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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
One Nice Bug Per Day
Cosmic Funnies
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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JBB: An Artblog!
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we're not kids anymore.
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dirt enthusiast
i don't do bad sauce passes
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@oftenwantedafton
OftenWantedAfton’s William Afton Fanfiction Masterlist 2025
Steve Raglan series and one shots
Personal Space
Wither
A New Afton
Maybe
Older
The Long Way Home
Ransom
The New Hire
Night Shift
Vent
Dave Miller series and one shots
The Perfect Girl
Kismet
The Wraith
The Dark of the Woods
The Still of the Night
Stay
Prize
The Assistant
Miscellaneous William Afton/Springtrap stories
The Murray Girl
And Then There Was Us
Moody & Gray
Forgotten / Remembered
Begin Again
Pas De Deux
Craving
the murray girl | william afton x f!reader
chapter 6
Explicit rating, 3.7k words, new 11/10/25
ao3 link
taglist @biggymeatpie
William Afton sits on the porch steps outside his apartment, taking a long drag from the cigarette slotted between his lips as he rests his elbows on his thighs, hunching over slightly to contemplate the morning traffic passing by.
It doesn’t take long for his eyes to lose focus of the commuters and school buses, the steel colored irises becoming glassy with reverie as he grows more aware of the press of the pack of playing cards digging into his side where he’s nudged up beside the railing, prompting a reminder and a thought that travels like the exhaled smoke drifting before him, shifting from one layer to the next. Your first test of loyalty, covering for his intentional mistake with the card trick, and you’d passed. Someday you’ll have to make a much harder decision, but he thinks—he knows—you’ll ultimately side with him, and not your kin. You, and everything your family owns, will be his in every way imaginable.
He acknowledges the appearance of his roommate and business partner Henry Emily with a soft grunt, the screen door banging shut as the bearded man exits the home, then settles on the step beside him, clad in his usual work attire: comfortable, well washed denim overalls and a button front plaid shirt, today’s latter offering mustard shaded with rust threaded through. He’s not the face of the business, so there’s no need for him to wear a suit when he spends the majority of his days sequestered in the workroom, his hands covered in smears of graphite from sketches and motor oil from repairs to the animatronics and other equipment.
He pushes his glasses a little higher up the bridge of his nose, a routine that’s sometimes necessary and sometimes just a fidgety gesture that he performs without consciously realizing it. “What time did you get up this morning?”
William glances at his wristwatch, dragging the edge of his shirtsleeve back so he can view the face properly. “Three hours ago, give or take.”
”And you’ve been sitting here this entire time?”
A car horn blares as an impatient driver waits for a fellow commuter to move forward. “Morons,” the dark haired man mutters. “And yes, I’ve been sitting here awhile. It’s nice outside.”
”It’s hot. And you hate the sun.” Henry’s eyes narrow. “I thought you quit smoking.”
“I did.” William withdraws the cigarette from his mouth, turning his face slightly to deflect the stream of smoke while he studies the rolled object wedged between his index and middle fingers as if wondering how it came to be there. “I just needed one this morning.”
Henry’s eyes flit to the open pack balanced on the other man’s thighs, perhaps noting that it’s much closer to empty than full.
The look doesn’t go unnoticed, but William refuses to acknowledge it. He’s not really in the mood for a reprimand. He knows it’s a bad habit. It’s one he’d only recently set aside, cold turkey, in the interest of his new girlfriend, wanting to make a good impression, confident his willpower was stronger than any chemical addiction.
Ironically enough, you’re the reason he’s fallen off the wagon so to speak, the nervous energy and poor sleep he’d endured after you’d visited his place for the first time the previous evening pushing him to rise early and drive to the convenience store on the corner to pick up a fresh pack. He can’t stop thinking about you, a near manic track that keeps looping in his brain, his careful plans to corrupt you and swindle your brother’s business right out from under his unsuspecting nose reviewed over and over again. It’s not really about how spending time with you has begun to feel like it’s becoming less about business and more about pleasure—that would just be absurd.
He stubs the remains of the cigarette out in the paper coffee cup resting between his ankles—another item he’d picked up this morning—and contemplates lighting a fresh one. He needs to keep busy. That’s the problem. All these little moments that are empty of you. He needs to fill them with something else. Focus. Keep the end goal in sight. You’re simply a tool. A means to an end.
Your lips melting against his on a warm summer evening, his hand braced against your waist, fingers splayed, digging in, while yours tease the hair curling at the nape of his neck…
“Bill.”
“Mmm?” He fiddles with the torn plastic still partially shielding the open package of Marlboros, crinkling the wrapper while he forces his attention back to the present.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Fine. What’s that you’ve got there?” He points to the envelope clutched in the bearded man’s hands, seizing the chance to segue into a different discussion lest the man keep prying.
“Oh, Ed sent over some pictures of the prototype pizzeria. Have a look.”
He hands several Polaroids over to William, who sets the pack back down and begins flipping through the photographs. The most prominent theatrical stage is front and center on an elevated semi circular platform, with the dining room tables arranged in orderly rows before it. The booths with padded seating and stained glass privacy walls appear to still be under construction, the wood unfinished and the frames of glass panels empty. There are several smaller curtained stage areas to house other animatronics, and a short set of stairs leading to what will become an expansive carpeted arcade area. Many of the remaining rooms are still empty, but William can already fill in the blanks: kitchen, restrooms, offices, storage, service workroom. Even though it’s still in its early stages, the potential is clear. The mock up dining area alone already could comfortably fit most of the square footage of his current establishment within it. Just how large is that work area beneath the Murray factory? He hunches forward a bit more, peering intently at the images for awhile longer before handing them back to his business partner.
“And these are some of the animatronic designs from Fi.”
William’s mood instantly darkens. His fingers sharply flick through the next stack of pictures, practically flinging them back into the envelope after a cursory glance.
“The pizzeria looks good so far. Tell Fiona to go back to the drawing board.” He retrieves another cigarette, jabbing it between his lips and lighting it with a butane lighter the same shade of purple as his suit. An angry cloud of smoke is soon aimed towards the driveway. “Is she still insisting on being involved with the Fall Fest this year?”
“As far as I know.” The bearded man’s voice drops conspiratorially. “Hey, uh, listen, do you really think it’s wise to reject the designs of the relative of a woman you’re trying to impress?”
William leans back again, trying to force himself to relax. “They’re too far from what we specified. Too…cartoonish. Cheerful. Generic. They lack character. They don’t feel like us.” He waves a hand in the air as if to illustrate the discrepancies, the flecks of ash from the cigarette raining down onto the porch step below. “And we have the festival planned out already. All of the vendors are booked. Ed’s accounted for the shipments we’ll need. There’s nothing for Fiona to contribute. Besides, she’ll likely be very preoccupied with her new offspring by then. Best not to have any extra distractions or potential stressors.”
Henry sighs, rubbing his palms against his thighs, another nervous gesture of his. “Maybe you’re right,” he grudgingly admits. “I just know she’s going to be disappointed.”
“Of course I’m right.” He knows how much his roommate hates conflict. He’ll do anything he can to avoid it. “Look, she’s a grown woman, she can handle the news. It’s just business. That’s all it is. No need to make this personal. Besides, we have that lovely dinner planned for next week. And I even was nice enough to bring Fiona flowers the other day.” The end of the cigarette glows as he takes another drag.
“You can’t buy people’s affection, Bill.”
Pale gray eyes meet hazel ones. Then William shakes his head ruefully, extinguishing his cigarette beside its brethren, grinding the butt down at the bottom of the cup. “Well of course you can, Hen,” he says with exaggerated patience, as if explaining something to a young child. “Everyone has a price. Some steeper than others, but…that’s just how it is, old friend. Anyway, I’ll see you soon.” He scoops up the pack and tucks it into his inner jacket pocket before retrieving the coffee cup with one hand and clutching the porch railing with the other, rising smoothly to his feet, his tall frame neatly unfolding.
“I’ll call Fi,” Henry says, looking a bit morose at the prospect of breaking the news as he stands more slowly, his shoulders wilted.
“Sounds good.” The dark haired man tosses his trash into the wastebin before heading towards his car.
See? That wasn’t so difficult. He made it a whole few minutes without giving you a single thought.
Settling behind the wheel of the sedan, William glances over at the passenger side of the vehicle and his mind instantly conjures an image of you seated there.
Well, maybe it’s still a work in progress.
***
You pull into the parking lot of Fredbear’s Family Diner Tuesday afternoon.
You hope this is a good time for a surprise visit; you’ve been anxiously planning this all day, even packing an extra lunch for you new beau before you’d left for work that morning.
The restaurant doesn’t seem overly busy given that it’s a weekday, encouraging you to move forward through the glass entryway, angling towards the hostess standing inside, readying a friendly smile on your face. You explain your situation and you’re led through the dining room to a narrow hallway with a series of closed doors, trailing along at a slower pace as you try to take in the sights, eyeing the modest stage shrouded with curtains and the row of arcade cabinets and pinball machines lining the rear wall. There is not an inch of space that is not occupied with something, be it a claw machine or a booth or a wooden mascot cutout for picture taking—the diner is nearly bursting at the seams, barely able to contain all the additions that have been made. The noise level must be positively deafening when a crowd gathers, the dining room chaotic with its suffocating press of visitors. You understand William’s urgency for an expanded venue more acutely than ever.
“Mr. Afton’s office is the one straight ahead.”
You nod and thank your guide, knocking softly on the door once you reach it.
“What is it?” Even muffled, William’s voice sounds a little short tempered.
You turn the knob and nudge the door open, peering inside the room. “Hi. I hope I’m not bothering you.”
The seated man’s scowl immediately vanishes and he stands, striding around the desk to greet you. “No, of course not. This is a pleasant surprise.” He pushes the door closed.
“I thought we could have lunch together. I brought some for us both.”
He takes the bag you offer and hastily sets it down on his desk before turning back to you, one arm snaking around your waist to draw you snugly against him.
“Hi there,” he says, his voice lowering.
“Hi,” you reply, resting your palms against his chest. “How’s your day been going?”
“Better now.” He brushes his mouth against yours. “Much better,” he hums, his lips now moving along your jaw and neck, making you shiver and giggle nervously. Sure, the door is closed, and he is the owner—well, co-owner—but still…
”Your diner is neat. Now I really can’t wait for my brother to finish the project.”
”I’ll give you a little tour, though I expect that won’t take long, even including the behind the scenes spaces like this one.” His fingers knead your lower spine. “We’re quite cramped, as you probably noticed. Overcrowded. Outgrown our surroundings, I’m afraid. I trust the staff was courteous? We’ve had some personnel changes as of late. Extra help for the summer since business will be picking up once school vacation officially begins.”
”Yes, the hostess was lovely.”
”Good.” He tucks a finger beneath your chin, gently lifting it. “Miss Murray, I want to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Sleep over tonight. Come right after you get out of work. We can have breakfast together before I drop you back off at the factory tomorrow morning,” he concludes in an almost breathless rush, the words tumbling out quickly as if he’d dammed them up for a lengthy amount of time, rehearsed over and over until they’d collected together in a pent up jumble.
You blink, startled by the invitation. “Oh, I…I’d need to grab a change of clothes, something to sleep in, toiletries…”
The British man makes a little impatient scoffing noise beside your cheek. “You can borrow something of mine to sleep in. I’m sure we can track down a spare toothbrush. You don’t need anything else. Come over as soon as you’re finished for the day,” he urges again, his thumbs gently stroking your waist while his lips tease the patch of skin behind your ear, eliciting another shiver. “I need to spend more time with you.”
It’s only been a couple of days since your last trip to his home, but you’d be lying if you said he hasn’t been on your mind quite frequently.
“I’ll need to call Fi to tell her. She always waits up for me.”
William draws back, frowning. “You’re an adult. You shouldn’t have to report to—” He cuts himself off abruptly, forcing a smile. “Of course you can call her.”
You smooth your fingers over the lapels of his suit jacket, attempting to soothe his obvious ire. You’d been hoping your sister in law would have relaxed by now, reassured of your boyfriend’s noble intentions, but the fact of the matter is they both seem to be increasingly tense when the other person is mentioned. You’re more than a little anxious for the upcoming family dinner, certain that the growing tensions on both sides might lead to a blowout later on.
Your nose wrinkles as you notice an unfamiliar scent permeating the suited man’s clothing. “Do you smoke? I swear I can smell…”
William groans apologetically. “Yes, sorry. A bad habit I indulge in from time to time. I promise not to do it around you. I’m working on quitting permanently, I just…things have been a little stressful the last couple of days. Another reason I really just want to unwind with you tonight.”
“Are you okay? What’s going on?” You reach up to re-tuck the strand of hair stubbornly dropping over his forehead and his lips twitch in a gentle smile.
“Just work related things. Payroll. Maintenance. Nothing I can’t handle that you need to be burdened with. And my mood is already improving, now that I’ve seen you. I’ll feel even better later when you stay over. You are coming, yes?”
For an instant, the normally confident appearing man seems uncertain, but you nod and the moment passes, his lips splitting into a broad grin that’s much more natural than the last one he’d attempted at the mention of your brother’s spouse.
“Alright. Let’s have lunch, and then I’ll show you around.”
***
Fiona isn’t happy with the news of your plans for the evening.
She says it’s too soon, that this only confirms her suspicions, that it doesn’t matter if Henry is around and that you need to be careful. You do your best to reassure her before you leave work and find yourself caught in rush hour traffic once you approach the city. William’s sedan is the only vehicle in the driveway when you finally arrive. He opens the door before you even have a chance to knock, his hair notably damp, having recently exited the shower. Your eyes roam over his informal attire, a tshirt with a faded soda brand logo and a pair of loose joggers knotted around his narrow waist.
The door clicks shut behind you and you slip out of your shoes, hanging your purse on the rack nearby.
“Hi.”
“Hello again, Miss Murray.” His smile spreads slowly, the corner of his mouth creeping steadily upwards.
“Henry’s not here?”
“Not yet. We trade off who goes in earlier and who stays later. He went in late today, so it’s his turn to stay. He’ll be home in a bit.”
You nod, suddenly feeling shy.
William slips a hand into yours, tugging you forward, leading you down the now familiar hallway. You feel your stomach flutter when he guides you into his bedroom, watching nervously as he switches on a small radio on the desk. Soft rock plays at a low volume in the background as he sits on the edge of the bed and scoots over until he’s positioned closer to the wall, adjusting the giant rabbit plush so that it’s squarely in the middle of the bed, then reaches over it to pat the remaining vacant spot invitingly.
The door is still open, which reassures you a little as you settle on the matress, rearranging the pillows slightly so you’re propped against the headboard like your companion is. You don’t know why you’re suddenly so tense. It’s not like you’ve never been alone with him before. And he’s always been a gentleman. “Hello, Bonnie,” you murmur, lifting the stuffed rabbit to regard it more closely, your gaze moving over the shiny button eyes and the stiched mouth before you set it back down between you. “You know you don’t actually have to have it in bed with you. It’s not like the guys at the pub would know.”
