letting the phone drop to the ground. He swallowed nervously for the first time not sure what to do.

You were on the floor, bleeding on your legs where the cupcake had taken a few bites off. The door opened as Freddy entered. You were too weak and worn out from fighting off the cupcake that you didn’t fight back. Freddy lowered his posture to reach down. He took a hold of your ankle pulling it up. He turned getting in motion again. Feeling lifeless you let the animatronic drag you out of the security’s room.

The pirate stomping happily after you. – “Where… where are you taking me?” – you asked breathlessly. Freddy looked briefly over his shoulder down to you. He dragged you back to the front room with the stage. Bonnie and Chica already waiting there. – “I’m… I’m sorry I shared your stage.” – you whimpered out feeling like a wreck. Freddy let go of your leg as it dropped down.

Chica went up to you before you’d get up, not that you had the strength anyways. She picked you up setting you down on a simple chair. Unsure what they would do to you. – “Are.. are you going to kill me?” – you asked already knowing the answer. Foxy raised his hook making you jump out of your skin. Freddy narrowed his eyes, giving Foxy a glare.

The pirate lowered his hook again. Bonnie lowered himself bringing his face up to yours. It scared you making you gasp loud. Your chair pulled back, standing on it’s two back legs. – “I’m sorry… I didn’t know…” – you called out thinking they might be angry at you for getting on their stage and join in. The animatronics started to close in on you, bumping against each other to lower them to you.

You ducked down feeling smothered by them. – “Stop!” – you heard making the animatronics freeze. They slowly rose again turning their posture away from you. You slowly straightened your posture once more, quickly checking yourself for any new bitemarks. – “Away!” – the voice spoke again sounding distorted. You tried to get a look but the animatronics were blocking your view.

Out of the shadows appeared a figure. The animatronics slowly departed letting you have a glimpse of what was appearing out of the shadows. First a pair of glowing eyes. You noticed the animatronics moved further away from you upon his arrival. Your eyes widened seeing a bunny… a yellow bunny appear in the light.

You quickly connected the dots. The reactions from the animatronics made it clear they obeyed him. – “No…no…no please…” – you begged when the yellow bunny animatronic came closer to you. His head tilted with a grim smile. – “Please…” – you cried out. He was going to finish you, you just knew it.

They let the big boss finish the job of killing you. He came nearer bending down to your height as his face neared yours. You looked away with fear, holding back a sob. The yellow bunny moved his face closer to your ear. – “Hello bunny.” – it spoke making you untense your clenched expression. Slowly your eyes widened for there was only one calling you bunny.

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insidiousclouds · 2 months

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Idea for a fic I'm never going to write (because i know nothing about being a nurse):

Springtrap x newly graduated nursing student

Springtrap is considered a medical marvel, and despite his status as a criminal, he is kept in the hospital.

They discovered his identity through DNA testing.

There was a large argument of where he should be kept. Prison or hospital.

It was finally decided to keep him in the hospital, under heavy supervision. Drugged up most of the time so he can't hurt anyone.

(Obviously he's pretending that the drugs are working more than they are. If there's anything he learned after being in a room for 30 years, it's how to pretend to sleep.)

Reader is a newly graduated nurse that is a bit too gullible and nice.

While doing their rounds one evening, they enter springtrap's room by mistake.

Springtrap notices that they aren't his usual care takers and talks about how the reader must be new.

Reader of course knows who springtrap is, and immediately realizes the danger they are in. (He is high security, they aren't allowed to be here and could lose their job)

Springtrap asks them just for something simple like a glass of water

Reader figures that'll be fine, it's quick and easy. But as they get closer to hand it to him, they realize that there's no way he could drink this. His throat is too messed up.

Springtrap instead just wants to talk to them. Lamenting how it's been so boring to be a patient, how no one ever just wants to have a chat. He challenges reader's ideas of patients deserving kindness and simple human decency. Just because he's a criminal doesn't mean he should be treated like a lab rat.

Reader gets caught with him by security, and is escorted out.

Springtrap starts to act up until they bring his favorite nurse back.

Springtrap is suddenly your responsibility. You never saw him act up, he's only ever nice and charming around you. But you hear from other nurses and doctors that he was rather forceful. Grabbing other people and bruising their wrists until he got what he wanted.

And what he wanted was you.

So now, along with a few of your previous rounds, most of your day is occupied by springtrap.

You talk to him, chat about the weather, the world, the current news. Anything to help springtrap "feel like a person again." His own words describing his need for your company.

On the days you do hang out with him, he actually acts better for doctors and nurses. More cooperative, pleasant.

A lot less of a nightmare for trying to get him to do tests. Though he still refuses to take an MRI.

#i'll probably write more of this if i think of more #if you actually turn this into a fic plz tag me #springtrap x reader #springtrap x nurse reader #<- i guess that'll be the tag

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genuine-wrestleboy · 8 months

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the attraction (1/2)

words: 5,031

(here on ao3)

It isn’t that you’re easy to scare, no matter what your friends say. So maybe heights make you nervous, and blood, and the concept of eternity, but none of that has ever stopped you. On the contrary, you like it. Love it, even—the adrenaline, the thrill, that tingle down your spine. Haunted hayrides and rollercoasters and horror films, anything that strips away the thin veneer of safety for long enough to get your heart really pumping. That’s why you’d accepted the invitation tonight, even though you don’t know the first thing about Freddy Fazbear’s, or the rumors your friends excitedly discuss on the drive over.

“Wait, there were, like, real, actual murders here?" you ask, peering out the windshield at the grungy-looking building. It's smaller than you'd expected, the neon sign above the doors flickering weakly.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” your friend tells you with gruesome excitement.

