God I Hate This Job - William Afton x Male Reader

Oneirophobia

All in all, I think he's bisexual, and I think I have a stalker or something."

At a loss for words, no one replied to your story for a moment. Chica was the first to speak up, "Oh my god... I'm glad you're okay!" She clasped her hands over her robotic heart. "I know I'm usually a bitch but I can't even find it in me after hearing that bullshit. Stalkers are serious business."

"Well it may not be a stalker, it could just be some random ass person breaking into my apartment." You shrugged, a subtle paranoia settling over you as you recalled the events. You decided it was definitely worth it to look into other options of housing and move out of your apartment, but you'd have to wait until your lease ends.

"Yeah, that's horrible, man." Jeremy cringed. "At least we now have a somewhat cemented idea of the sexuality of our boss? I do agree with your thinking that the plan we had was bad."

"Yeah, but the hooker part would've been funny." Mangle shrugged. "But if you ever need me to bite anyone, feel free to ask. I'll rip their gonads off before they can say 'Freddy Fazbear Fucks' five times fast."

"...Thanks."

***

Home sweet home, or the best you could currently get at the moment. Everyone had concluded to call off the plan, but try and find some more shenanigans to get up to the next day as it was less fun to go through a day without scheming up some big plot. You're sure, knowing Freddy's history, you'd all find something to scheme about eventually, even if it was just some minor prank. You exited the deep purple car, stretching. You were exhausted from a long day at work, but hungry and gross enough that you decided you needed to stay up a bit longer. "Are you guys fine with steak for dinner tonight?" William asked as he walked up to the front door. Michael nodded as you grumbled non-committedly, not caring either way.

You walked into the house, still feeling a bit foreign inside of it. "I'm going to go shower." You announced, dragging yourself over towards where you were sleeping. Your clothes were still packed into the suitcase. You opened it, rummaging through it to find suitable pajamas to wear. Afterwards, you made your way into the bathroom.

You tried not to take too long to shower, not wanting to waste hot water or miss dinner with the two men who had been gracious enough to let you stay in their house. Using what you assumed to be William's soaps and shampoos, you washed your body and hair, before exiting and getting dressed. You smelt like the man afterwards, which made you a bit flustered. He smelt good, which made you feel a bit better yourself as now you smelt almost exactly like him, sans the cologne.

You made your way back into the dining room where Michael and William were talking. William was cooking at the stove while Michael was sitting at the dining table. "Henry's going to be visiting soon." William said to Michael, back turned to his son.

"Oh, alright. Is he okay?" Michael asked, sounding concerned. "He's been very reclusive ever since Annabell died."

"It's been hard on him, but I think he's doing a bit better. At least he's actually leaving his house every once in a while now." William replied. "Try not to talk about Annabell, Charlie or Sammy though."
"I know, I wouldn't've."

You felt like you were intruding on a very personal conversation about someone you had never met. You took a deep breath and walked into the room, pretending as though you hadn't heard what they were talking about previously. Michael moved to look at you, smiling kindly. "Dinner's almost ready." He stated as you sat in the chair next to him. You nodded. In your pajama pants pocket, your phone buzzed. You took it out to see why you had gotten a notification.

It was a text from your brother to check up on you and make sure you were okay. You smiled at your phone, texting him back to assure him that you were safe and staying with a friend as you got everything sorted out. This seemed to ease his mind. "Alright, dinner is ready." William said, turning to the table with two plates in hand, a third one left on the counter. He set the plates down in front of you and Michael, taking the third one with him as he sat down in the seat he was in the night previous. It smelt amazing and looked just as good. You wondered if, in another timeline, he had opened his own restaurant instead of a pizza joint for children.

***

Tired, and now full from a good dinner, you laid in bed and attempted to get yourself comfortable. It was hard to fall asleep in a new environment, but you struggled on. Now that you were laying down in an attempt to sleep, your brain suddenly began remembering the dream you had had the previous night. A cold sweat ran down your back as the hairs on your arms stood up. You were scared you'd have another nightmare, as childish as that may seem. It felt like more than just a silly nightmare; more than just a conglomerate of small fears and anxieties that plagued your life. It felt like it held some deeper meaning than just 'scary robots are scary'. There was a weight behind it, like instead of having a dream about your own fears you were instead looking inside of someone else's mind. The children's laughter– you swear you could hear it now, in the darkness of the room. You forced your eyes to remain closed as your mind wandered into the indescribable unknown of sleep.

You were back in bed. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, sitting up. The comforter fell from your shoulders and pooled in your lap. Confused, and with a mild migraine in the front of your skull, you glanced over at the digital clock placed on the nightstand. The glaring numbers '12:00' seemingly branded themself on your brain as your eyes widened. The room seemed to darken, the blue hue invading your vision. If not for the fear penetrating every part of your being, it would've been eerily calm.

Dust floated around on unseen air currents, the sound of the grandfather clock sounding in the background. Dogs barking and cars driving by outside. It was nostalgic. Although you knew that you had only been inside the house for a measly two days, it felt like you had been living there for your entire lifetime. You knew things about the house and the residents inside of it that you shouldn't have. It felt like you were intruding on the family, and the house itself. You were inherently out of place, and wrong. You could feel it in the air, the walls, floors, ceiling and furniture that you were interrupting the natural flow of something. You were displaced, and unaccounted for.

You stood from the bed, this time making sure you didn't make any loud noises like you did the first time you had found yourself in the nightmarish recreation of your temporary bedroom. You needed somewhere to hide.

You obviously couldn't hide under the bed, but there was a closet you could hide in. Perhaps you could bury yourself under some clothing or boxes and hope you would live. But even with this plan in mind, and a hope sparked in your chest, you knew that you would not survive this night.

You knew it because you could feel the way this house rejected you; almost as if the house was alive and speaking to you in its own, wordless way. The house creaked, and you could feel the weight of it bearing down on your shoulders.

You tip-toed across the room, and into the confined place. You closed the white doors behind you, the noise they made seeming louder compared to the silence invading the room. Once the doors were closed, offering you a short duration of safeness, you looked around the closed space. There were no clothes hanging up, no boxes on the floor, no toys being stored away, nothing except for a small plushie on the floor. You moved to pick it up, but felt dread snap through you as your fingertips brushed over the soft fabric. It makes your fingers go numb and your heart palpitate in your chest. It was just a Foxy plush, but deep within the furthest parts of your brain you knew that it had to be more than that. It was something sinister, taking on a cute form to trick you.

You, suddenly, felt like you had walked into the mouth of the beast. The plushie's eye, staring blankly in front of it, now moved to look at you. You yelped, jumping back from the thing. You pressed yourself against the wall of the closet, watching as the once cute stuffed animal morphed into another one of those mechanical creatures. It grew fangs and claws, and a tongue long enough to strangle you with. Its sharp teeth glistened with the dark remains of blood as it snapped its jaw at you. It had to bend over at an awkward angle to even fit in the closet anymore. You screamed as it grabbed you by the neck, lifting you until your head bumped the ceiling.

It opened its mouth, long tongue lolling out the side. You screamed, this one cut off as it bit into your face, blood and brain matter staining the cool metal.

You awoke with a yelp, the migraine from your dream still a present ache in your head. You ran a hand down your face, groaning as the pain permeated you. You shivered, still able to feel the sensation of sharp claws digging into your skin and teeth ripping into your flesh. After a few moments regathering yourself, you looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand. The numbers '6:00' glared back at you, the feeling of the house rejecting your presence still weighing heavily on your consciousness.

It was time to get ready for work.