“I’d know,” William replies. “And I’m a man of my word.” He gives the arm of the plush a gentle pat. “He’s not a terrible bedfellow. Although I can think of a better one,” he adds, smirking. “Speaking of sleeping arrangements, I assume you informed Fiona you’d be staying over?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
You stretch out your legs, pointing your toes toward the open doorway. “She said to have a good time.”
“Somehow I doubt that’s a direct quote,” he mutters.
You glance at your boyfriend, a sudden urge to lighten the mood again filling you. The song on the broadcast concludes and a slower tune begins, this one led by female vocals. “She said she can’t wait to have dinner together next week, and that she was wondering if you’d like to be the godfather—hey!” William suddenly lifts the rabbit out of the way, tossing it to the floor as his body quickly cages yours.
“You really are a terrible liar,” he says, grinning as he tugs until your head rests nestled on the now collapsing pile of pillows.
“I know. I do wish you guys could get along, though.”
“I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. Grudging civility seems to be the apex of our relationship.” His face descends closer to yours. “But for what it’s worth, I promise to remain on my best behavior. Mostly,” he whispers, pressing a dizzying kiss to your mouth. You don’t know if he means during the upcoming meal with your family, or if he means during your stay that evening. Your fingers curl around the nape of his neck, slipping beneath the dark locks still moist from his shower and he hums approvingly, the mattress creaking as he adjusts one of his knees braced near your hip. You’re starting to learn how your faces fit together: the slightly crooked jut of his aquiline nose pressed against your cheek when his face turns a certain way; your tongue nudging into the shallow gap of the chipped tooth in his top row; the tiny crescent shaped scar hiding beneath his chin, visible once your mouth works over the column of his throat. Little injuries from his past you’re sure he’ll share with you one day, perhaps lounging in bed just like this. You boldly capture his bottom lip with your teeth and gently suck and he moans, a sound that has your insides writhing, warm and throbbing.
“What are you doing to me?” He breathes against your mouth while he relaxes his weight against you. “Coming over here, into my bed…” As if he was not the one to invite you so desperately. His fingers spread over your neck and slide down, down, squeezing faintly over your breast. “Looking so beautiful…” His hips roll in an almost lazy thrust, grinding along one thigh, and you feel the hard swell there, pressing against the loose gray frabric covering it.
“William…the door’s open,” you protest, even as your hands pull him closer, your pelvis arching into his caresses.
“Don’t care,” he pants, his lips settling against the notch at the base of your throat.
“Henry will be here soon…”
“Fuck Henry,” he growls.
“No, thank you.”
His head lifts and he huffs a little laugh at that. “But you’re right, though. You see how easy it is to get carried away? Thus, Bonnie. Our proper chaperone.”
“That you threw on the floor,” you observe wryly.
“Gently lowered,” he corrects.
“Mmm-hmm.”
Another throaty chuckle emerges before he presses a kiss to the corner of your jaw, then rolls over onto his back, sighing as he glances over at the clock mounted on the wall. “He will be home soon,” he grumbles.
You turn on your side, propping yourself up on one elbow, running your fingers up and down his forearm. “So what’s on the itinerary then? Dinner? Board games? Movie?”
“Whatever you like.”
“Whatever I like,” you repeat thoughtfully.
William’s gray eyes link with yours. “Yes.”
“Hmmm.” Your hand stills and you lean over to kiss his cheek. His face turns and your lips meet again. “I think I’d like—”
The front door opens and Henry appears, calling out a cheerful greeting. “I’m back, Bill. I saw Miss Murray’s car in the driveway. Don’t worry, I didn’t block you in this time. Where are…oh, hello.” He waves, spying the pair of you down the hallway.
You wave back, watching him disappear into the living room.
“The man has the absolute worst timing, I swear,” William mutters. “Now, where were we?”
“Dinner,” you decide, raking your fingers through his damp tresses. “And then we’ll go from there.”
“Improvise.” He purrs the word, his cuspids flashing.
“Yes.”
“Alright. Now kindly assist my rabbit friend back to bed.”
Gifted art from warden_parrot for an upcoming project.
Currently working on No, I’m Not a Human goodies but I’ll be back soon.
the murray girl | william afton x f!reader
chapter five
Explicit content, 5.8k words, new 9/1/25
ao3 link
taglist @xuntybitxh
Sunday morning seems to drag.
You’re tempted to lend your brother a hand with his work, but you know how that would go: you’d both be so engrossed that you’d lose track of time, and that simply won’t do when a date with William Afton is lingering on the horizon.
Fiona seems to be in better spirits; at least she’d been able to enjoy an afternoon with her husband while you’d discreetly ducked away after lunch to give them some privacy. They always deny that you’re intruding, and they never make you feel like you’re imposing in any way, but you still feel obligated to afford them some alone time. You know you'd want the same if it was you and your future husband.
And who might fulfill such a role?
Your cheeks color a little as you finish tidying your room. You can’t really even consider William a boyfriend yet, let alone anything more serious; you’ve only been on one date. But the idea of it is pleasant to think about, and you allow yourself to daydream about it a little as you run the vacuum around. Imagine him coming home after work in one of his vibrantly colored suits. Would you be living in the country, or would he still insist a more urban location would be more practical? Making dinner together, or perhaps letting it burn, because once his arms have wrapped around you as you stand at the counter, his lips nuzzling your throat, neither of you seems to care much about the contents of the stove.
You sit on the edge of your bed, reaching for one of the decorative pillows, a large daisy. You embrace it tightly, gaze still unfocused as you see the events you’re fantasizing about unraveling further. Turning in his arms, his lips now pressing against yours. That voice purring in your ear, sultry and suggestive. Pupils blown wide as he leads you to the stairs. No. Too far. The living room couch, maybe. Or just right there in the kitchen.
Does he think about you this way?
Your eyes finally regain focus, the alarm clock beside your bed still displaying a time you don’t care for. You exhale a little frustrated moan and toss the pillow back to its resting place. Enough. You need another distraction. Your sister in law surely has some task she needs help with.
That’s how you soon find yourself in the study, dusting the shelves while Fiona mends one of Edwin’s shirts. She still looks fatigued, but much less stressed; clearly the previous day had done her some good. Your lips twitch in a knowing little smile as you lift a bookend to wipe it down.
“What are you smiling about?”
“Who, me?”
“Yes, you.”
“I wasn’t smiling.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She smooths a finger over the row of stiches she’s completed, holding the fabric out in front of her to survey her work before resuming her task.
“You could do that on a machine much faster,” you offer, hurriedly setting the bookend back into place, narrowly catching the row of books that suddenly threaten to tip over.
“Yes, but I prefer to do it by hand. It just comes out nicer, I feel like. Sometimes…” She hesitates, setting the sleeve back down on her lap. “Sometimes it’s nice to use your hands. I appreciate the convenience of modern technology, of course, but…it’s like the Clean ’O Vac, you know?” She inquires, referring to the invention that had made her husband’s late father famous. “They do a serviceable enough job, but it’s never quite right. They can’t reach every little nook and cranny and corner.”
You nod your understanding. The little robots were still in use at the factory, rolling around dutifully sweeping stray scraps and dirt into dust pans, but Fiona had recently shunned their use in the manor. The mechanical cleaners did tend to be a bit oblivious about their pathways, causing the pregnant woman to bump into them on more than one occasion. Not as much of a crisis on the first floor, but on the second, near the staircase? Edwin’s temporary disappointment at his wife’s disparaging comments had quickly shifted to acceptance when he’d realized it was not just a personal preference, but a safety issue as well.
Now the inventor could probably do some tinkering and improve their motor functions, but you know your brother never will; it’s as if there’s some unspoken rule against modifying another person’s invention. The Clean ’O Vacs are his father’s design, the family legacy, the reason he has a fine roof over his head, a steady business, and indirectly the reason he even met his wife in the first place. So the little metal creations are a bit sacred. He’ll let them roam the factory until they eventually run down, and even once they’ve been decommissioned, he’ll likely keep them stored somewhere, visiting them from time to time to pay his respects.
The idea of a graveyard of inoperable machines is an odd one; perhaps he’d do better to make a museum instead. Then others could pay tribute to them as well. Maybe it would potentially bring in more customers. You’ll have to run it by Ed sometime.
For now, though, you think he’s got his hands quite full with his contracts. And the cleaning robots have showed no signs of wear thus far in any case. They really had been built to last.
As the morning fades to afternoon you realize the time you’d been hoping would fly by actually has, and you rush to get ready for your date.
Once again William shows a little early, this time surprising you by greeting you on the porch, one hand clutching a bouquet of flowers.
You immediately begin to reach for it, words of gratitude forming on your lips, but he instead attempts to peer over your shoulder into the house. “Is Fiona nearby? These are for her.”
“Oh,” you flush, immediately embarrassed that you’d mistaken his intentions. “Yes, she’s in the study.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yes, of course.” Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. You step aside to give him room to enter. “It’s to the right over this way.”
“I’ll just be a moment. Why don’t you go wait in the car? And whatever you do, don’t look in the backseat.” He winks at you, the fingers of his free hand brushing your arm as he passes you.
You hesitate, watching him disappear through the French doors, tempted to linger and eavesdrop, but you’re not quite brave enough to do so. Or foolish enough. One of the two. So you follow his directions, making your way to the passenger seat of his car, keeping your eyes firmly away from whatever he’s placed one row behind, the spot between your shoulder blades burning and itching terribly with your desire to disobey and view the forbidden object he’d placed so temptingly behind your seat.
***
William finds Fiona folding laundry in a long room lined with bookshelves, her face lifting in surprise to see his entrance. Her lips press into a thin line as she straightens, the gap between two of her front teeth abruptly vanishing from sight. There is a sock still clutched in one hand, waiting for its partner.
“Mrs. Murray,” he greets formally.
“Mr. Afton,” she replies, her tone crisp and cool.
“I don't mean to intrude, but I thought we should speak for a moment.”
“I’m rather occupied. And you have a date waiting for you, I believe,” she adds.
“This won’t take long. Firstly, these are for you.” He holds the bouquet out towards the woman and her expression darkens.
“I don’t accept bribes, Mr. Afton.”
“William, please. And this isn’t a bribe. Consider it more a peace offering. I understand you have some concerns about me dating your sister in law.”
The unmatched sock is dropped back into the laundry basket. “Yes, I do.”
“May I ask why you’re so convinced I have ill intentions?”
Fiona folds her arms across her chest. “I don’t know you well, Mr.—William,” she corrects. “But I see how you are in your business dealings. I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume you’re the same way in your private life as well. It’s not my place to get involved in the contracts my husband makes.”
“No, it isn’t,” he replies smoothly, a bitter smile stretching his lips.
“But I have no such reservations when it comes to speaking up for family. My sister in law is a good girl. A good girl,” she repeats. “She doesn’t know what it’s like to be with someone older. More experienced. Manipulative. Controlling.”
May as well call me a whore, he thinks, more bemused than offended. Is his reputation really that bad, or is she basing this more off of instinct and impressions? Surely the latter. “I assure you I’ve done nothing but treat the young woman with kindness and respect thus far, and she will most certainly corroborate that.”
“Thus far,” she repeats.
William makes a humming sound. “You’re quite overprotective, aren’t you, Fiona? Like a badger with her young.”
“‘Mrs. Murray,” she corrects, her voice dripping acid. “And yes, I will do anything for my family.”
The British man chuckles. “As you like. Mrs. Murray, it’s really quite admirable.” He sets the floral arrangement down on the nearest surface which happens to be the bench perched before a grand piano. “Do you play, Mrs. Murray?”
“No. That talent runs on my husband’s side of the family.”
“Shame. It’s a wonderful thing, being able to play a musical instrument.” He lifts the lid shielding the keys and presses a few seemingly at random, but there is the beginnings of a melody distinctly audible. “It’s been awhile, but I feel like it would easily come back to me. Muscle memory. This could use some tuning. If you need a referral, I know of a gentleman who does an excellent job.” He closes the lid, turning back to face her. “There is very little that I desire that cannot be acquired in one manner or another,” he murmurs. “If we cannot grow to be friends, at least let us be civil acquaintances. We are already drawn together because of Eddie’s business; it seems foolish not to make the attempt now that I’m becoming more…personally invested as well.”
Fiona remains silent, but he can imagine her teeth are grinding.
“Let’s have dinner some evening. All of us; I’ll even include Henry,” he adds. “I’ll reserve us a table somewhere; of course I’ll handle the expense. You won’t have to lift a finger.”
“Imagine having the audacity to assume I would volunteer to make a meal for you,” she growls.
William laughs again, but it is thin, higher pitched, mirthless. “Come now, Mrs. Murray. I’ve really done my part to extend the olive branch here. The least you can do is give me a chance to disappoint you.” His teeth flash in a grin intended to be charming and ingratiating, but Fiona’s expression looks as if the gesture has failed.
“For the sake of my husband’s business, I tolerate you, Bill,” she replies. “And for the sake of my sister in law’s happiness, I’ll endure your presence as necessary.”
“Delighted to hear it. And only close friends call me Bill.”
She takes a step towards him. “But if I find out that you do anything—anything—to hurt either of them William, I promise you, you will regret it.”
One eyebrow faintly twitches. “Understood. Let me know when it’s convenient to arrange the dinner. Edwin has my number. As does your sister in law. Speaking of which, I think I’ve kept the young woman waiting long enough. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon. And don’t forget to put those in water,” he tosses over his shoulder as he spins on his heel and exits the study, missing the venomous look the woman shoots at his retreating figure.
***
“Everything alright?”
William seems a bit tense as he slides behind the wheel, dragging the drivers’s side door shut behind him.
He glances over at you. “Yes, everything’s fine. I’ve invited your sister in law and brother out to dinner hosted by Henry and I. She accepted.”
“Oh.” You fall back on your default to soothe you when you’re tense or nervous, fiddling with the strap of your purse. “Am I invited too?”
“Of course.”
“Did she like the flowers?”
“Not as much as you did, I think.” Finally, you see the hint of a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “Did you look in the back seat?”
“You told me not to.”
“You are a good girl,” he says softly. “You can look now.”
You turn your head, immediately catching a glimpse of bright colors. Another bouquet of flowers, this one dwarfing the offering he’d carried indoors earlier. Sunflowers. Carnations. Roses. Chrysanthemums. Your fingers curl over the top of the seat as you lean for a better look, flashing a quick grin at your date.
“You like them?”
“Yes! Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. You want to go run those inside? Get them in a vase?”
You nod, slipping back out of the vehicle and then opening the rear passenger door to lift the massive collection of fresh cut flowers, promising you’ll be quick as you dart back inside.
You duck your head into the study but it seems Fiona has gone elsewhere; the kitchen is devoid of the woman as well. You can’t find a vase after a hasty search through the cabinets but you do discover a tall glass pitcher that serves the task just as well. Pausing just long enough to inhale the pleasant fragrance emanating from the arrangement, you hurry back outside to William’s sedan.
His apartment, you soon discover, is not in a multi unit building like you’d previously assumed, but is actually half of a house. It is located at the city’s center, the sounds of the nearby traffic still audible until you’re escorted inside the home.