You frown a little. “That seems kind of tone deaf, doesn’t it?”

Another friend rolls their eyes. “There weren’t any real murders, it’s–ugh what's the word? Urban legend. Creepypasta shit.”

The final member of your group cuts the ignition. “If we see a photonegative Foxy I will fully shit my pants, just warning you guys now.”

Your friends laugh, and you turn back to the old pizzeria, something warm and familiar kindling in your chest. Anxious anticipation; the first sparks of fear.

It's a predictable pace from there. You made sure to get here as close to opening as you could, so the line's not too bad, but the tickets are steep.

"This better be terrifying," your friend groans.

"I better be able to fuck Freddy Fazbear himself," agrees another.

"Yeah? Is that gonna be before or after you shit yourself?"

A shrug. "Depends on what Freddy's into."

"Guys, the line's moving." You love your friends, but if you have to listen to another second of this there are going to be very real murders here tonight.

"Ooh, nice, you wanna go first or last?"

You give this question the consideration it deserves. Which kind of scared do you want to be? Do you want to face the horrors ahead and force yourself to push through them? Or do you want the eerie unknown of endless possibility at your open back? Either way is bound to get a scream out of you, which you know is mostly why your friends offer you the choice.

"Last, I think."

"Alright! Get thee behind me, scaredy!"

"Harr harr," you reply dryly.

Single file and giggling, you friends put their hands on one another’s shoulders and shuffle through the blacked-out doors. You follow suit, but the friend in front of you slaps your hand off their shoulder like a bug.

“You know you grab too hard,” they whisper harshly.

“Right, sorry.” You knot your hands into the front of your shirt instead.

It’s a bit like losing a sneeze, at first—tension building and building and then fizzling out into one long, empty corridor after another. Dim, streaky fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting strange shadows in the corners, but there’s not much else for them to work with besides the creepy crayon drawings tacked to the walls.

Then, slowly, other things start to appear: the rusted skeleton of an animatronic, strung together with wire like the bones of a museum dinosaur; a dark-stained purple vest and bowtie behind a pane of glass alongside a picture of a waving yellow rabbit suit; a skillful reproduction of a red animatronic head with a loose, toothy jaw that your friend tries to stick their hand into.

Somewhere near the shadowed ceiling, a speaker crackles to life.

“Please don’t touch the displays,” says a muffled, tired-sounding voice.

“Boo,” hisses your friend, retracting their hand. “It’s not like there’s anything else to do. This place is fucking boring.”

The rest of your friends mutter in irritated agreement. You pinch your mouth shut before you can say something you’ll regret. This hasn’t been what you’d expected, sure, and you’re not exactly scared, but you’re definitely interested. Maybe it’s just because you didn’t know anything about Fazbear’s before coming here, but you think if they just pivoted a little and turned up the lights this place could be really cool, part horror and part history.

Or they could've hired some actors or something, you suppose, but that's neither here nor there at this point.

The next hallway is entirely wallpapered with vintage advertisements and framed posters, faded photographs and glossy magazine pages and a huge full-blown painting of a goofy-looking bear with a top hat and gentle eyes.

"Mr. Fredbear, I presume." As you lean in to squint at it more closely, you notice a newspaper article pasted on the wall next to it, photocopied and blown up in size to make the letters legible even in this near-dark.

Kids Vanish At Local Pizzeria—Bodies Not Found

Ah, the creepypasta bullshit. Your eyes briefly scan the body of the article. There’s a surprising amount of detail, considering, you suspect, that not many people are expected to read it. A couple steps further along the wall, you spot another article, and you hold your phone up to it for a little extra reading light. You pause for a moment, in case the voice on the speaker has an objection, but if he does it’s apparently not big enough for him to mention it.

Five Children Now Reported Missing. Suspect Convicted.

“...where a man dressed as a company mascot lured them into a back room, eugh.” If they’re giving you backstory now, maybe this is where it starts to gear up, where the story comes in and the scares really start.

“Hey, guys, check this out.” They’ll like this, you think, gesturing them over. You hope so, anyway. “Guys?”

You look up to another long, empty corridor, and your heart drops into your stomach. Your friends are gone.

Shit, they’re going to be so annoyed if you get yourself left behind.

You abandon the articles reluctantly and follow the only path until you hit a bend in the hallway. To the left, there's a glass window, and then what looks from here like a dead end. To the right there’s a makeshift plywood door marked Cast Only, but the sign is in rough shape, and the door itself is hanging slightly ajar, like someone has just gone in.

Feeling a little dumb, you reach out and try a tentative knock. At least if it is actually an employee-only area there might be someone who can help point you in the direction of your friends.

From behind the door comes the sound of movement—heavy, halting footsteps, the beginnings of a cry. Then a sort of wet cracking sound, echoing silence. A thrill goes through you, and you feel suddenly perfectly clear, excitement honing you like a blade. That's terrifying. As you push open the door, you wonder if they only replay the track when someone is close enough to hear it or whether it's on a loop, whether you'd hear it all again if you stayed put and waited long enough.

You pass through into a cold, dank room that reeks of mildew. The only light comes from an abandoned industrial flashlight on the floor, the bright arc of its cracked bulb swaying ever so slightly side to side, as if it's only just been dropped. It makes the room into a funhouse mirror of itself, shadows stretching off in every direction like hungry searching fingers. It also makes it impossible to tell how big the room actually is, the opposite walls lost to darkness.