You slip your shoes off after William leads by example, then hang your purse on the coatrack nearby.
“So, did you want a quick tour? Henry should be back any minute now.”
“Sure.”
You follow him into the living room, watching him grab something from the couch, muttering under his breath. Then you view the kitchen, bathroom, and catch only a glimpse of what must be Henry’s room, your companion once again hastening to intervene, tossing the item he’d collected earlier inside and then closing the door.
“Sorry. I keep reminding him that we should have things presentable for guests. This is my room.” He opens the final door at the end of the hallway and gestures for you to enter.
Smaller than yours, but then again, that’s expected given the expansive square footage of the manor. A full size bed is tucked along one wall. A small desk is shoved beneath a window covered with blinds. A closed door on the adjacent wall which you assume conceals a closet. A dresser shoved tightly against the molding framing the entryway. That’s all.
Your eyes linger on a large plush brown rabbit lying in the center of the bed atop the pillows.
“Ah. Yes. That. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for that,” he says, sidestepping to block the stuffed animal from view.
“That’s okay, you don’t have to explain. Lots of people like a comfort plush.”
“It’s not that,” he continues, looking a little more anxious than you’re accustomed to seeing. “You recall I had mentioned bad behavior when intoxicated?” You nod. “Well, I made a bet that I would have won effortlessly, had I been sober. Because I was not…well, it has to stay on the bed for six months.”
You wince sympathetically. “Ouch. What was the wager?”
“Three bullseyes on the dartboard at the local pub. I swear my aim is normally perfect.”
You press a hand to your lips, fighting back a smirk. “So now you have a cuddle buddy every night.”
He groans. “Don’t call it that, please.”
“What should I call it? Does it have a name? Is it a female rabbit?” You abandon your attempt at hiding a grin.
“I don’t make out with the damn thing,” he sputters, casting daggers at the stuffed animal.
“Your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone.”
William’s attention returns to your features and he steps closer. He doesn’t look quite so awkward anymore, his normal confidence replenishing. “How can I be sure of that, Miss Murray?”
“I don’t know. You can take my word for it. Pinky swear,” you suggest, holding up your hand.
His fingers thread through yours and he jerks you against him. “I think we need something a little more binding than that.” His face begins dipping down as yours lifts. Your heart hammers painfully against your ribcage. This is it. He’s finally going to kiss you.
“Bill? I’m back. I didn’t know what toppings Ed’s sister likes so I brought back a couple of pies.” Henry’s voice echoed down the hallway.
William sighs, straightening and releasing your hand. “The man’s timing is the absolute worst, I swear,” he mutters under his breath. “We’re here. Just giving Miss Murray the official tour,” he calls out. “Be right there.”
You take a step towards the doorway but the tall British businessman blocks your passage, one hand bracing against the door frame. “We’ll finish this discussion later, yes?”
“Yes,” you agree, gifted another smirk before he moves and you’re able to return to the hallway.
You find Henry in the kitchen, pulling cups and plates out of an overhead cabinet, a half eaten slice of pepperoni pizza already resting on one of the latter specimens.
He greets you cheerfully and you return it, sitting in the chair William pulls out for you.
“Hi, nice to see you.”
“Same. How are things at the restaurant?”
“Oh, the usual. A little chaotic. Speaking of which—”
“—No. We’re not discussing work related matters now. And honestly, you couldn’t wait to dig in? We have a guest,” William replies, opening the refrigerator to retrieve three glass bottles of soda.
“I was hungry,” the bearded man murmurs apologetically, adjusting his glasses before he finishes setting the table.
“It’s fine.” You watch as his roommate cracks a tray of ice cubes and begins dropping them into the tumblers. “So what board game are we playing?”
“You have a choice: Monopoly or Scrabble.”
When he turns back to the sink to refill the tray Henry leans closer, whispering, “Pick Scrabble. At least you’ll have a fighting chance.”
“I heard that.”
“Bill always seems to land on the best properties. Hotels go up early in the game and before you know it you’re bankrupt,” the other man advises at a normal volume, straightening in his seat.
“You go bankrupt because you’re cheap. Utilities and railroads aren’t going to make anyone a fortune. You have to invest money to make money. Pepperoni or plain, Miss Murray?”
“Uh, plain, thanks.” You hand William your plate and he lifts the lid of the box, selecting a slice and returning it to you.
Once everyone’s been served, he settles across from you. Henry inquires about your family and the conversation eventually wanders to other topics like the weather (it rarely changes in Hurricane) and comparing notes about the diner (he’s convinced you to try the pancakes if you go there for breakfast).
His business partner calmly observes the pair of you, working his way through each slice but leaving the crusts behind. He doesn’t bat an eye when Henry reaches over for them. This is clearly a routine they’re used to.
You volunteer to help with the dishes after dinner but you’re turned down, both men declining your offer. William reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a large brassy coin. “Call it.”
“Tails.”
Wordlessly he balances the coin along his middle fingernail and then flicks it up into the air with his thumb. It lands neatly on the back of his other hand. “Heads,” he declares, the token quickly vanishing from sight with another of his sleight of hand tricks.
Henry sighs. “It’s always Heads.”
“You should pick that, then. I always give you first choice.”
“I really don’t mind doing them,” you interject.
“Nonsense. He’s just moping. Look, I’ll even clear the table.”
Once the dishes are washed and set on the drying rack, the Scrabble board is set up and the tiles are dispensed.
“The lady goes first,” William declares.
You survey your selection. An E. An O. A U. A few vowels, not bad. Then the consonants: A K. A J. A B. Okay. But the X? You frown, shuffling the letters around. Hmmm. You could spell box and at least get credit for the X and extra points for playing first. But to only use three letters…wait. You’ve got something even better. You begin lining up the tiles on the board, spelling out jukebox.
Henry gives a low whistle, marking down your score and handing you the bag of tiles to select your pieces for your next round.
“Nice one. You might have just met your match, Bill.”
“Maybe.” William’s eyes meet yours and he smirks.
***
This time you’re the victor.
You chalk it up to some well placed triple letter and triple word scores. Once again you’d found yourself with an extremely competitive opponent. Henry hadn’t put forth much of an effort, but you get the feeling that was more to bow out early so you can spend time alone with William.
His fingers brush against yours as you both refill the bag with the wooden tiles after you’ve finished playing, touches that you feel are more deliberate than accidental.
Once the board game is returned to the cupboard it’s stored in you’re invited to join his roommate in the living room. Henry is seated in the middle of the couch, his legs stretched out, heels resting on the edge of the coffee table.
“For pity’s sake, Hen. Feet down.” He nudges him with one shin before settling beside him, and you sink down onto the cushion on the opposite side while the other engineer retracts his legs, straightening to sit upright.
“God, I’d love a beer right now,” the bearded man mumbles as the actor on the television screen pours himself a drink.
“Not on a Sunday. Work tomorrow,” William reprimands. “I’m not dealing with your hangover on a Monday morning.”
“Do you sing a lot like William does when he’s intoxicated?” You tease.
“He told you that, huh? Nah, not really.” A mischievous grin suddenly splits his lips. “Did he show you his rabbit yet?”
“Shut up, Hen.”
“That sounds like a yes to me.”
The good natured bickering continues for a bit, until William digs his elbow into his roommate’s ribs, signaling for him to get up and change the channel. “And grab the switch on the lamp while you’re at it,” he adds.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Got some stuff to work on anyway. I’ll see you later,” Henry says, rising to his feet and stretching before walking over to flip the dial and turn the light off, then retreating back to his room.
“You didn’t have to kick him out. He wasn’t bothering me,” you murmur.
“Hen’s not really much for television anyway. He’d rather have his nose buried in his sketchbook.” William crooks his fingers. “Now that he’s gone, you don’t have to sit so far away. Come here.”
A little shiver runs through you over this final command. You slide closer, still leaving a little gap between your cushions.
Now it’s just you and your date on the couch in a darkened room. He’s got his arm stretched across the back of the seat, his fingers just barely grazing your shoulder every now and again. There’s some black and white horror movie playing on television, the kind of film that likely first aired at a drive in theater.
“You can come in, Henry. We’re not naked in here,” he says loudly over the hair styling product commercial currently being broadcast.
You turn to see the bearded man hovering at the doorway, ducking his head apologetically as he enters, making a beeline for the kitchen.
“Does Henry ever bring anyone over?” You inquire once he’s vanished from view.
“No. And he should. It’s about damn time he find someone. I don’t suppose you know any single ladies that like an engineer with a penchance for cold cereal and animatronic blueprints?”
“‘Fraid not.”
“Hen’s never really been much of a lady’s man. I can count the number of times I saw him talk to a girl during college on one hand.”
“But you dated.”
“Some.” He pauses, glancing away from the TV in time to catch the expression passing over your features. “Oh. You’re jealous,” he hums, as if he’s savoring the last word.
“No, I’m not.” You squirm in your seat.
“Well, it’s flattering. But rest assured none could ever hold a candle to present company.”
There’s a crashing sound from the kitchen and you lean forward, slightly alarmed.
“Sorry! Dropped a bowl. It’s okay, it’s not broken,” Henry calls out.
“Honestly, this living situation needs to change soon. I didn’t sign up for a lifetime of this. It’s like having a twenty six year old child,” he scoffs.
The television program resumes, the conclusion of the movie safe and predictable. Your attention wavers as a news broadcast begins. “What was that coin you had earlier?”
“Ah. From the arcade.” He rummages in his pants pocket, extracting the token and pressing it into your outstretched palm. There is a Fazbear Entertainment logo printed on one side, the reverse bearing the signature mascot bear. “I always keep one with me. A lucky charm, I suppose.”
“You don’t strike me as the superstitious type.” You offer it back to him.
“What type do I strike you as?”
You hesitate. “I don’t quite know yet.”
“No? No notion at all? Ah, well.” He tucks the token back in his pocket and his attention returns to the television screen.
It’s difficult to concentrate. Your mind keeps wandering, registering little details about the man seated beside you. Sometimes you glance in his direction only to discover he appears legitimately engrossed in the local news; other times he’s openly staring at you and your stomach somersaults.
Henry’s already made a hasty trip back through the living room, waving away the invitation to rejoin you and scurrying back down the hall to his bedroom.
Once the broadcast turns to sports William immediately appears to lose interest, rising and switching the lamp back on before turning the television off.
“Yeah, you’re right. I have to be up early tomorrow. Ed’s really falling behind and I promised I’d help out,” you say, standing.
“That wasn’t a hint that it was time for you to leave; sorry,” he apologizes. “I simply have no interest in sports, I’m afraid. I fear any male offspring I have are going to be sorely disappointed about that.”
“Females might be too.”
“Duly noted. That was terribly sexist of me, wasn’t it?”
You hold your hand up, pinching your index finger and thumb close together. “Just a bit.”
“Forgive me?”
“I’ll consider it,” you reply, smiling softly. You use the restroom and then gather your things, finding William waiting for you near the front door.
He tucks his hands into his pockets, regarding you intently. “You know, you’re welcome to come over any time you like. I can’t promise the place will be as spotless as it should be thanks to Hen,” he comments with a frown, “but still, the invitation is open.”
“Thank you. I had a lot of fun.”
He nods, then walks over to the window, slipping fingers between the blinds and stretching the slats open to view the driveway down below. “I knew it. That idiot parked behind me. Hang on a second,” he murmurs, striding down the hall. You rifle through the stack of magazines on the coffee table, catching bits and pieces of the conversation before you hear the jingle of keys and William returns.
“Alright. We can leave now.”
“Bye Henry,” you call down the hallway, hearing a muffled farewell before you depart. His vehicle is quite different from his roommates’ sleek sedan; it’s clearly an older model, a compact hatchback with balding tires and a considerable amount of rust.
William notices you eyeing the car and grunts in agreement. “Yes, it’s pitiful, isn’t it? I keep telling him to get rid of it; I doubt he’d get much for a trade in. Likely it would just get scrapped. He’s sentimental about it; I suppose I should be grateful he has the good sense not to sink any serious money into it for maintenance. Anyway, I don’t trust it enough to want to risk trying to get you home in it and winding up stranded, so I’m just going to move it out of the way quickly and then we can take mine.”
He just finishes setting a foot inside the unsavory car when one of the windows opens and Henry’s voice bellows out. “Bill! I forgot I have to fuel the car. Don’t drive it.”
“Wasn’t planning on it. I’m murdering you when I get back,” he adds.
“Love you too,” his business partner calls in a singsong voice, grinning.
“Piss off, you twat,” William fires back, but you see him fighting off a smirk. He reverses the car which starts with a horrible, choking rasp, making you wince before he pulls alongside his sedan and kills the engine. “Sorry about the language,” he apologizes, shoving the keys into his pocket and extracting his own set.
“It’s fine. Honestly, it’s kind of charming. You guys are more like brothers than roommates,” you reply, settling inside the much nicer vehicle. “Trust me, I get what having one of those is like. And I see what you mean about his car. Ouch. It needs to be put out of its misery.”
“Agreed.” His own awakens with a smooth purr, and then you’re on your way home. “So, about what we were discussing earlier. About the plush,” he adds. “The rabbit’s name is Bonnie. It’s a he, not a she. And the first night you choose to stay over, I promise it will remain between us on the bed as a chaperone to help prevent any…transgressions, with the added benefit of maintaining the promise of the lost wager. Does that sound reasonable?”
You blink, trying to process these statements. “Um, yes?”
“Good. That part is settled, then. Even your sister in law can’t disapprove of that,” he adds. “So now that leaves just one thing unresolved.”
“What’s that?”
William parks the car at the very end of the manor’s driveway, turning off the ignition before responding. “That other matter we had begun discussing before we were interrupted. Your promise not to tell anyone else.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” you reply quickly. “Your floppy eared secret is safe with me.”
“Yes, but…I still would feel better if we shook on it, or…hmmm, how to put this? Oh, the hell with it,” he rasps, one hand seated against the side of your throat, the seat creaking as he leans over to capture your lips.
At first you’re too startled to respond; the moment you’d been so looking forward to suddenly occuring without much notice. Then you begin to relax, to melt against him, your fingers sinking into his hair, your lips parting. The tip of his tongue touches yours; your answering moan is returned in kind and he presses himself more firmly against you, his fingers digging into your skin as your grip tightens, tugging on his hair before you realize what you’re doing, immediately relaxing your grasp of the dark chocolate strands.
“Oh, you don’t have to be gentle, my dear. I’m not going to break,” he pants against your cheek, chuckling softly. “What a wonder you are, Miss Murray. An absolute delight.” He kisses your jaw and the side of your neck and you sigh, your fingers curling onto the dagger collar of his shirt. “It gets harder to say goodbye to you every time; did you know that?”
You shake your head slightly, you mouth stuttering back over his as your face turns. You kiss him with more confidence, more passion, until he’s breathless, parting to draw back enough to gaze into your eyes, his own all dark and glittering, obsidian and silver and ivory.
You find yourself standing on your porch a little later still in a daze, your body warm and throbbing, the fingers pressing against your lips trembling. He’d whispered words of farewell against them just moments ago, promises of more, soon, and wait—because he’d had to taste you once again before finally letting you depart.