Fortunately, you’re no amateur, and you know the best way out of a labyrinth. The wall is distressingly sticky under your hand, but you keep your fingertips pressed steadily against it as you make your way forward. The humid air of the room is like wearing a damp sheet over your head, and your skin tingles with gooseflesh beneath it. Everything feels muffled, your own racing heartbeat the only thing your straining senses can detect.

The flashlight on the floor wobbles one more time and comes to a rest.

Your next step nearly takes your feet out from under you. Your shoe slips on the floor, the surface suddenly slick, and you barely manage to catch yourself on the wall before you go down. You let out a little involuntary yelp of surprise; it sounds like a gunshot in the otherwise silent space. Clapping a hand over your mouth, you stare out into the darkness, still as a startled rabbit. Nothing stirs, but you could swear you feel the weight of someone else’s gaze.

You pause, scarcely breathing, to give your eyes time to adjust, and slowly the floor separates into grimy checked tile and a spreading pool of thick, dark liquid. A little further down, you can just make out the limp shape of a figure slumped in the corner. Curiosity draws you closer, and you pick your way carefully around the blood, leaving shoe-shaped smears around the edge as you go. That has to be a safety hazard, right? It’s amazing that no one has fallen and gotten hurt yet—or sued Fazbear’s Fright, more likely. Maybe they have really good lawyers.

The figure in the corner seems to be a young man, blonde and ponytailed, wearing what looks like a security guard’s uniform. You brace yourself for a jumpscare as you approach.

Then you see the angle his neck is at. His back is propped against the wall, but his flat, lifeless eyes stare straight up at the ceiling, mouth hanging slack. There’s a faint trace of blood on his teeth, and a great deal more where a considerable section of his shoulder has been torn away completely. It’s an incredible piece of work, but—honestly it’s edging on a little too realistic. A deep, nauseous discomfort settles thick in the back of your throat, and you step backwards, away from the wall and the corpse, and straight into something else.

You turn, hands raised, and look up and up into the grim, grinning face of an animatronic rabbit.

"Hello!" Adrenaline spikes through you, the one-two punch of terror and delight. It’s always made you a little prone to blurting.

The rabbit stills, one broken ear flopping as the sculpted head tilts slowly to the side. You do your best not to touch the actor as you duck around him and flee in the opposite direction, away from the door you entered through.

After a moment, you hear him follow, the same slow, metallic footfalls that had enticed you in here to begin with. You feel yourself grin so hard that it hurts; this place is fucking good.

The beam of the flashlight clings by its nails to a bank of bulky steel lockers near the center of the room, and it’s these that you aim for. They give off a bluish light of their own, maybe not lockers, after all, but some sort of machinery with faintly glowing panels on their pitted faces. You follow the line of them until there’s enough room to go around, and though there are glowing panels on this side, too, the light from the flashlight is all but blocked. You have about two feet of dimly-illuminated floor before the room descends again into utter blackness. Behind you, the hiss and click of struggling hydraulics tells you that the actor in the animatronic suit is closing in fast.

Okay, deep breath. What’s your next move? Fight and flight tangle in your chest, knotting themselves together as effectively as a noose.

“Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run."

You freeze. Horror slithers down your spine and coils cold in the pit of your stomach. How can he do that with his voice? It sounds…shredded, like the throat that produced it barely remembers what it is. Your own throat activates automatically in sympathy.

But he’s singing. You can’t tell what direction it’s coming from, but you can tell that it’s getting closer.

“Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run.”

Two knocks, trailed playfully along the barrier behind you. Then one deafening bang. You jump, the spell broken, all but throwing yourself into motion.

A mitted hand snaps shut around your wrist and yanks you back. Before you can even process what's happening, your back hits metal with enough force to knock the breath clean from your lungs. The rabbit animatronic leers down at you, both long arms caging you solidly in place. Washed in blue, the finer details of his face are lost, but you recognize enough to connect him to the drawings on so many of the posters in the lobby.

“Hello,” says the Springtrap. The smell that rolls out of his mask when he speaks is a bit of a demented touch.

"Oh wow," you breathe. “I didn’t know you guys were allowed to touch us.”

Springtrap makes a gravelly, gargling sound that you realize belatedly is laughter. He leans in, leans down, looming ghoulishly as he stares you down with unblinking interest. His eyes reflect the cold blue light like polished silver, half-hidden by the suit’s heavy lids. You meet his gaze and feel suddenly strangely exposed, like you might as well be standing here in nothing but your socks. Your heart races in your chest, and, humiliatingly, another, lower part of you starts to respond, too.

Lifting one huge paw, the actor in the Springtrap suit runs the pad of his thumb down the side of your neck, and a gasp drops from your lips. The texture of his fur is like greasy velvet rubbed the wrong way, waxy and matted, and you feel the bite of metal as he hooks the digit into your shirt collar and drags it aside. Your skin tingles in the wake of his ungentle touch.

“Can you feel that?" The question bursts out of you like nervous laughter. “I mean, those gloves, do you, are they easy to use? I’m not—I don’t want to seem like one of those assholes who think they’re too good to be scared, I’m honestly terrified, you’re just—” don’t say hot, don’t say hot “—gorgeous.”

Oh god, that is so much worse.

“Gorgeous,” he repeats, and you could swear he sounds amused.

A blush tears its way across your face. “Wait, no, I meant—I mean, I did mean it, I just, mostly I meant that whoever made that suit must be, like, incredible, it looks amazing, I—I am so sorry, I babble when I’m scared. Usually not this much though."

You hear that broken laughter again, and Springtrap reaches and spreads the broad length of his hand along your windpipe. He doesn't press down, but he doesn't have to; one sharp fingertip traces the underside of your jaw, and your breath stutters and catches hard.

"And what if I told you," he says, "that I made this suit?" There’s a grin in there somewhere—you can hear it, even if you can’t see it. There’s also, you think, the hint of an accent, something round hidden in the harsh rasp of his consonants.

"Did you?" you ask dumbly.

"I did," he confirms.

"Well you totally killed it. It’s—it must’ve been a real labor of love." Jesus, what has your life come to? You're making first-date small-talk with a haunt actor who has his hand around your throat and you're barely resisting the urge to grind against the seam of your jeans.

"It was." His grip tightens, and you do your best not to go completely boneless against him. You can hear how breathless you are when you speak, but it feels sort of fuzzy and far away.

"It's cool that you get to wear it, too, then. Instead of just, like, watching someone else do it."

Springtrap stills. "That I get to wear it," he says. His voice rests on a precarious note between wistful and annoyed.

A beat of silence, snapping-tense. He stares at you, thoughtful in a way that doesn’t feel like he’s contemplating your words so much as he’s contemplating you. When he turns your face towards the wall, you let him, swallowing hard against his palm. Hot, foul air stirs your hair as he nuzzles along the juncture of your jaw, your pulse fluttering madly at his fingertips.

“Funny, frightened thing." There's something almost wondering in his voice, almost soft. "What am I to do with you?”

You honest-to-god whimper at that, a thoroughly telling sound you don't quite manage to stifle.

Springtrap chuckles, rumbling and low. “You seem like you have ideas.”

This might be the most embarrassed you have ever been in your life. Unfortunately, the same could probably be said for how turned on you are.

“Are they, uh, bad ideas?” you ask.

A single trailing finger scrapes itself down your throat, your chest, and the topmost button on your shirt pops free and clatters away.

“There's a very good way to find out.”

The thing is, you don’t need him to tell you that it's a bad idea, it is an objectively bad idea. He’s a stranger, and you’re in public, and there are—oh god, oh no no. The voice on the speakers, don’t touch the displays, and it’s not that you think Springtrap counts as a display, per se, but.

“Don't they—aren’t there cameras?”

Something about the question seems to strike him as funny. He tilts his head, and you can see the flash of a leer behind his teeth. Another button snaps off with a snk.

“Not in here.”

"Oh," you say.

"Oh," he confirms smugly.

With a flourish, Springtrap claims a third button, putting your shirt officially past the point of damage that is going to require explaining to your friends later. That, and the red, raised line bisecting your chest, a stinging arrow that leads directly to where his finger pauses with intent between your tits. A low rumble rattles through his chest, the shredded suit honing the harmonics into something snarling and inhuman.

God, you are so fucking wet.

"Fuck," you breathe. You catch yourself pushing your chest forward, tempting his touch like some horny, preening bird. His hand returns to your throat, steady, merciless pressure until your vision starts to soften at the edges.

"Language," teases Springtrap idly.

"Yes, sir,” you laugh wheezily. You can't help it; maybe it's the oxygen deprivation.

The sound melts on your tongue as he takes your breast in one huge paw, kneading the sensitive flesh experimentally. Heat thrums between your legs, and he hums, pleased, at the needy little noises it draws out of you instead. Despite the hand on your throat, he touches you with this strange, unexpected tenderness, like he hasn’t touched anyone else in a long time. Hesitant. Hungry.

“How refreshing to find someone who knows their place,” he murmurs softly, and, god, that does something terrible to you. You gasp as his thumb brushes roughly over your nipple, once and then again, panting into the stale air as you cant your hips unthinkingly in his direction. He chuckles, rubbing soothing circles against your rabbiting pulse point. “As I thought. You’re just a slut, aren’t you?”

“Hn–!” It hits you like a shock, white heat touching every nerve in your body. Your pussy aches for attention, throbbing and slick and so sensitive you’re pretty sure you could come with a single touch.

“Hm?” prompts Springtrap blithely.

You swallow a moan. “Yes, sir.”

"Good," he says approvingly. His voice is rough as he leans in, "And good little sluts who know their place deserve a reward, wouldn't you agree?"

"Holy shit." If you were any more coherent you'd shove his hand down your pants yourself. "Yes, please, yes, yes, sir."

Mercifully, whatever playful objections Springtrap might have to your language this time don't stop him from obliging. He makes quick work of the rest of your shirt, the remaining buttons sliced apart like butter. The skin beneath them feels burning hot.

This is such a bad idea, what are you doing, are you insane? Are you stupid? Springtrap dips a teasing touch low along your stomach, and you have your jeans undone and around your thighs before your brain even has time to process the thought. He laughs, hooking a claw under the waistband of your panties.

“Greedy,” he says fondly.

“God,” you gasp. Your face flushes with heat, but it’s impossible to distinguish from the heat taking you apart everywhere else.

Springtrap growls and tears your panties open with an effortless twist of his wrist. “Close enough.”

The first hint of pressure on your clit almost makes you howl. You bite down on the heel of your hand, your head hitting the metal behind you with a hollow thunk. Springtrap rubs you in slow, steady circles, watching you raptly with his bright, pale eyes. Pleasure builds fast—you’re already so worked up, it won’t take much to send you over the edge at this rate. His finger eases back towards your eager hole, and you buck your hips forward, a cry falling from your helpless lips.

He presses his fingertip to your entrance. "That's right," he coos sweetly, "Show me how badly you want it."

You know some of those fingers are sharp, you have plenty of evidence on your skin to attest to that fact. It should matter more, probably, but then again a lot of things should probably matter more to you than they do. Right now all you can bring yourself to care about is the slow, ready stretch as you lower yourself onto him, glorious fullness that feels like you've been waiting for it your entire life.