Before, you possessed only imagination and daydreams. Now you know what it is like to actually kiss William, and you find yourself hopelessly addicted. You know you seem distracted when you bid your sister in law goodnight, hastily reassuring her that all is well before you begin climbing the stairs, your flowers still sitting on the kitchen counter, for the moment forgotten. Your fingers feel clumsy as you undress; as you brush you teeth and comb out your hair. You drop into bed without shifting the comforter, stretching out an arm, as if hoping you could somehow link with his across the miles between you.
***
William normally unlaces his shoes before removing them, but that evening he simply toes them off instead. Tomorrow morning he’ll curse himself for scuffing the polished leather surfaces, but for tonight…tonight he’s simply feeling too good to care about a miniscule detail like that.
He enters the kitchen, not even bothering to turn on the light, simply going by feel, running a hand along the edge of the counter until he finds the handle of the refrigerator. He withdraws two bottles and retreats down the hallway, nudging open his roommate’s partially cracked door without knocking, finding the bearded man still seated at his desk.
“Bill, really?”
“What? You do it to me all the time. Besides, we both know you’re just in here working,” he adds with a touch of condescension. He tosses his car keys onto the paper he’s drawing on, then sets one of the chilled bottles down beside them.
“Hey! Watch it, this is the final draft. And I thought you said no beer tonight,” he adds, peering more closely at the other man’s expression.
“One won’t hurt.” He takes a long swallow from the bottle he’s still clutching, leaning against the doorframe and sighing.
“I take it Miss Murray made it home safely?”
“Don’t you think I’d mention it if she hadn’t?” He gulps another mouthful of beer. “That Murray girl…”
“Hmmm? What about her?”
“She’s really something else.”
Henry’s eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, nothing, really. Just saying. Anyway I’m going to take a quick shower and then go to bed. Don’t stay up too late, old friend.” He claps the bearded man on the shoulder before exiting the room, pulling it closed gently behind him.
the still of the night | dave miller x f!reader
chapter 5
Explicit content, 4.8k words, new 8/23/25
ao3 link
Dave wasn’t kidding about how cold it still gets in the woods at night, even at this time of year.
You notice the change in temperature as soon as you awaken from your nap, still lying on top of the blanket, curled on your side facing away from your boyfriend. He quickly rectifies this once he feels you stirring, his long limbs draping over your frame, his lips teasing the nape of your neck. You shiver in pleasure, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin.
“Chilly?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s do something about that.” Another kiss lands on your shoulder, then you feel him shift, sitting upright, then scooting down the bed to reach for the bags piled at the foot of it.
“Thought you meant something else,” you mumble into your pillow. The mattress creaks as he rises, the room suddenly lit as he flips the switch on the wall. He pulls down the windowshades, more for your benefit you think than his. He doesn’t seem the least bit self conscious prancing around in the nude.
“What did you bring for pajamas? Oh, these look familiar. Very familiar,” he adds with a smirk, extracting a pair of gray sweatpants from your bag. He sets them down beside you, leaning over to brush the hair from your cheek. “And we’ll get back to that, don’t worry.”
“Wasn’t worried.” You turn over and stretch your limbs, then slowly sit up and begin slipping into the garments the forest ranger offers you. You’re feeling terribly lazy, in no particular rush to get dressed. “Did you bring something cozy to sleep in, too?”
“You know me. Hot blooded. But yes, I did pack something.”
You pause to watch him gather up your discarded clothing from earlier, once again admiring his figure with the additional weight he’s put on, the slight softness around his middle, the extra curves of padding below his ribs. He looks so much healthier now that his skin has a rosy glow. The sallow, gaunt, almost waxy appearance he’d had when you’d first met him last autumn is only a distant memory now.
He doesn’t miss your appraising look, his eyes meeting yours while he rakes a hand through his hair in an attempt to reorganize the strands after he pulls a long sleeve shirt the color of the evergreens outside overhead, his irises taking on a smokey blue-gray hue. “What?”
“Just admiring the view,” you murmur, gently swinging your legs back and forth so your calves bump the side of the bed in a series of muffled taps.
“Hmph.” The older man grunts but you spy the pleased smirk teasing the corner of his mouth and you feel that familiar answering ache in your chest. This weekend is going to fly by, you can already sense it.
“So what’s for dinner?”
“Tonight we’re going to rough it over the campfire. I must say I’m missing your friends’ constant supply of meals already,” he muses, sitting beside you and leaning over to lace up his boots. You don’t bother correcting him about addressing your classmates as your friends; you suppose they kind of are by now. You’re not to the point where you socialize outside of class, but you do feel more comfortable with and act more genial towards them now. It’s still a process, struggling to emerge from your shell, but little by little Dave has been helping you with that endeavor. “Tomorrow I thought we’d go into town for dinner.”
“Still got our picture behind the Denny’s coupon?” You tease.
He finishes tying his laces and stands. “Nah. Used the coupon. I’ll have to find another one to replace it.” He winks at you and you stretch out your leg to mock swipe at him but he easily dodges your half hearted attack.
“We’re going to take more pictures at Freddy’s tomorrow night.”
“Oh we are, are we? Says who?” He leans down, bracing his arms on either side of you.
“Says me.” Your fingers curl around the nape of his neck, pulling his mouth to yours.
“Careful,” he cautions against your lips after tasting them. “I might just climb back into that bed with you and forget supper entirely.”
“Can’t help it,” you reply, stealing another kiss.
“Can’t you?”
“No.”
“I’m that irresistible, am I?”
“You know you are.”
He hums, then sighs, straightening. “I’m going to go get the fire started if you want to hang out in here for now. I’ll turn the space heater on for you.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll come with you.”
You watch him begin to withdraw several items from the compact refrigerator, adding them to the pair of plastic shopping bags sitting on the counter. “Want a beer?”
“Definitely.”
He pauses with a hand resting on the top of the fridge, glancing over at you. “Not going to get all tipsy on me, are you, lightweight? It’s dangerous out here at night.”
Of course this has become a bit of a running joke between you, referring to that first weekend you’d spent with him at his apartment. “That’s just because I didn’t eat anything that day since I was nervous. I was fine with the champagne at New Years. I can handle beer anyway; that’s what I had the last time I was here.”
“Ah, yes. And then had to get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.” Four chilled bottles join the other food items in the bags.
“And then I got followed by a pervert.”
“And was followed by someone looking out for you,” he corrects. “Which is my job, after all.”
“Mmm-hmm. Looking after the campground guests’ needs. Yeah, yeah. I know the spiel.” You finally push yourself to your feet, fighting off the temptation to linger in bed. “Let me carry one of those.”
He hands you one of the bags and then exits the cabin with you following in his wake.
You’ve forgotten how dark it gets out here in the woods; a different kind of darkness than nighttime in the city. Streetlights there are so much brighter than the ones mounted on the posts marking the clearing, their soft yellow glow barely making a dent against the black. You set the bag on one of the picnic tables, noting the chorus of peepers in the background. Springtime sounds. The forest nightlife coming alive around you. You wonder what is out there that’s dangerous; not the obvious wildlife that might be threatening like a bear or a wolf, but the mysterious, ravenous something that the park ranger alludes to. At first you’d assumed it was something commonplace and normal like that; that your host was just prone to theatrics, hyping up the potentially exciting allure of camping in the woods, enjoying inciting a little thrill into his guests’ evenings.
But now you know Dave a lot better. You’ve noticed the way his eyes keep scanning your surroundings this evening; the intensity in that gaze and the tension in his shoulders at times, as if he’s bracing himself for some sort of threat.
“Hey, Dave?”
“Yes?” He looks up from piling the wood he’d cut earlier into the center of the fire pit.
You hesitate, losing the nerve to ask him about it at the last moment and deciding to pose a different question instead. “You ever go out on the lake at night?”
“Not often. It’s a bit treacherous in the dark, and that’s speaking as someone who knows the lay of the land. Or water, as it were.” He resumes preparing the campfire. It lights on the first attempt and the familiar smell of freshly cut wood smoke fills you with nostalgia. “But it’s more pleasant— and safer—to walk beside it. We can do that after dinner.”
You nod, worrying at a splinter of wood rising from the table’s surface.
“Give that a little time to get going, then I’ll get dinner started.” He settles beside you. “Something else you wanted to ask me?”
You blink. “How did you…?”
“Come on. Know you well enough by now. Out with it.” He nudges encouragingly at your arm.
“You remember when we first met and you told me there was something dangerous in these woods?”
His smile immediately fades. “Yes. But you’re safe with me. I told you I won’t let anything harm you.”
“I know, but you mentioned it again earlier and I can’t help wondering…what is it? What is it that’s such a threat?”
He sighs, scuffing the toe of his hiking boot in the dirt, his gaze focused in the direction of the lake and the shuttered pizzeria beyond it, although it’s impossible to actually see the building from this distance.
“I know you said before that you embellished the story you told about Freddy’s for the sake of your audience, but is any of it true?”
He nods, his expression darkening. “Yes,” he replies softly. “Several children did go missing.”
You blink in surprise. The last time he’d mentioned it over a campfire had been when your classmates were exchanging ghost stories last autumn. You’d thought it was more in line with telling tall tales, expounding on local legends, trying to outdo the other guests. Having visited the shuttered establishment yourself, you have to admit it seems like the perfect setting for such haunting rumors. But to consider there actually was truth about the tragedies, when you’d previously dismissed the possibility of something sinister occuring in the pizzeria’s history after Dave had brushed your concerns aside, makes you see it in a whole new light.
“But what about the rest of it? Putting the kids in the animatronic suits and having them come to life and all that?”
“Did you see any robots moving about when you were there? Hear any ghost children wailing? Of course that’s impossible.” He waves a hand in the air dismissively. “That was just a vicious rumor that was propagated by a local news reporter with a personal vendetta against the owner. Unfortunately in a small, quiet town like this, the residents were only too eager to salivate over such an exciting, scandalous tale. It spread like wildfire. It became a national story. We were finally a known location on the map, famous for all wrong reasons.” He spits out the final words scathingly.
You’ve definitely touched a nerve; he’s clearly very defensive about his former place of employment. “But you’re obviously still fond of the place. You wanted me to see it. Why?”
The dark haired man hesitates, watching the flames lick at the split logs for a few moments before responding. “Because not all of my memories from there are bad. And they’re a part of my past; a part of me. It would be disingenuous not to share them with you, especially since we’ve gotten so close.” His gaze shifts from the fire, studying your features. “Those incidents occurred years ago. You don’t need to worry. That threat is long gone.”
“But how can you be certain? If they never caught the person who did it…if it was the owner, and he’s still out here somewhere—”
“—I can fully guarantee you that the owner isn’t going to harm anyone,” he quickly interjects.
“You were that close?”
He smiles bitterly. “Yes, you could say that.”
“But you’re not friends anymore,” you press.
Dave inhales deeply through his nostrils, letting the trapped air out through the same route in a rush before answering. “He is no longer a part of my life.”
“And you don’t want to reconnect?”
“I think it’s best to leave things as they are. I’ve moved on.” He nudges your arm again. “What’s brought all these questions up all of a sudden?”
You shrug. “I don’t know. I guess just being back here made me think of it. You mentioning the dangers, seeming kind of tense.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m just being overly cautious. It’s different when I only have my own back to watch. I just want you to have a good time. You’re sure you still want to visit the restaurant again?” He lifts a branch and pokes at the burning wood, sending a shower of sparks into the air.
You trace one of the knots on the picnic table, following the darkened blemish streaking across the weathered plank. “It’s important to you.”
“Yes. But you’re not obliged to go back.”
“You were happy there.”
“I was once, yes.” He pauses. “More than once. I was happy being there with you.”
You inhale deeply, considering before you sigh your answer. “I’ll go back with you.”
“You’re brave.”
“So you keep saying. I’m in deep,” you murmur faintly, unsure if he’s actually heard this last admission.
Dave lets the tree limb drop to the ground, dusting his hands off. “Not too late to change your mind.”
“It really kind of is.”
He leans towards you, brushing his lips across yours. The kiss deepens and you lose yourself in the moment; in the feel of the warmth of his lips, of the heat now radiating from the growing fire nearby.
At last his attention returns to unpacking the contents of the shopping bags and making dinner and you decide to let the subject matter drop for the time being. You sense there’s a lot more he’s not telling you about Freddy’s, the missing children, and especially the owner and his own personal involvement with the facility, but you’re not going to push him for more details and spoil the mood. If he says things are okay now, you’ll believe him.
You trust him.
***
There is something special about doing a cookout over an open flame.
Even if things aren’t exactly cooked evenly, hot dogs charred and hamburgers pinker in the middle than you’d normally like; even if everything seems so much messier, dripping grease and condiments with every bite taken, there’s something so satisfying about the meal. A couple of beers wash it all down smoothly and you lean against your boyfriend’s shoulder once you’ve finished eating, inhaling the campfire scent that’s already suffused his clothing, sighing in contentment as you watch the flames dance.
“Not bad, right?”
“It was perfect.” You press your lips against the joint, then let your temple rest there once more.
“We’ll make a outdoorsman out of you yet, city girl.”
“Maybe.” You stretch your legs out in front of you. “I’m glad the owners decided to fix this place up.”
“Me too.” Dave’s hand settles over one knee, his thumb gently stroking small circles. “I’m glad you’re here. With me.”
“Yeah,” you agree, your voice a little raspy with emotion. Maybe it’s a little corny, but you don’t care. You feel the same way.
After the campfire has died down a bit, you allow him to escort you to the waters’ edge. The waves laps gently at the shore as you walk along it, your shoes sinking into the soft sand, one of Dave’s arms tucked around your waist. The nearest light sources are strung along the dock and the boathouse; everything else is mostly bathed in shadows. Your guide halts a few feet shy of the stacked kayaks tucked beside the building ahead, abruptly pulling you against him.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Want to make a pit stop and then go get under the covers and watch some TV? Reception isn’t the greatest, but…”
“Okay”.
His hand grips yours before leading you back up the slope towards the restrooms. You’re not even remotely surprised when he insists on joining you at the women’s side, easily brushing aside your lazy attempt to push the door closed. Your eyes fixate immediately on the side of the row of wooden stalls where he’d pinned you that first evening and a little shudder of anticipation rattles your limbs.
“You really can’t help yourself can you? Freaking public bathrooms,” you mutter.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He winks before you both enter separate stalls.
You make the mistake of sitting down without bracing yourself, the cold seat surprising you. You’d somehow forgotten about this. “Shit!”
You hear a snicker nearby, then the sound of the toilet flushing. Suddenly being back in Dave’s cabin shielded by blankets with the space heater cranking seems doubly appealing and you hurry up and finish, jerking your panties and sweatpants back into place, then emerging to find your boyfriend leaning back against one of the sinks, arms folded, waiting for you.
You return his grin, hastily washing your hands.
“You’ll be pleased to find the soap and paper towel dispensers fully stocked,” he murmurs.