Springtrap allows the movement, following without ever fully removing his grip from your throat. Between his hands, your breath tears into desperate shreds, tight, shallow inhales that leave you dizzy and loose. You roll your hips, pleasure bleeding lazily through you, and it's so good you could sob.

"What a shameless display." His voice wants to be light, but there's a red thread of hunger in it that he can't quite hide. "You'd let anyone have you like this, wouldn't you?"

You keen high in your throat and shake your head, too overwhelmed to form proper words.

"No?" he asks. His thumb grazes your clit, and your whole body jerks at the wave of heat that rolls through you. "You expect me to believe that, with how easily you spread your legs for me?"

You think, giddily, that you might never spread your legs for anybody else again. Springtrap hooks his finger, pressing against a spot that makes you see stars. A moan rises and spills, liquid and sweet, from your tongue, and honestly there’s a chance that you’re maybe also drooling a little, too. He laughs, curves himself to speak directly into your ear.

“Or, let me guess,” he says conversationally, “—is it because I’m gorgeous?”

He punctuates the final word by thrusting another finger into your pussy, and you cling to his arm reflexively as your trembling legs threaten to give out beneath you.

“Ohhh, god, yes.” You’re wet enough that the pain is only an echo, pleasure the screaming constant. He feels huge inside you, like something you’ll never properly recover from, something you’ll need forever. He ghosts brief bursts of pressure against your clit, knowing and cruel, his breath ragged as you fuck yourself raw on his fingers.

“Needy thing, I can feel how close you are, shall I let you come?”

“Please,” you gasp, “please, yes, please let me come.” Everything is swimmy and tingly and sweet, your world reduced to the tight coil of heat in your core and the places where Springtrap touches you.

Sharp fingertips dig into your neck. “Watch your manners, slut.”

Fuck. “Yes, sir, please, sir.” You feel like a match just struck, stuck suspended in the moment before consuming ignition.

Springtrap growls, angling his wrist to slam a thrust home to meet your desperately rocking hips. “Good. You’re so good for me.”

Anything, you think senselessly, you could do anything if it meant he’d tell you that you’re good, and you would, you want to, you—

“Go ahead, come for me, darling,” he hisses, and you clamp your thighs shut around his hand and obey.

Climax consumes you, blissful combustion at last, wrings a hoarse shout from your abused throat and whites out every other sensation in its blazing wake. Springtrap waits patiently as you ride it through, his touch gentling, leaving a litany of little nonsense niceties against your skin as your senses return to you. His fingers slip out of you, soreness already blooming. But bright, giddy joy seeps in to fill your chest, and you laugh, feeling it reverberate against his palm.

“Would it be weird if I asked to give you my number?”

He pets your hip idly, chuckling warmly into the crook of your shoulder, and for a moment you think maybe you’re on the verge of the world’s best and most inexplicable meetcute.

Then you hear the door on the other side of the room creak open. Reality takes you by the shoulders and shakes, and you’d jump back if you had anywhere to go. Springtrap stills, head tilted, listening with an obvious tense recognition. A voice—familiar, the same voice from the speaker, muffled and tired, only now it’s obvious that he’s in the room, and he’s—

He’s calling your name.

“Are you in here?”

You look to Springtrap but he’s just…gone. Without so much as a goodbye, all six foot huge of him, silent as a ghost into the darkness. All the warmth in your body floods away–and you get it, sort of, at least you try to, but mostly now you’re left standing here feeling stupid and—oh fuck. You scramble to get yourself sorted, yanking up your jeans over a cold, uncomfortable wetness and clutching the ruined edges of your shirt together. You turn just in time to see the edges of a light bob across the floor.

“Shit. Shit." He calls your name again, this time noticeably more frantic.

"I'm here!" Your voice is a dry rasp; you clear your throat, not without pain, and try again. "Hi! Here!"

A figure rounds the corner wearing what you recognize now as a security uniform. His hat is pulled low over his forehead, and whatever it doesn’t obscure is covered by one of those paper surgical masks. His light cuts across you; you lift a hand to shield your eyes. He pauses, then seems to start, freeze a little. Then he rushes over to you, pushing his hat back and bending to examine you, half reaching out as he does.

“Please tell me you’re alright.”

“What?” you ask. “I—yeah, of course, I’m fine, I—” You’re probably a little scratched up, but most of that is at least still partially hidden by your disheveled clothes. You look down at yourself, the mess now illuminated by the guard’s cold white light.

You’re covered in blood. Smeared low on your stomach, on your hip, poking suspiciously out from under your shirt. Your hands are tacky with it, too, leaving a trail of smudges everywhere you’ve touched yourself. You pointedly do not check the flies of your jeans.

“Oh, it’s fine! It’s not real,” you tell him awkwardly.

The guard has been made up for the house, and he’s wearing these incredible contacts, black scleras that turn his pupils bright white. They dart over your face with something that feels terribly akin to pity.

“You saw him?” he asks. This close, his voice sounds as rough as yours.

“Him?” you parrot dumbly.

“Shit,” says the guard, glancing away. “Never mind. I, uh, need you to come with me, okay? It’s not—your friends were looking for you.”

“They were?” you ask. You feel sort of stunned, swarming inside like a hive of angry bees, too full of buzzing emotions to hear any one more clearly over the others.

The guard waves a hand in front of your eyes. It’s skeletally bony and painted in bruisey purples, presumably to match whatever they’re doing with the rest of his costume.

“I think you might be going into shock. Can I touch you?”

You nod. He takes your arm gingerly, and you sort of sag against him, your own weight suddenly a lot to ask yourself to handle. Together, you pick your way back across the dark room—he brings you the opposite way, avoiding his mannequin counterpart—and into the building proper, where he lets you lean against the wall in the dim hallway. It feels cool out here, making you very aware of everywhere that you’ve sweated through your clothes.

“Wait here,” says the guard. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna get you something.”

Something? you wonder, but he’s back almost as soon he goes, tossing you a bundle of fabric. You shake it out curiously. It’s a sweatshirt, faded purple and soft with age, the remnants of white lettering arcing across the front: H-U-R-R-I-C-A-N-E.

“Thought you might need it more than I do,” the guard tells you. He has a faint accent, you realize, just like.

Just like Springtrap. What’s going on here?

“You don’t care if I get it dirty?” You lift your bloody hands illustratively.

“It’s seen worse,” the guard assures you. Little crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. You wonder if they’re grey under those contacts.

“Well, thank you. I really appreciate it.” You pull the sweatshirt over your head, immediately relieved to have none of your undergarments a sneeze away from being on display.

The guard shrugs, sweeping his flashlight across the hallway like he’s looking for something. “Least I could do. Do you feel like you can walk?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m—” you flash a thumbs-up. “I’m golden.”

That makes the guard laugh, a hard, cold snort of mirth. He gives you another long look, familiar in its surveying weight. Then he lifts his hand slowly, taps a bandaged finger against a coppery nameplate on his uniform shirt.

“Hi, golden, I’m Mike.”

#springtrap #springtrap x reader #my fic #THERE'S CHOKING IN THIS TOO THAT TAG IS EDITED ON AO3 BUT HEADS UP #william afton #william afton x reader

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axeylotl · 5 months

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middle aged man who owns a technology-focused business and uses the resources from this business to cosplay as his OC and murder people, and has a son that is completely mentally fucked up and constantly dealing with the fallout of the father's actions after the father dies to his target(s) while in-costume

crossover for exactly zero people because as far as I can tell I'm the only overlap between these fandoms

#I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT they're so similar #when is someone gonna write the toxic ship fics of them we deserve #william afton #springtrap #norman osborn #green goblin #should i even tag this post. idc #ngl a lot of my interpretation of Will probably comes from Norman.

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unclekaz · 7 months

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sometimes i like thinking springtrap is less fluffy murder rabbit and more like a 'kid who's best friend is a monster inside their closet' scenario. like you're still really good buddies who share affection, but there's a million times where you'll have company over and you have to tell him that even if the company is the worst people on earth he CAN NOT KILL THEM. maybe it gets so bad that you have to put him outside so he doesn't do anything to your guest(s), but eventually you're talking to your guest in the kitchen and you just see your murder rabbit pressed against the window behind the guest clearly asking 'do you want me to kill them?'

#springtrap #fnaf #fnaf fandom #fnaf springtrap #five nights at freddy's #husband material #fic drabble #springtrap and deliah #springtrap fic #fnaf fic #springtrap x reader

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soursherbat · 6 months

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Sensation; Chapter 3

Hold It In

To start from the beginning Click Here ; Previous chapter Click Here

A Springtrap x OC fanfic

Word Count; 2,903

I couldn't let him stay like this a moment longer, especially not while he was staying in my home. The awful people running that attraction may have been content to let him smell like mildew and rot in filth, but I refused to allow that to happen.

I’d been rummaging through my closet for a little bit now, going through old boxes trying to find my carpet cleaner to clean up this poor raggedy rabbit sitting sadly in my kitchen.

He looks so lost right now, every time I would look at him he’d just be staring off into space, probably trying to ground himself.

I could understand the struggle he was having. Nobody walks out of a situation like his unscathed. He seemed to be handling it better than I thought he would, I start to wonder if there’s anything I can do to soothe his nerves.

Well, cleaning his fur would definitely be a start. He seemed fidgety around water though, I’d need to be careful. I finally find something I can use to wash him off, pulling my old handheld steam cleaner from one of the dusty boxes.

It should work, I’d used it to clean my large stuffed animals that couldn’t be thrown in the washing machine. After pushing a stupid joke about whether or not Springtrap would be machine washable or not out of my mind, I put the box back and exit the small closet, closing the door as I turn back to Springtrap.

He’s staring at me, or... through me, it seems. His eyes slowly making their way up to mine, widening a bit when he realizes what he was doing. He simply looks away, and I couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or not.

I don’t push it, simply filling the steamer with water and plugging it into the wall, sitting it on my kitchen table as we waited for it to heat up. I hoped it wouldn’t hurt him, though... would he even be able to feel me cleaning him?

It seemed like he responded to my touch on that first night when I’d attempted to push him away, and any time he saw my hands reach toward him he’d act like a sad kitten that was desperate to be pet.

I had to scrub the grime off of my hands after touching him the first time, so I wasn’t exactly ecstatic about the idea of petting him at the moment. Once his fur didn’t stick to my hands, then I’d be happy to give him any care he needed.

I especially understood his need for attention. I’d been living alone for so long, or with others but still incredibly isolated- I was desperate for someone to fill the void. The loneliness, the empty feeling... it had been getting to me lately.

I don’t realize that I’m now staring at him until he looks back at me, tilting his head curiously.

“Is there something on your mind?”

I chuckle sheepishly, casting my eyes down to the floor.

“Well... nothing, really. Just... happy to have someone else here with me.”