“About time.” You’re just about completing the thought that he’s actually going to exercise some restraint and behave himself when his hands settle on your hips, his eyes catching yours in the mirror’s reflection before steering you back over to the row of stalls, your fingers dripping water all over the floor. “I knew it. You can’t help yourself.”
“It’s your own fault. You bend over in those ridiculous curve-hugging pants and you expect me to keep my hands off of you?” Dave has no trouble finding his way inside of them, the drawstring not even knotted this time in your haste to exit the stall and rejoin him. Your breath escapes in a hiss when his fingers dart beneath the waistband of your panties to probe the flesh between your thighs. “There we are,” he hums, his lips grazing the side of your neck. “So wet already for me.”
“Dave…”
“Come back to my cabin and ride my cock, will you darling?” He’s still teasing you, the pads of his fingers somehow touching everything and nothing all at once, steering frustratingly clear of your clit, despite your attempts to wriggle your body into alignment with his teasing digits.
“Fuck, yes.” You grab a handful of his shirt, nuzzling his throat. He growls, hips knocking against yours, driving you back against the wooden surface behind you. “Let’s go,” you plead.
The distance to his cabin feels too far on the return trip, your trek interrupted every so often with pauses to kiss and touch each other. The campfire is more embers than flame now, the smoldering remains safely tucked within its barrier of cemented rocks. You follow Dave up the porch steps, engaging in one last dizzying kiss before you both enter the cabin. He locks the door, something that you can’t remember him doing before, but you dismiss it as insignificant, your lust diverting your attention elsewhere, making your gaze skim over the axe tucked into the corner—when had he brought that inside?—and return to your boyfriend’s features. Your underwear and pants soon caress your ankles, the park ranger’s shirt jerked overhead. He finishes stripping while you flip back the blanket, turning the dial on the space heater before he moves to the center of the mattress. You straddle him, pulling your shirt off and bending down to kiss him while you simultaneously line his cock up with your entrance. He sinks inside like a hot knife through butter and you both groan at the sensation at that reunion.
The two beers you’d recently imbibed aren’t really enough to make you feel buzzed, but there’s still a sensation of being intoxicated, drunk off the feeling of grinding down on the man beneath you, bending over to capture his mouth again. You can’t take him quite as deep at this angle, lying flat as opposed to sitting upright, but it’s worth the sacrifice so you can enjoy his kisses, listening to all the filthy words he loves whispering against your skin.
“Dave.”
“Yeah…I’ve got you. Ride that cock, sweetheart. I’ll fill you up so good…” His hands stroke over your torso, switching from your spine to your breasts then back again. The pace is still unhurried, your pelvis rocking gently. The silver bangle slides from where it’s gotten wedged against the thicker part of your forearm back down to your wrist and he touches it, pressing it against your skin. “My good girl.”
“I am yours,” you confirm, nipping at his bottom lip. He hips rise to meet you and his cock reaches further, eliciting a startled gasp of pleasure. Your palms sit along his pecs as you push yourself back upright, mimicking that deeper push he’d just teased you with, repeating it over and over. You adore the way the confident smirk gives way to his lips parting in rapture, the scowl of concentration rippling his brow, the huffed sounds of pleasure competing with the creak of the mattress springs. You’re doing that: taking him apart piece by piece, step by step, unwinding all the carefully tucked strands that now spill across his forehead, the pupils centered inside rings of heathered frost leaking out in pools of ink, the dip of his lashes as his lids shutter, veiling those gorgeous orbs of his so full of lust and adoration.
This is what you crave, during those long weeks you’re apart, when his voice attempts to sustain you. No doubt he’s a master of speech, the sinful words purred in your ear guiding you through more than one session of shared self pleasure across the line, but it will never compare to this, to having him buried inside, to feel him warm against you, to watch him tense and shudder and shatter to pieces, flooding you with secret warmth. The taut coil within you unfurls and you quake around him, your nails pressing pink crescents into his skin. You say his name, and it’s everything, everything you’re feeling whined into that single syllable as your head drops, your lips searching for his once more.
***
After unpacking your clothes, tucking them beside Dave’s in the pine dresser, you play a few games of Rack-O until you’re more than ready for some microwave popcorn and hot chocolate and whatever television channel has the strongest signal.
You struggle to stay awake later that evening, but the black and white film being broadcast on the local television station lulls you towards slumber despite your best efforts.
Dave’s covered you both with the heavy comforter, his body wedged tightly against yours. You relish the warmth and the comfort, your face burrowing against the pillow as you surrender to sleep.
An infomercial greets you the next time your eyes open. The benefit of some kitchen gadget is being lauded.
“Go back to sleep, honey. It’s still early.”
You agree, this time using Dave’s shoulder to cushion your head as you snuggle closer.
“Love you,” you murmur drowsily, the words slipping out before you can rethink them.
“I love you, too,” he replies softly.
You make a little sound of contentment before drifting off again.
***
The cabin room is brighter.
The television screen is no longer the only source of illumination in the room; daylight is edging around the window shades. You’re starving, which seems foolish given that you’d been snacking late last night, yet your stomach is undeniably rumbling as you turn over onto your back.
“Amen to that.”
“I don’t know why I’m so hungry.”
“It’s a combination of things. Being outdoors seems to trigger primal urges necessary for survival I find. The constant need for sustenance, the drive toward propagation of the species…” Dave strokes your shoulder, then lets his fingers trail down to your stomach. “Should we make breakfast and have it here, or do you want to row out to that little picnic spot I took you to last time?”
“Mmmm…how about we eat here, then go out on the lake?”
“Alright.”
“Maybe a shower in between those two things,” you muse aloud as you become more alert.
“Sure.”
You thread your fingers through his, rotating your joined hands, guiding the pairing closer to the band of sunlight creeping around the window coverings and spilling across the bed. Today feels like it’s going to be lazy again, and you like it; like taking your time kissing, inhaling the lingering scent of the campfire and the last vestiges of the cologne he’d applied the previous morning. You like letting your fingers wander, through his hair and over his stubble, your mouth following, teasing the roughened skin. It scrapes yours, chafing first against your cheeks and chin and throat, then between your breasts and finally your thighs as your lover moves down your body.
“Appetizer?” You let your legs fall open a little wider, clutching the thatch of dark hair as Dave licks along the seam of your sex. “Might be leftovers from you from last night,” you caution.
“I don’t mind.” He latches onto your clit and sucks, hard, and you gasp, the languid drowsiness that has been suffusing your body sharply evaporating.
“Why am I…fuck…not surprised you…hnngh…enjoy that?”
“Enjoy is a bit strong. Tolerate, for the sake of the other divine nectar.”
“Now you sound like a cheesy romance novel.” You giggle, then gasp as his tongue flicks against your sensitive bud with renewed vigor.
“Do I fuck as good as a cheesy romance novel’s hero, though?” He asks between rounds of licks, granting you a brief respite.
“Better. So much better.”
“Damn right.” He grins at you, running an index finger against the crease between your outer labia and one thigh, then repeating the process on the other side.
“I’ve never actually read one,” you concede. “They always seemed so…I don’t know. Fake.”
“Tacky,” he supplies, humming in agreement before dipping into the arousal leaking from you, then bringing it back to coat your nub, eliciting another gasp and shiver.
“Yeah.” Speech is becoming increasingly difficult, especially after he begins corkscrewing and curling a finger inside of you, his tongue once again lighting you on fire. “Dave…fuck…”
“A great idea. C’mere.” Suddenly the warm, wet suction vanishes, the now paired digits no longer plunging inside of your pussy. He gets on his knees, hooking his hands around your legs and dragging you down the mattress until you’re within reach of his cock. He rubs the head between your folds, spreading your slick and teasing your clit a little more before he guides it inside of you, his weight shifting so that he’s on top of you, inside of you, the cocky smile fleeting as his expression grows more solemn, gasping his pleasure against your lips. “Missed you so much,” he whispers, setting a rhythm of gentle thrusts. “You wanted me to ache for you, and I do…”
Your hands twine behind his neck, your mouth searching for his as your hips roll in sync. You can tell by the pace he’s set that this is something that’s going to continue throughout the day, your suspicions confirmed when you eventually make it into the shower, the chill of the morning forest air quickly forgotten when you’re beneath hot water, pressed against your lover’s feverish skin, fingers braced against the ivory ceramic tiles.
You linger there, and then again at the sink, your eyes meeting in the reflection of the mirrored panels lining the wall. We look good together, you think, watching him shave while you brush your teeth.
The return trip to Dave’s cabin isn’t frantic this time. You hold hands and admire the scenery and everything feels blissful. Perfect.
***
There’s something taped to the door of Cabin 3.
The smile that’s been lurking for most of the morning suddenly slips from Dave’s features, his hand tightening on yours, the previously pleasurable feeling now verging on painful before you manage to wrench it free, your concerned inquiry ignored as he swiftly ascends the porch steps to retrieve the envelope. He tears it open and scans the contents, his shoulder blades visibly stiffening beneath the fabric of his shirt before he enters the small one story building.
You hurry after him. “Dave? What was that? What’s going on?”
“Pack your things right now,” he tosses over his shoulder without sparing you a backwards glance.
“What?” You frown, watching dazedly as he begins pulling folded articles of clothing from the dresser and shoving them into his duffel bag.
“We have to leave.”
“What? You’ve got to be joking. Why?”
“I’m serious. I’ll tell you later. Pack,” he urges again, lifting your bag from the floor and placing it on the bed, then extracting your garments from the drawer and tossing them in a messy pile beside it.
“Tell me now.” You fold your arms across your chest. “What’s going on? What did that letter say?”
“Damn it, don’t argue with me. We don’t have time for this. I need to get you out of here.”
Your arms drop to your sides, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. “What’s going on?” You snatch up the paper resting on the counter before he has a chance to intervene.
I’m back.
Hardly the threatening message you were expecting to read. “Who wrote this?”
The forest ranger tugs the zipper of his bag closed, his eyes finally meeting yours. “My son.”
Art for The Murray Girl from warden_parrot
the murray girl | william afton x f!reader
chapter four
Explicit content, 4.5k words, new 8/21/35
ao3 link
taglist @xuntybitxh
The diner appears even more crowded than the bowling alley had been.
William’s anticipated this, of course; has already taken steps to ensure the best booth in the restaurant—the one tucked around the corner of the L shaped one story building—is vacant.
You follow him towards the diner decorated with neon lights and flashy chrome trim and he catches a glimpse of your reflections in the glass windows. An attractive young couple, he thinks, returning the smile you offer as he holds the door open.
“Wait here a moment,” he murmurs to you, amused by your startled expression when he casually walks behind the counter and passes through the swinging door padded with the same cherry red vinyl as the booths and bar stools to enter the kitchen. He stops just inside, ever aware of proper etiquette and safety regulations, immediately catching the owner’s eye, nodding and smiling.
The man gestures for a fellow employee to take over for him at the grill, hastily washing his hands at the sink before hurrying over to him. “Mr. Afton, hey, nice to see you. How’s it going?”
He grips the manager’s hand briefly in greeting. “Quite well, as a matter of fact. Looks like you’re doing well here.”
“Can’t complain. This little town is really starting to perk up. Lots of new residents coming in, great for business. Anyway, I’ve got your favorite table waiting for you. Your girl here?”
It’s a little early in the relationship to consider you “his girl”, but William’s not about to correct the man; he has every intention of making that notion a reality. “Yes, she is. This is her first time here. She’s the one standing by the door with the brown purse.”
The other man peers curiously through the small window set into the center of the door, then gives his British companion an appreciative nudge. “Nice. She’s definitely a looker.”
“I’m going to have Henry drop off your order on Sunday like we discussed,” he replies, smoothly avoiding the compliment about his companion. He’s well aware of how pretty you are; little does he know that’s the very least of your appeal.
“Hey, I appreciate it.” The fellow diner owner grins. “Have a good evening, huh? Enjoy yourself.”
As if he intends doing otherwise.
William bids him farewell, slipping back out of the kitchen and returning to your side. One of the waitresses beckons soon after, indicating the table is ready.
“Did you make reservations?” You ask, sounding surprised as you sink into the booth seat across from him. “This doesn’t really seem like the kind of place that would take them.”
“The owner and I have a little understanding. Their kids get a generous supply of free tokens at my establishment, and they save me my favorite seats whenever I ask in advance.”
“I’m going to have to see this place of yours one of these days,” you reply, lifting one of the laminated menus from where it’s been tucked beside the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers.
“Of course. We could have gone there tonight, it just feels…well, it’s my workplace. It doesn’t have quite the same feeling for a date, you know? I’m sure I’d get bombarded with business related matters the second I strolled through the door. The manager is new, so I’m trying to be patient, but they are a bit needy. I’d much rather focus my attention on you.”
You nod, your cheeks slightly pink as your eyes wander over the menu offerings. “Would it be terribly boring of me to just go with a traditional burger and fries?”
“Not at all. They’re my favorite. Henry’s fond of the pancakes.”
“Alright. I’m ready to order.” You tuck the menu back into place and a short time later the waitress returns, setting down a pair of glasses of ice water and scribbling down your selections on a ticket pad that had been stowed in a pocket of her apron.
There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation while you look around the diner, observing the decor that is a throwback to two decades past: vinyl album covers, old movie posters, even a jukebox. You take a small sip of your drink and cast a quick glance at him through your lashes, a shy smile teasing your lips. You seem to have lost some of your confidence and nerve after that little display in the car, but he’s certain he can reel you right back in again.
William begins rummaging in his pants pocket, extracting a deck of Bicycle playing cards. “To help pass the time while we’re waiting,” he offers, seeing your gaze shift to one filled with curiosity. “Unfortunately I cannot get special treatment when it comes to other customers that were here before us ordering food. Want to see a trick?”
Folding your arms, you lean forward against the chrome plated edge of the table, watching intently as he withdraws the stack of cards from their carton, deftly shuffling the deck in a variety of ways. He saves his specialty maneuver for last, a flourishing overhand move that cause the cards to lift in an arch and land neatly into the remaining pile. By now he’s aware he’s got a bit more of an audience, smirking at the additional attention but keeping his eyes fixed on his date’s features. At last he finishes shuffling, spreading the playing cards and holding the fan shaped collection out towards you. “Pick a card. Don’t let me see it. Once you’ve looked at it, stick it back in the deck.”
“This trick, hmmm?” You let your index finger drag across the rounded edges, hesitating before you finally select one somewhere near the middle. You tuck it between two cards at the far left end of where you’d drawn it from and he smoothly closes the fan, then begins shuffling the deck once more. The card you’ve chosen, the Ace of Diamonds, is quite literally hidden up his shirt sleeve, the transfer masked by all of the flourishing moves he distracts you with.
But he’s not going to reveal that card to you; at least, not quite yet. He wants to see how you’ll react by deliberately showing you a different one instead. He gently eases the Two of Hearts free of the stack, his eyes never leaving your face as he holds it up between you.
“Go on, then.”
You reach for the raised card, turning it around to view it, grinning uncertainly.
A quick flicker of surprise in your eyes, the slightest falter in that smile, but you mask your response well. “Yeah, you got it. Impressive.”
What’s more impressive is the fact that you, the saintly young woman you are, have just lied to him. For him; he has no doubt your intent was to spare feelings of humiliation. Interesting. Very, very interesting.
William makes a sound of amusement, retrieving the card from your fingers before shuffling it back into the deck once more, the one up his sleeve secured alongside its brethren with no one but himself the wiser.
There’s enough time for a game of Crazy Eights before the meal arrives (once again William is the victor, and the Ace of Diamonds is once more hidden within his sleeve) and then you both dig in. You shove several fries into your mouth immediately, your decorum momentarily forgotten. Then you seem to realize your actions, glancing anxiously across the table, watching as the British man puts a polite dollop of ketchup beside his own pile of French fries.
“Don’t stop on my account. I like a woman with a good appetite,” he praises, passing the condiment over to you. Once you’ve both cleared a decent amount of food from your checkered paper lined baskets, you begin comparing stories from college. You’d attended different universities, but it seems the same sort of mishaps are universal: hangovers; oversleeping; forgotten due dates on papers and hasty cram study sessions for exams; and projects with fellow classmates who are less than helpful.
“How did you and Henry end up becoming friends?”
“We were in nearly every class together. One afternoon his car wouldn’t start—he was driving this terrible old beater with an odometer reading that was much too far in the six digit range at the time—and I offered him a ride. On the way back to the dorm he admitted his two roommates weren’t the most stellar examples of studiousness, making it difficult for him to study or sleep or do much of anything, really. I was already renting off campus, and it seemed prudent to share the burden of the rent with someone.” He pauses, taking a long swallow of his beverage. “And that’s how it all started. We lived together, took courses together, and gradually started coming up with a plan of action for what we wanted to pursue after graduation. Turned out we were both working towards the same goal. Very convenient, especially since we seemed to compliment each other—he was more focused on the technical aspects of things, while I had an affinity for management.” William finishes the last bite of his mushroom swiss burger, shaking his head. “It took us a while to get there, of course. We both took jobs at the same restaurant at one point, trying to save up some extra cash. I ran front end, he did food prep. Some weekends we’d spend a chunk of our earnings right at the bar,” he admits with a mournful sigh. “The follies of youth.”
“I can’t even picture you drunk,” you muse, swiping a fry through a much more untidy blob of ketchup.
“Well, I’d like to think I’m a bit more responsible in that regard nowadays. But I’ve been told I’m a happy drunk. Very chatty; moreso than usual. Positively garrulous. And prone to quite a bit of singing, I understand.”
“Singing,” you repeat, sounding thoughtful. “What kind of music do you sing?”
“Note I did not say that my performances were good,” he remarks, stirring his soft drink with his straw, the ice cubes rattling around the sides of the glass. “But, if you must know, I have inherited a weakness for ’Ol Blue Eyes. I’m also fond of David Bowie, The Beatles, and The Beach Boys.”
“That’s quite the range.” You fuss with the paper napkin on your lap. “So I have to get you intoxicated in order to hear you sing?”
“Not necessarily, although it would likely speed the process along considerably.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Ah. There’s some of that boldness returning. “Are you plotting to take advantage of me already, Miss Murray?” He asks, one eyebrow lifting.
You shake your head but there’s a distinct gleam in your eyes. “Maybe.”
“Then I look forward to the corruption.” He crumples his napkin into a ball and tosses it into the basket occupied now only by the remaining vestiges of ketchup and some wilted lettuce from his cheeseburger. “Dessert?”
“I think I’m going to pass for tonight. That really filled me up. It was delicious, though.” You cast another admiring glance around the diner. “I see why you enjoy it so much. I can’t believe my family never came here.”
“Well, now that you know you enjoy it, we can come back as often as you’d like.” When you declare you’re ready to depart he signals for the waitress to bring the check. “I suppose I should be getting you home now,” he says, his words tinged with regret that the evening is drawing to a close as he tucks some cash inside the bill presenter and folds the cover closed, setting it to one side for the server to collect.
“I had a really great time.”
“As did I.” He slips out of the booth and you gather your purse before rising to your feet.
The ride back to the Murray Estate is filled with the sound of the radio playing softly in the background, a classic rock station accompanying a recount of a recent mishap at work that had involved a shipment of melted ice cream and a very irate parent. At the time the incident had not seemed nearly as amusing, but his exaggerated performances now have you giggling and he decides it was well worth it.
Once William reaches the destination, he halts the vehicle at the far end of the driveway and you offer him a questioning look. He shifts the gear into park and then shuts off the engine before replying. “Your sister in law might be spying on us,” he explains, looking pointedly at the manor looming on the hill in the distance.
“Oh, she wouldn’t do that,” you reassure him. “I promise she’s not standing beside the window with binoculars.”
“She might be,” he murmurs ruefully.
“No,” you deny again, laughing softly.
“Alright.” He sighs, his arm stretching to settle on the back of the bench seat, just above your shoulders. “I enjoy your company very much, Miss Murray. This really was a pleasant evening.” He suddenly frowns. One thing that’s curious, though.”
“Hmmm?”
He begins tapping your right shoulder. Not with his fingers; utilizing something thinner. Sharper. Your hand automatically lifts to retrieve the object, then hold it out in front of you. A playing card.
The Ace of Diamonds.
“One thing you should know about me is that I rarely lose, unless it’s intentional. So why did you lie and say I showed you the correct card?”
“I…I don’t know, honestly. I just thought…it might be embarrassing for you if...” you begin stammering, fumbling for an explanation.
“Embarrassing?” He shakes his head, chuckling. “My dear, I’ve dressed up as a seven foot tall yellow rabbit to peddle pizzas and photo ops to children. It requires a certain amount of…well, I suppose it can best be described as a blatant disregard for unsolicited opinions. It’s all an act, a gimmick, a parlor trick like the one I performed earlier tonight for our amusement. No need to get so serious about it.”
You look puzzled. “So then how was I supposed to react?”
“There is no right or wrong answer; I merely wanted to discover your reaction.”
“You were testing me?” A slight note of irritation creeps into your query.
William rubs a thumb along the leather covered grips of the steering wheel, stalling as he thinks of how best to respond, his voice deceptively casual. “Nothing as solemn as that. I didn’t mean it in a cruel way; I was just being playful. Flirting. You know, like you did earlier when you took my car keys from the ignition.” There. Turning it right back around to you. Perfect.
“Yes, I suppose so.” Your cheeks are bright pink now.
“Perhaps it was in poor taste after all. Should I be asking for your forgiveness?”
”No, it’s fine.” Your gaze hasn’t shifted from the playing card’s surface.
”Are you absolutely certain? I’m beginning to miss that pretty smile of yours.” He gently presses one fingertip to the corner of your mouth, attempting to manually lift it until you let the card drop in your lap and you clutch his wrist, fighting not to surrender and smile while you implore him to cease his teasing.
William begins to lean closer and your breath hitches, distinctly audible in the sudden silence. “Would you like to see me again and engage in more of this teasing?” He’s stopped just shy of your face, once again perfectly poised to kiss you.
“Yes,” you reply. No hesitation.
“Alright, then. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow, if that suits you.” He eases back behind the wheel, fully aware of the cause of the disappointed look etched onto your features. Good. He wants to leave you with a bit of unfulfilled desire; keep you hungry for next time.
“Okay.” You offer the card back to him and it quickly vanishes from sight. “How long did it take you to learn that trick?” You inquire, sounding like your mood has shifted towards grudging admiration.
”A little while; a lot of practice. Maybe someday I’ll teach you.” He starts the engine and you’re soon delivered to your front door. “Goodnight, Miss Murray.”
“Goodnight, William.” You exit the car, the tires crunching on the gravel as you begin digging in your purse for your keys.
His eyes flit to the rearview mirror, where he sees Fiona pulling open the front door. So she was waiting for you, then. He’s really going to have to do something to butter up your sister in law.
But that’s a task for another time. As far as he’s concerned, this evening had been a rousing success.
Maybe he’ll treat himself to a beer when he gets home; a little celebratory glass while he brags to Hen about his first date with Edwin’s sister.
***
You spend the next morning picking up the messy piles of clothing you’d left scattered around your room, then make your way to the kitchen to help Fiona start preparing lunch. You’d talked to her a little about your date last night, reassuring her that everything had gone well and you’d be seeing the older man again soon.
You’re currently occupied with washing and cutting produce for a salad while your sister in law works on cooking ground sausage, onions, peppers, stewed tomatoes, and mushrooms, the filling for a calzone. The telephone rings and you hastily wipe your hands on a towel, hurrying to answer it.
“Hello? Murray residence.” You’ve learned to answer more formally in case it’s related to your brother’s business, but you have a sneaking (hopeful) suspicion you know who’s calling.
“Yes, may I speak with the devilishly attractive youngest member of the household please?”
Your stomach flutters. It’s him. “Hi.” You clutch the receiver tightly against your chest, mouthing William’s name to your companion before you exit through the doorway to get a little more privacy, the spiral cord stretching around the molding.
“Hello, Miss Murray. How are you?”
“I’m good. Just helping Fiona in the kitchen. How are things going?”
“Oh, fairly well. I’m at work, actually. Doing payroll and putting out fires here and there. Listen, I wanted to ask you if you had any plans for tomorrow evening. Henry and I have this sort of late Sunday afternoon tradition we call Lament of An Approaching Monday. He brings home pizza from work and we play board games and watch some television to distract ourselves. I find it makes Monday mornings far more tolerable. Would you be interested in joining us?”
“Yes,” you reply immediately, twining the cord around your index finger. “That sounds like fun.”
“Excellent. I’ll be there around four to pick you up if that’s alright?”
“Sure. I’ll be ready.” You release the coiled line and it springs free, slapping the wall and nearly knocking a set of curios off the mounted shelf nearby. You immediately straighten, shifting so that you’re well clear of causing any damage.
“Great. I have to let you go I’m afraid, someone’s delightful child has just poured a glass of soda onto the floor of the stage. Until tomorrow.”
“’Bye.” The line disconnects as you re-enter the kitchen, hanging the phone back on the wall.
“So that was William?”
You nod, glancing at the other woman. “I’m going over his apartment tomorrow to spend time with him and Henry.”
“Henry’s definitely going to be there? Good.” Fiona punches the dough now lining a glass baking dish with a little more force than you think is warranted.
“I wish you’d give him a chance, Fi. He’s a great guy.”
“I hope you’re right. Please remember what I said.” She wipes her brow with the back of her wrist. “Ed’s better at this than I am. He promised he’d help, but it’s so difficult getting him to step away from his work these days. It’s a Saturday for heaven’s sake,” she grumbles, jabbing a few more times at the contents inside of the casserole dish.
“Want me to give it a try?”
“No, that’s alright. I’d actually be content with you just getting him to make an appearance at this point,” she admits, apparently deciding the texture is satisfactory and finally starts spooning the hot filling into a tidy row, then adds slices of mozarella cheese and folds the dough. The edges are then pressed with a fork to ensure the seam is sealed tightly.
You rest a hand on the pregnant woman’s shoulder, looking at her sympathetically. “You know he’s excited about the baby, Fi. He wants to be around. He will be. Or he’ll be dealing with me,” you add, your expression darkening. “Let me to talk to him, okay? You should sit for a little while. I’ll get this into the oven.”
“I think I will take a break,” she concedes, bracing her lower back with one palm while you hastily drag a chair out from under the kitchen table.
Once you’ve made sure she’s comfortably settled, you head for the underground passage that connects the house with the factory. The Mr. Helpful mounted on the hood of the cart cheerfully greets you, about to launch into an update on the company’s status, but you override the animatronic’s dialogue with a command, settling in the front seat and resting your hands on the grab bar. The vehicle doesn’t move terribly fast, but there are a lot of twists and turns and ups and downs en route.
Your thoughts wander as you ride the track, thinking about what you should wear tomorrow afternoon for your second date with William. Maybe you should make a dessert; it seems awkward to go empty handed. You’ll have to check the fridge and pantry for ingredients when you return.
For now, you concentrate on stepping over the little gap between the rails to the walkway. It always makes you nervous traversing that space. It’s a relief when you touch solid ground and you continue your journey on foot. You don’t know exactly where Edwin is, but your best guess is that he’s working on something for Fazbear Entertainment, so you head towards the prototype showcase.
It turns out your hunch is correct. You find your sibling tinkering with a security camera mounted on the wall.
“Ed, it’s time for lunch.”
“Good, I could use a second person,” he replies without turning to face you. “I need to test something. Can you try—”
“—Eddie,” you say more firmly. It’s the nickname he prefers the least, which is exactly why you’re utilizing it. “You promised Fi you’d help with prepping the dough. She’s exhausted. You can continue this later. I’ll even come back and help,” you offer.
“I keep telling her we don’t need some fancy meal three times a day. She should be relaxing,” he mutters.
“So should you. Get down from there, would you?” You hold the ladder steady and the dark haired man sighs, setting his tool down and descending the rungs.
“I’m so behind. You have no idea how demanding these new contracts are.”
“You can tell me all about it. After lunch,” you add. “You need to spend some quality time with your wife.”
Your brother sighs again, tugging his glasses off of his face and polishing the thick lenses against the hem of his shirt. He peers at you sheepishly. The man has absolutely wretched vision. “Is she really upset?”
“No. She’s not mad, exactly, she’s just…frustrated. She misses you, Ed. She wants to be with the father of her child. Try to imagine for a moment how difficult it is, having to share you with your investors all week long. You have to give her some time on the weekends at the very least, especially now that her hormones are going crazy and she’s got all of this new baby stuff to deal with on top of working and maintaining the house.”
“I know she works hard. I’m not avoiding her,” he says hurriedly. “I don’t want her to think that.”
“She doesn’t,” you reassure him. “At least, not yet. Let’s head back now.”
He nods, walking beside you towards the exit. “I’ll pick this back up first thing tomorrow morning. Take the rest of the night off. Are you going to be around?”
“I have plans, actually. I’m going over William and Henry’s apartment. Board game night.”
“Fi mentioned something about that. You went on a date with Bill?”
“Yeah.” You grin, settling into the back seat of the cart and allowing your brother to claim the front. Just as you had done, he voices an override for the bear animatronic so you can continue your conversation uninterrupted.
Edwin turns around, clutching the padded cushion as he grins at you. For a moment you feel the years melting away. You’re back in middle school getting teased about a crush; high school and you’re nagging your brother to find himself a date for the prom. You kind of miss that good natured teasing. Maybe that’s one reason why you’re enjoying William’s company so much; the playfulness makes you nostalgic for simpler times. “So, dish. How was it?”
“You don’t want to hear about it.” You blush, waving a hand dissmively in the air, then quickly grabbing the safety bar again as the cart begins moving.
Ed seems to be impervious to the sudden acceleration, probably because he’s ridden the rail system so many times. “Like heck I don’t. It’s not every day your kid sister goes out with one of your top investors. Where did he take you?”
“We went bowling.”
“I hope you beat him,” he replies a little savagely.
You smirk. “Nearly.”
“Bill’s extremely competitive.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“Did he bring you to his restaurant?”