He seems shocked, his eyes wide as he processes my words. I barely even register that I’d said it, not even realizing how it might make him feel. I mean... he was definitely having a rough time, and to have someone show this much care and attention to him after decades of isolation must be jarring.

“Ah... sorry. Just not used to having a roommate.”

His face softens a bit, and he offers me a sympathetic smile.

“I’m not either.”

I can’t help but laugh a little, nodding at his statement. We were both out of our element here, it was going to be awkward at first. I’m sure neither of us were much for small talk.

He seems to be more alert when I talk to him, maybe it was just having something to listen to keeping him from dissociating as badly. I look at the steam cleaner, noticing that it’s started to steam a little bit.

I take it into my hand, standing in front of him with it in clear view. He’s sitting at eye level with me, my chair looking so small compared to him.

“I’m going to try to clean your fur with it now, okay? Just let me know if it’s uncomfortable.”

I give him a warning before I start to move my arm toward him, feeling a twinge of guilt when he flinches away from me, shaking his head slowly.

“No- no, no- Hawk, I can’t do this-”

I don’t stop until it’s pressed against his arm, and as he reaches for my wrist to stop me, he freezes. Nothing happens when I touch it to his grimy fur, aside from the water inside the steamer beginning to turn a deep shade of reddish-brown.

“Oh...”

He’s watching me curiously as I slowly move it down, the fur underneath it turning a golden shade of yellow. I knew this was a Spring Bonnie suit- but I’d honestly forgotten he wasn’t supposed to be green.

“That feels... lovely...”

He’s purring now, visibly relaxing against the back of the chair. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh of contentment, forcing a smile from me.

He’s just so cute when he’s like this, he looks so calm right now. I look back down at what I’m doing, not wanting to accidentally shove the steamer into a hole and damage his internal workings further.

I’m feeling conflicted again. I knew I had attachment issues- specifically that I get overly attached very quickly... latching onto a person to feel less alone- but this felt different. It didn’t feel like mere infatuation, and it's scaring me so badly.

Could he feel the same way? Would he feel the same way, if I did ask him? And- if he said he did- would he just be telling me what I want to hear in fear of me throwing him out?

That last option makes my stomach twist into knots. I decided I’d keep it to myself- feeling stupid for even considering the notion. I mean, why would he want me anyway? I’m anxious and awkward, overly clingy and desperate for attention- not to mention the fact that I was openly terrified of him when we first met.

I felt my heart sink as I thought of that. Did he still think I was scared of him? I hope not- surely he knew that if I was going through such lengths for him that I had to care for him in some type of way.

I stop to consider how he might be feeling, wondering in the back of my mind if he’s having the same conflict that I am. He frets over me like a doting parent, but he was obviously apprehensive to let me close to him.

I knew he felt like a monster, likely struggling with feelings of self loathing and depreciation. I didn’t see him like that, though- and I was pretty sure he knew that. It was so hard to tell what he was thinking...

He’s enjoying having his fur deep cleaned, feeling the years of caked on blood and dirt wash away like nothing had happened in the first place. He stared at the darkening water inside the machine, an intense sensation of relief hitting him hard as the decades of filth was rinsed off.

This was real. I was real. He couldn’t believe that someone had seen him for what he was right now- and still had the kindness to take him out of that situation to give him a home. The fact that I was going this far to help him made his head spin.

Perhaps he wasn’t as incapable of moving forward as he thought. He might be able to do this, to live again... with me. The idea made him smile, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction when he considered it.

There was no way he could tell me about his complicated feelings. There’s no possibility in his head that I’d ever feel anything more than platonic for him- and honestly, as long as he got to be near me he was more than happy to just exist in my vicinity.

He wasn’t even sure if he really felt that way for me, or if it was just his emotions getting him in over his head and attaching himself to the first person who showed him positive attention.

Whatever he felt- whatever I felt for him- he just wanted the best for me. He wasn’t concerned for himself at this point, he trusted that my care for him would be more than he could ever ask for. But in my case? He worried that caring for an eight foot tall half-animatronic man might cause issues.

“Are... are you sure about this, Hawk?”

Springtrap’s words catch my attention, not realizing that I’d been spacing out as I was washing his fur. I look up at him, seeing the concern for me evident on his face.

“I don’t think I would have done any of this if I was unsure. Don’t worry about me.”

My answer seems to quell some of his anxieties, as he sits back in the chair once more, watching my hand move the steamer on the final patch of fur visible to me on his body.

“I’ll need you to stand up.”

He does as requested without protest, even turning around for me. Luckily I was able to get his shoulders with the first pass, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to reach them now.

We’re both silent as I do this, too caught up in our thoughts to speak any of them out loud. I still can’t tell what he’s thinking, his face was so surprisingly expressive- but he was hard to figure out.

It was likely the same struggle for him. My face had a stoicism to it that betrayed my internal feelings, a struggle I’d faced for as long as I could remember. Of course I could emote, and did so frequently- but my spacey nature made it difficult to discern my emotions from an outsider’s perspective most of the time.

“Hawk... thank you for this. I... I cannot fully express how much I appreciate it.”

He sounds so earnest, his polite formalities growing on me quickly. He was just so adorable, his sad little face and warbling voice drawing sympathy from me easily.

“You’re welcome... I’m glad it’s not uncomfortable.”

“This is the best I’ve felt in years.”

That tugs on my heartstrings even further. It fills me with joy to hear that, almost feeling bad when I have to turn off the steam cleaner.

“There we go... almost done. Please, sit- I need to get your face...”

He complies, while I empty out the disgustingly dirty water from the cleaner. It’s turned black- I can’t even imagine how he must feel now that all that caked on muck was gone. I get a soft rag and some conditioner, the only scent in my house being citrus.