“Not yet. We went to this great retro diner. We need to go there with Fiona, she’d love it.”
Your sibling nods, then chuckles. “I can’t believe you actually went out with Afton. He’s so…snooty. Intense. Hen’s a lot more approachable and laidback.”
“I actually think he’s quite outgoing and entertaining. He can be approachable and laidback when he wants to be. Anyway, I’m confused; I thought you and William were friends?”
“Yeah, we are. I’m just not as close with him, you know? I think acquaintance might be a better term.”
“Well, in any case, now you’re caught up.”
The cart squeaks to a halt and you exit, grateful that you have a hand to help you across this time.
“Maybe you can get him to give me a little more breathing room on these deadlines,” he adds, looking hopeful.
“No way. I’m not mixing business with pleasure.”
“Smart girl. A Murray through and through.” He curls his arm around your shoulders, tugging you against him in a half embrace before you manage to wriggle free. “Alright. Let’s go have lunch with Fiona.”
the murray girl | william afton x f!reader
chapter three
Explicit content, 3.4k words, new 8/3/25
ao3 link
taglist @xuntybitxh
Your bedroom is a complete mess.
You’ve torn just about every piece of clothing you own out of the closet and your dresser drawers, switching back and forth between outfits, mixing and matching garments, reverting to where you originally started, frowning at yourself in the full length mirror, and then going through the entire process all over again.
Eventually you manage to settle on a brightly patterned short sleeved blouse and a pair of bell bottom slacks, deciding that would be the most suitable choice for a date at the bowling alley. You sit down in front of the vanity mirror to apply a clean layer of makeup and fix your hair which has gotten quite frazzled from your frequent wardrobe changes.
Deciding this is as good as you’re going to get after once last critical glance at your reflection, you descend the stairs and walk into the living room, peeling back one of the lace curtains to better view the driveway.
“Going out?”
You turn to see Fiona resting on a recliner in the corner, browsing a catalogue with baby furniture and other accessories. It’s rare to see the busy woman off her feet.
“Yes. You feeling okay, Fi?”
“Just a little tired. I’m fine.” She rests a hand on her stomach. Your sister in law is only just beginning to show, a slight swell that still might go unnoticed depending on what clothing she’s wearing. “So? Who’s the lucky suitor? Anyone I know?”
“Uh, yeah, actually. Someone I met at the party. William Afton.”
The seated woman doesn’t return your smile. “Oh. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
“He was at the party. That’s where we met. We’re going out bowling. You sure you’re feeling okay? Do you need me to get you anything?”
“I’m fine,” the brunette replies, looking distracted, the catalogue now resting spread open on her lap. “To be honest, I’d be a little happier to hear that you were going out with Henry instead. William is…” She hesitates, selecting her words carefully. “He seems very charming on the surface, but…look, I’m not going to mince words with you. There’s a look in his eyes I don’t like. I’ve been there when he’s discussing business dealings with Ed, and there are times when he just seems a little too manipulative for my liking. I know my husband considers him a friend of sorts, and an important client, but I think you should be cautious.”
You stare at Fiona, momentarily stunned into silence. You’ve always liked your brother’s spouse, and you have no reason to mistrust her judgment, but you can’t reconcile what she’s saying with your experiences with the man thus far, and you tell her as much.
“I’m not telling you not to go out with him; I don’t have that right. I just want you to be safe. You’re still so young—”
“—I’m not that much younger than you,” you protest, but Fiona continues on determinedly.
“—and it would be very easy to get taken advantage of. Oh, hun, listen. I can see you’re disappointed. I don’t want to spoil your evening. I know I’m not your mother, but I feel some responsibility towards you in that regard anyway. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I know you’ll make smart decisions.”
Still a little taken aback, you nod stiffly, announcing you’re going to wait for your date outside.
You ease yourself down onto the top step of the porch, instantly reminded of your previous outing with William at the ice cream shop when you spy a sliver of white paint lifting off the banister. You replay all of your previous conversations with the businessman in your mind, trying to discern if there was anything to even remotely hint at validating what your sister in law is insinuating, but you can’t find a single thing. He’d never once been inappropriate or made you feel uncomfortable. You’ve been looking forward to this date all week, and now…well, it really isn’t fair of Fiona to throw shade when the man has been nothing but a perfect gentleman so far.
Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones making her overprotective, you consider. She did look very tired. Maybe that’s all it is.
Your musings lift your spirits a bit and you straighten your shoulders, gazing out over the property. Sculpted hedges. Pea gravel walkway. A fountain that hasn’t seen water in years. You used to toss coins in it when you very small, making impossible wishes that only a child could imagine. A wave of nostalgia rolls over you. You love it here, truly. This is where your family is. Your heritage.
But sometimes you want a little more. To venture out into the unknown. To make a claim for yourself, not relying on the family name, but being your own person. There’s a kind of restlessness that’s starting to build inside of you, making this place that had once seemed so dauntingly large feel much smaller. There’s an entire world out there for you to explore.
And William Afton feels like the kind of person that will be able to guide you towards it.
***
“You’re going out?”
Henry Emily looks up from his sketches spread haphazardly over the kitchen table to regard his roommate. William’s abandoned his customary suit and tie in favor of a more casual pair of slacks and a shirt with an open collar.
“Yes. It’s Friday night, remember?”
“Oh. Ed’s sister.” He digs into the bowl of cereal that’s been growing soggier by the second and shoves another mouthful in before lifting his pencil once again. “Where are you guys going?”
“Bowling. Then dinner. I haven’t decided where yet.” He finishes fastening the cuffs of his sleeves, frowning over the bearded man’s supper. “We do possess a stove, you know. You don’t have to eat cold cereal three meals a day.”
The seated man shrugs. “Too much effort. This is fine.”
“Make sure you pick this up when you’re finished.” He waves a hand over the piles of papers.
“You’re gonna bring her home the first night?”
“No. But the sooner you get into the practice of tidying up after yourself, the easier it will be when the time comes. How do I look?”
Henry blinks, regarding the other man for a moment before answering. “You look fine. Except, you know,” he touches his forehead and William immediately sighs, raking a hand through his hair.
“It won’t stay put no matter what product I use.”
“Maybe she’ll think it’s dashing.” His nose scrunches up, shifting his glasses. “Kind of overdid it on the cologne, though.”
William scoffs. “Well if you can’t smell it, what’s the point of using it? It’ll wear off by the time I get to the Murray Estate anyway.”
“Nose blind.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t necessarily wear off; at least, not that quickly. It’s just that your body stops registering it after a certain amount of time, dismissing it as unimportant.”
“You’re a fragrance expert now, are you, Hen?” William mutters, tucking his wallet into his pocket and lifting his car keys from the hook beside the door.
Henry seems impervious to his business partner’s remarks, continuing to draw on one transparent sheet, then overlaying another on top of it. “If you happen to see Ed, tell him I need to go over something on the revised Fredbear designs—”
“—I will not be doing the whole schmoozing the parents—siblings—whatever—routine on the first night,” he sneers. “You can tell him yourself.”
The bearded man sets the pencil back down, looking surprised. “You’re not?”
“No. I already know Ed. Fiona doesn’t matter. The only person I need to impress is the young woman I’m taking out this evening.”
Henry twirls the writing utensil between his fingers, frowning. “Do you even like her, Bill?”
William grins. “Sure I do. What’s not to like? She’s attractive, we have plenty in common, and as previously stated multiple times, she’s going to make sure our new business is a rousing success, financially and otherwise.” He jingles the keys in his hand, winking at him. “Don’t wait up.”
***
William arrives at the Murray Estate promptly at five fifty pm, ten minutes ahead of schedule.
He spies you waiting on the porch steps, a half smile ghosting his lips. Eager, are we? Good. Very good. He exits the car and begins to walk towards you, his feet crunching on the gravel path.
“Hello,” he greets you. “My apologies if I made you wait long. My business partner and I had some last minute details to iron out.”
“Oh, no, you’re good. You’re a little early, actually. Everything okay? With the business, I mean.”
“Everything’s just fine.” His grin widens. “You look lovely.”
“Oh, thank you.” You tuck a stray piece of hair behind one ear. “I thought, since we were going bowling I should wear pants, otherwise I would have worn a dress, since it’s our first date, but I’m not sure where we’re going for dinner, and…I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Babbling. Sorry. You um…you look great, too. Nice to see you in something besides a suit. Not that your suits aren’t nice,” you add hurriedly. “I just meant…”
“It’s perfectly alright. I accept the compliment. Ready to leave?”
You nod, accompanying him back to the car and murmuring your gratitude as you settle inside the vehicle once he’s opened the door for you. He slides behind the wheel, making no move to turn the key in the ignition, his gaze shifting from the view of the sprawling manor through the windshield to your face. “You don’t have a curfew, do you?”
You blink, surprised by this question. “Uh, no?”
“Good. I wasn’t sure how overprotective Eddie might be. Wouldn’t be wise to incur the wrath of the new contractor,” he teases, laying a finger against his smirking lips.
“I mean, I’m an adult,” you reply defensively, adjusting and readjusting your handbag on your lap. “And Ed doesn’t even know we’re going out. Fiona’s the one who—“ You immediately choke off the rest of that sentence.
“Oh? What about Fiona?” His voice matches his face, the very definition of innocence, but inwardly he’s scowling. He hadn’t really expected much pushback about him dating you, if any. Certainly not from the wife of all people.
“Nothing, she just…I think she was just being a little overprotective. The mama bird instincts are kicking in already.”
“Now I’m doubly curious, since she and I have had very little conversation. Did she paint me as a scoundrel?”
He watches you squirm in your seat. “No, nothing like that. I think she just wants me to feel safe and be happy. Looking out for my best interests, you know.”
William hums, not entirely mollified. “Do you feel safe with me?”
“Yes,” you declare resolutely, without hesitation. “Of course I do.”
“And do I make you happy?”
“Yes,” you reply, a little more gently. “I have fun every time I’m with you.”
The British man visibly relaxes. “Right, well, that settles that, then, doesn’t it? Let’s go enjoy ourselves.” He starts the engine, casting one last look at the house before rotating the steering wheel to turn the car around. So, perhaps it is just a case of motherly instincts kicking in as far as Fiona is concerned, he muses. Probably nothing to worry about. And Ed was oblivious, as per usual. Certainly no concerns there.
Still, he probably should put in a little effort to charm Fiona after all, just to ensure she doesn’t become a spanner in the works down the road.
It would be a real shame if this scheme of his was wasn’t successful.
***
The bowling alley is crowded.
You’re not really surprised, given that it’s a Friday evening. The scent of cigarettes assaults you as soon as you enter the facility. You tuck a little closer to William while you’re waiting at the counter, grateful for the fragrance he’s doused himself in. After paying and receiving your shoe rentals and score cards you allow him to guide you towards a lane further towards the opposite end of the row.
“I hear they’re starting to move to automatic scorekeepers in some places. Won’t be using these for much longer.” He sets the scorecards and pencil down on the table in front of a pair of padded orange booth seats.
You nod, sitting and leaning down to set your loaned shoes on the varnished flooring. “Yes, Ed’s been working on something similar for some of the carnival games.”
“Really? We might just implement that tech into Fall Fest this year, then.” He startles you when he goes down on one knee in front of you, your surprise melting into understanding when you see him begin to unlace one of your shoes, then wrap his fingers around the back of one calf while he slips the rental over your foot. You feel yourself blushing and you glance around to see if anyone’s watching your date change your shoes but everyone seems preoccupied and you begin to relax a little. You’re still feeling some lingering tension from the discusssion with Fiona earlier, mad at yourself for slipping up and mentioning it to William. You don’t want him to feel bad. He’s done nothing wrong.
Once he’s finished securing your bowling shoes he settles onto the bench across from you and crosses his ankle over his knee, swiftly unfastening his shoelaces. You can’t help but notice how elegant his hands are, the fingers long and slender and nimble as he deftly plucks at the ties. A lock of hair falling over his forehead makes your own fingers suddenly itch to tuck it back into place with its brethren, but you don’t dare. Not yet. You’re not quite brave enough to try something like that.
“So, who’s going first? The lady?” He inquires once he’s completed his task, his face lifting, lips twitching as if he’s been well aware of your appreciative thoughts this entire time.
“Okay.”
“Warning you again: I’m no slouch at this.”
“Reminding you again: neither am I.”
He grins. “Good. Show me what you can do.”
You rise, walking over to the ball dispenser. The lane gleams before you, the pins lined up in the distance, ready to fall. You slide your fingers into the holes and cup the side of the ball, lifting it and keeping it steady before you as you gaze at your targets, checking your alignment and distance as you take aim. It has been awhile since you’ve done this, but you find you still retain muscle memory, your body automatically adjusting to the correct position, your spine dipping as your arm swings wide, body weight shifting from one foot to the other as you send the ball careening across the wooden track. It doesn’t have quite as much of a hook on it as you’d like, but you manage to knock down seven pins with that first throw, then two more with your second. Not terrible for a warm up, you guess. One frame down, nine more to go.
You realize very quickly that it isn’t just bragging on William’s part.
He is graceful, somehow making that long frame drop down to the perfect height as he releases the ball. There’s a satisfying cracking sound as it makes contact, knocking every single pin down, earning him a strike right out of the gate. Nine more pins tumble down immediately after. He grins, nudging your arm when he returns to the sitting area, scratching his score onto the card, then standing with his ankles crossed and arms folded, challenging you to match his skill.
Oh, it’s on.
Two much more successful frames puts you closer to his score, and two more after that places you only five points behind. Now you’re feeling bold enough to shove playfully back as you pass him, to trade teasing “trash talk” and boasts about skill. There are a satisfying collection of strikes and spares etched on both of your score cards between the two of you by the time you’ve completed the game. He’s still managed to beat you, but by a very narrow margin.
“Congratulations. Well done.” He beams at you, gathering the scorecards and pencil after he’s finished changing his shoes. “Ready for dinner? We could eat here, but the food is rather lackluster. I’d rather take you somewhere else.”
“Sure. Sounds good to me.”
You inhale deeply once you exit the bowling alley, grateful for the fresh, clear air.
“So there’s a diner that Henry and I like to go to. It has a 1950’s theme to it. How does that sound?”
You nod, sinking back down into the passenger seat. “Do you guys go out to eat a lot?”
William leans to reach for the handle, pulling the driver’s side door closed before answering. “A fair amount, I guess. Typical bachelors. Ironic, though, isn’t it? We own a restaurant and neither of us can be bothered cooking at home that often. Part of it is simply because of constraints due to work schedules, but the remainder of the time there’s really no decent excuse. Case in point, Henry was eating cereal for dinner again when I left,” he murmurs.
“Maybe we should pick him up something, order it at the diner and take it to go,” you suggest.
“That’s thoughtful of you.” William smiles softly, then flips the sun visor down to regard his reflection in the mirror. “Bloody menace. I want you to know that I spent no less than twenty minutes trying to tame this monstrosity,” he says, combing his fingers through his hair and sighing. “Now it looks even worse. Help.”