Ah, well. It kinda fit him with his fur being yellow I suppose. I’d gotten the rag wet with warm water, and filled a small bowl for me to rinse it with. I applied a generous amount of conditioner, looking into his eyes as I held the soap covered rag in my hands.

“I’m... gonna have to hold your face. Tell me if you want me to stop...”

He simply nods- very eagerly, might I add- as I reach up and cup his face, holding him still as I gently scrub the grunge from his dirty fur. He’s looking away from me when I look him in the eye... but when I look away, I can swear I see him staring at me from the corner of my eye.

If he is, he’s very careful to look away when I focus back on him. Maybe he’s just embarrassed about it, but... there’s a lonely, desperate look in his eyes.

He’s trying to hide it with his smile, but I can see through it. I can recognize it- having seen it in my own face many times in the mirror.

It makes me curious. Is he looking at me? And- if so, why with that look? God- I wish I knew what he was thinking.

As I’m working on his face, I notice his eyes widen and his body visibly stiffen. I hear a small jingling noise, followed by a very soft ‘mew’ from the floor.

I look down, seeing that my cat Sunny has finally woken up and come to say hello. He’s purring and rubbing his body back and forth across Springtrap’s legs, probably enjoying the soft fur of the suit against his own.

“Aww... I think he likes you too.”

I realize what I’d said the moment it leaves my mouth. Springtrap obviously noticed too- his eyes snapping directly to mine, curiosity plainly displayed on his face.

He says nothing about it though, simply purring louder as my... our? Our cat shows him some affection. I try not to say anything stupid and make it worse, choosing silence instead as I rinse the rag and finish up cleaning his suit.

The cat probably thinks he’s just a large stuffed animal, as he’s not showing any aggression toward this towering machine now sitting in our kitchen. In fact, he jumps up onto Springtrap’s lap, meowing loudly as he begged to be pet.

“I think he’s jealous that you’re getting all of my attention.”

I chuckle softly, tossing the blackened rag into the bowl of soiled water. I run my hands through the fur of his face, making sure there was no more matting or tangled tufts of fur.

He’s closed his eyes again, his purring so intense I can hear loose metallic bits inside of him rattling against his chassis. Sunny begins to purr as well- and when I look down, I see that Springtrap is petting him very slowly. Likely afraid to hurt the small creature...

If I wasn’t endeared to this rabbit already, I certainly was now. The gentle care he showed this animal was so controlled and calm- I could tell he had been a cat person before his ordeal, from the way he handled him.

I pull my hands away from his face, though... it’s very reluctantly. I’m not sure if he picks up on that when he opens his eyes, looking disappointed that I’d stopped.

“I just need to wash my hands.”

He softens when he hears that. continuing to gently pet and scratch the eager feline happily laying in his lap. He looks down at Sunny, smiling when the cat rubs his cheeks hard enough against his ragged hand that its silly little face stretches a bit.

It... it feels humanizing, to have an animal approach him like he was just another person. He studies the creature, before perking up at the sound of my footsteps approaching.

“You don’t need to keep sitting there if you don’t want to, I can’t imagine that chair being comfortable for you.”

“... But, then I would have to move him.”

I feel like I’ve been shot through the heart. I just smile, reaching up and gently scratching behind Springtrap’s ears. The gesture earns me a pleasant little noise from him, obviously making him happy.

“He’s used to it, trust me. You can move him.”

He stays there, though- obviously not wanting to disturb the feline that’s now rolling around on his lap. He ends up jumping down by himself in the end, and I swear I see Springtrap’s ears droop sadly when he does.

I keep calling him Springtrap, but I know that’s not his name. I wondered if he might be more willing to tell it to me now that he was sure I wouldn’t judge him- but at the same time I wasn’t willing to push the issue.

He stands up, politely pushing in the chair he’d been sitting in. He then turns to me, a look on his face I can’t discern.

Before I can ask if he’s okay, I’m suddenly pulled up into a tight hug. It’s shockingly gentle- but it surprised me and made me panic. I push away instinctively, letting out a frightened gasp involuntarily as my face twists with horror.

He puts me down immediately, shrinking away from me like he’d just been shot. I immediately feel a knife twisting the feeling of guilt and regret into my heart, my lips pursing as I watch him immediately try to backpedal.

“I... I’m so sorry. I- I don’t-”

I cut him off with a hug in return, just barely able to fully wrap my arms around his body as I hold him against me, his fur now pleasant and soft to the touch. He’s obviously caught off guard, getting mixed signals from my reactions here.

“No... don’t- don’t apologize... I just...”

I can’t explain it to him. It’s still painful to dredge up those old memories, even with my desperation for human contact I was still terrified of being touched so suddenly.

“I just need a warning next time... not your fault.”

He exhales shakily, slowly wrapping his arms back around me. He has to lean over to hug me, reminding me of how tiny I am in his eyes.

“Of course... I apologize, Hawk-”

“You didn’t know.”

I don’t want to talk about it any further than that. We stand there quietly embracing each other for a long time, my face pressed firmly against his fur. He seems to understand my apprehension, dropping the issue entirely.

“Thank you, Hawk... I... I cannot repay your kindness.”

“You being here is more than enough.”

Next Chapter ->

#i should make a playlist of all the songs im naming these after lmao #this is named after a jukebox the ghost song that just. oof. its abt not holding in your feelings #g.txt #my fics #fnaf fanfic #fnaf au #fnaf springtrap #fnaf fandom #springtrap x oc #springtrap x self insert #springtrap fic #springtrap x hawk #springtrap

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