You giggle softly. “Here, let me…” You lean over, attempting to tuck a few of the errant pieces back into place, but they stubbornly fall once more. You become distracted by his eyes, the movements of your fingers faltering, becoming less purposeful and more of a caress, finally indulging in the guilty pleasure of feeling his hair slide silky smooth against your skin. “I, um…” You clear your throat. “I’m afraid I can’t make it behave, either.”
“You can’t?” His voice sounds raspier.
“No. Sorry.” You let your hands drop back into your lap.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go, then. Maybe we should join Henry at the kitchen table for a bowl of cereal. Maybe I’ll just go into hiding…” He begins snickering, covering his mouth with his hand and you shove his arm.
“I have never met a man so concerned with his appearance. You’re being so dramatic. You look fine. No one’s going to notice.”
“Are you calling me vain?”
You tip your head to once side, considering. “Yeah, I think I am.”
“Unbelievable. And to think I rolled down a hill for you,” he mutters, trying to look stern as he lifts the visor back into place, tucked neatly along the roof.
“Yes, you did. And that was your idea.”
“No, no. You were the one who suggested it.”
You gasp in mock astonishment. “I most certainly did not!”
“Yes, you did. You convinced me that it was great fun and I had no choice but to indulge.” He reaches for the keys still waiting in the ignition but your fingers are faster, darting out to pull them free.
“What’s this now, hmmm?” He smirks, watching you tuck your hand behind your back.
You’re not entirely sure yourself. Something in the moment makes you want to tease him a little further. “Apologize.”
“For what?”
“For accusing me of making you do something you didn’t want to do.”
William clucks his tongue. “And if I don’t? Are you going to hold me hostage in my own vehicle?”
You grin slyly. “Maybe.”
“Do you really think I won’t be able to retreive those keys if I want them?”
“Not if I put them somewhere you can’t touch.”
“And where is such a place, Miss Murray? Can you give me an example?” He leans towards you suddenly and you gasp, the reaction sincere this time. One hand settles on the side of your waist, not searching, merely holding there, his face tilted so that his lips are tantalizingly just out of reach.
“You wouldn’t,” you whisper, half challenging, half questioning, wondering over your own sudden daring.
“No?” His eyes sparkle with the reflected lights in the parking lot. You wonder if anyone else present at the busy entertainment center has noticed this spectacle you’re putting on: teasing, testing, drawing out the tension between you.
You're not quite bold enough to push any further, instead gently peeling his hand off of you and pressing the keys into his palm.
You can’t tell if he’s disappointed or not. He merely studies your features for a few moments more, then shifts back behind the wheel, returning the keys to their former position.
There. A perfect gentleman, just like I told you, Fiona, you think defiantly.
You’re wrong about him.
and then there was us | william afton x f!reader
chapter 5
Explicit content, 5.4k words, new 8/1/25
ao3 link
You and William arrive at the local shopping mall just after noon on Saturday.
You’d thought that after five days of waking up early your internal clock would have roused you at a similar time on the sixth, but it seems your body had needed the rest, and so had your stepbrother’s—you’d both slept in until after ten.
It was nice though, taking your time to wake up, no school to worry about, just lazing around in bed for a bit, engaging in cuddling and playful wrestling (gently—that bruise along his ribcage is nasty and the cuts on his face look painful).
He still seems more concerned with his appearance than any actual discomfort from the injuries, waving away your concerns and insisting that he’s taking you out on your first date.
Your first date. You don’t know which of you is more excited. He’d held your hand for most of the drive over. Would still be doing it, if there wasn’t the possibility of running into someone you know. So you have to settle for exchanging lingering glances and only briefly resting a hand on an arm here or a shoulder there, using the excuse of garnering attention to point out some item of interest. It’s all a facade, of course; his eyes never seem to be anywhere but on your face.
Your stepsibling is patient while you peruse the local candle shop, wincing over some of the jars you hold up for him to inhale, finally agreeing that the cinnamon blend is the least offensive of the lot, having already scathingly reviewed and condemned scents like Ocean Breeze (“positively vile”) and Lavender Dream (“more like nightmare”).
You spend a long time in the bookstore, so engrossed in perusing the science fiction/fantasy section that you don’t immediately realize William is no longer beside you.
You begin wandering the aisles, relieved when he reappears shortly after, murmuring some excuse about using the loo at the shop next door that you think is a touch shady but you don’t press it, already distracted by a new release from one of your favorite authors that you eagerly point out to him.
William’s cheeks turn crimson when you duck into the lingerie store next, declaring over a cracked voice that he’ll just wait for you on the bench outside.
“Want to see what you just purchased for me?” You tease when you exit the store twenty minutes later, waving a paper gift bag in front of his face.
“Later,” he responds crisply, rising to his feet. He suddenly leans closer under the pretense of brushing an imaginary piece of lint off your shoulder. “You’re being quite naughty, you know that?” He hums against your ear, his voice much lower and coarser. “You know I’m going to have to punish you for that later.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” You return his grin knowingly. You hadn’t actually been intimate yet that day; you have a feeling you’re both waiting for after your date, to make it extra special.
“Are you hungry? Should we go grab lunch?”
“Yes, I’m starving.” You’d both skipped breakfast.
“What would you like?” He begins walking at a leisurely pace, heading for the escalator that leads back down to the first level, where the food court is.
“Mmmm…I could go for a cheeseburger and fries.”
“Cheeseburger and fries it is.”
After you complete your descent, there is a sizeable crowd to sift through; the weekend lunch rush is in full effect.
“Tell me what you want. I’ll go order. You’re in charge of finding a table.”
“Got it.” You begin scanning the sitting area as soon as you decide what you want off the menu, frowning until you spy a pair of tables just being wiped down by a custodian. You thread your way through dining area with determination until you reach your destination, hurriedly dragging one of the chairs out and placing your shopping bags and wallet on top of the table. Success. You can’t see William from here, so you let your gaze wander instead. There’s a mall directory nearby that you briefly peruse, and adjacent to it an advertisement for a tanning salon. You briefly try to imagine your fair skinned date with a bronze glow and laugh softly, shaking your head. Seated across from you is a mother with three young children all clamoring for her attention. One of them catches your eye and grins at you, the two center baby teeth in the top row notably missing.
“Lunch is served.”
William appears beside the table, a tray laden with food and beverages balanced on its surface. You clear the table, tucking your things onto the empty seat beside you and he nods gratefully, setting your meals down.
“Hang on. Other way around. This side is yours.” He rotates it and you begin unwrapping your food, pausing when the child that had smiled at you earlier wanders over to tug on your stepsibling’s sleeve.
William freezes midway through tearing off the wrapper of his straw, turning to regard the young boy, calmly inquiring, “Yes? Can I assist you?”
“You talk funny.”
“That’s because I’m from Britain.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s a place overseas.”
“What’s over says?”
“Overseas,” he corrects. “Across the ocean. You know when you visit the beach?” The boy nods. “Past all that water.”
He looks thoughtful for a moment, his toe scuffing the floor tiles. “What happened to your face?”
“I got into a fight with someone.”
“How come?”
William glances at you, his eyes silently pleading for an intervention.
“He was upset because someone said something mean about me. But you shouldn’t hurt someone else if you can help it. Tell your mom or dad or your teacher or another grownup if you have any trouble with anyone, okay?”
You see the tension ease from your date’s shoulders as you receive a nod of agreement.
“Did you get a toy with that?” The curious child points to the tray, his focus back on the older male once again.
“Alas, I did not.”
He frowns, then glances at you. “Is that your husband?”
“Boyfriend,” you correct, quickly covering your mouth with your hand in an attempt to stifle the laughter bubbling up.
“What did you buy?” He points to the bags resting on the chair beside you and you feel your cheeks grow warm.
“Um…a book and some clothes.”
“Oh.” Now a shrug, clearly losing interest. Phew. At least you aren’t going to have to explain skimpy lingerie.
“Perhaps you should get back to your mother so she doesn’t get worried,” William suggests, puncturing the lid of his cup with the now unwrapped straw.
“I think the poor woman might be grateful for the break. There are two more behind you,” you murmur.
“Not helping,” he mutters, his gaze returning to the child still hovering near his elbow. “Alright. Go on now. Time to go back to your mother.” He heaves an audible sigh of relief when the gap toothed boy finally obeys, then takes a generous sized bite of his chicken sandwich. “What?” He asks once he’s finished chewing and taken a swallow of his drink.
You’re still fighting a smile. “Nothing. You did good with him.”
He grunts, seemingly unconvinced, then returns his attention to his food.
“You’re going to do well with your restaurant,” you continue, gazing at him fondly. “Slash arcade slash whatever.”
“Our restaurant,” he corrects, his eyes lifting to meet yours.
“Ours,” you agree, even if you’re still unsure about what the future holds, wanting this moment to last.
“I want to kiss you,” he says, his voice low.
“We can’t.” Your eyes dart around anxiously. You don’t see anyone you recognize, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.
“At the movies,” he suggests. “If we sit in the back. Once the lights are down.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“That’ll sustain me until we get back home.” He takes another bite, cleaving off a sizeable amount.
Your stomach flips a little at the implication buried within those words. Back home. Where you’ll be pulled into your bedroom or his. You recall being in the shower with him last night. The aching need in his voice. Kissing you. Touching you. Getting as close to you as he can without actually penetrating you.
You feel your cheeks growing warm again and you hurriedly take a sip of your soda.
The conversation becomes more innocent after that. Laments about homework still to be done. Suggestions for more stores to visit. Perhaps another trip to the farmstand will be on tomorrow’s agenda, likely the final visit for the season.
An hour later you find yourself seated beside the wall in the back corner of the theater, just as William had suggested earlier. He drapes his arm across the back of your seat, his fingers lightly grazing your shoulder.
By the time the movie trailers begin airing, his thigh is pressing firmly against yours. He’s not even facing the screen. You can feel his heated gaze and you swallow thickly, wishing that you had agreed to his offer of getting a candy, soda, something.
He touches your cheek, gently turning your face towards his. The lights from the display onscreen flash over his features, then the final preview concludes and the room darkens. You feel yourself leaning closer. The closest couple is two rows away. Not too crowded. No one you recognize. And now you have the cover of near darkness to shield you.
You don’t even know anything about the movie that’s begun to play. Some action flick. A mature rating for violence. Maybe a love scene. It doesn’t matter. You’re too focused on your stepbrother. The touch of his thumb against your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. His mouth covering yours.
You’ve kissed him dozens upon dozens of times over the past week, but this one feels different. This one lingers, deepens, lasts until he finally breaks apart and you gasp for air, hoping no one’s noticed the harsh sound, masked perhaps by the guns currently being fired in the film. His forehead rests against yours. Eventually you snuggle against his shoulder, his arm tucked around you. When the house lights come up during the closing credits, you feel like you’re waking from a dream. You reluctantly leave his embrace. The mall suddenly seems too noisy when you exit the theater. You want to be alone with him. Your eyes meet and he nods.
It’s time to go back home.
***
You don’t make it much past the front door before William has gathered you into your arms, your wallet and shopping bags crashing to the floor. Unlucky that you’d had to contend with the nosy neighbor once again when you’d arrived home. You’re starting to understand your stepbrother’s dislike of her. Good thing there are blinds on all the windows and you’ve been keeping them closed.
“God, finally,” he pants against your throat after dragging your jacket clear of your torso. You think you taste metal again; the cut on his lip has reopened.
You frantically clutch the back of his head, groaning when he pushes you against the door. He manages to get the button of your jeans popped open; you’ve unfastened the first couple of buttons of his shirt. Everything feels clumsy, slow. You can’t get undressed fast enough. William temporarily abandons his attempts, suddenly tugging you impatiently towards the stairs.
Your room is closer. That’s where you both end up, your clothing still on but a little less intact than it was on the floor below. Your stepbrother is beaming like a madman; you keep dissolving into giggles. It’s hardly your first time being intimate, and yet it almost feels like it as you sit on the edge of the bed and he advances, pushing you beneath him.
“Oh! I wanted to show you the new underwear I bought. I left it downstairs.”
“Show me later. It wouldn’t have stayed on long anyway,” he hums beside your ear. “You still have too many clothes on.”
“So do you.”
“Let’s do something about that, hmmm?”
He nearly pulls you off the bed jerking your jeans over your hips. You help him lift his shirt overhead, running your fingers through hair that is now tousled and charged with static electricity. He grins triumphantly at you when you’re finally nude beneath him, bending to kiss your mouth.
“Did you have fun today?” He murmurs, trailing kisses over your jaw.
“Yes. Best first date ever.” You rest your palms against his chest.
“Agreed. Bollocks. I forgot…hang on.” He begins to shift, then pauses, planting another kiss on your lips. “Be right back. I got you something earlier, a surprise…”
You raise your eyebrows but nod, watching him dart back out of your room, reappearing carrying his jacket shortly after.
You roll over onto your stomach, knees bent, alternating between dipping and raising each foot as you watch him dig into one of the pockets, curse, then sigh in relief when he extracts an item from a different one.
“Did you know you get extra British-y when you’re flustered? Or excited or…?”
“British-y?” He repeats, mock scowling, the displeased expression quickly shifting to another grin as he hands you a small gift box. You’re starting to get used to the chipped tooth already, finding it really does carry with it a kind of charm.
“What’s this?”
”Got you something while you were at the bookseller’s.”
“I knew it. You sneak. Using the loo my butt,” you mutter affectionately, lifting the lid to reveal a silver ring with a pale emerald cut aquamarine stone. “Oh,” you gasp, staring at the offering.
“Do you like it? It’s your birthstone. The lady at the counter said we can change the size if we need to.” He sits down beside you while you slip the ring onto the fourth digit of your right hand, finding it’s nearly a perfect fit, perhaps just a touch loose.
“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, holding up your hand and rotating it so that the lights catch on varying facets. “Thank you.” You push yourself up on your elbows, raising your face to meet his. Your lips brush once, twice, then you allow him to guide you to lie on your back again, his body shifting to join you. “William, I wanted to—”
“I’d just like to—”
You both halt, tripping over each other’s words.
“You first,” he prods.
“No, you go.”
“I was thinking about earlier. With the boy.”
“He was cute.”
“He was tolerable,” your stepbrother replies. “Anyway, not so much about him. But the other.” He stops, chuckling softly. “I’ve been dying to have you naked with me in this bed all afternoon, and now that I’ve got you here, I’m talking your ear off.”
“No, it’s good. We should talk.” You stroke his arm reassuringly.
“Listen, about the business. I’m serious about this, you know. It’s not some flighty idea.”
“I know.”
“And I’m serious about wanting you there with me.” He traps your hand.
“I know, William,” you repeat gently.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he continues. “And I am trying so hard not to muck this up. I know I acted brashly yesterday, and I’m ashamed. Not about what I did; I still stand by that. But the way I went about it. Letting my temper get the better of me. And then I went and compounded things by demanding that you commit to a future with me on the spot. I forget, sometimes, that we’re not the same age. That I’m the older one. Because you act a hell of a lot more mature than me at times, and I feel…I don’t know, that I’m disappointing you.”
“You don’t disappoint me. You’re very passionate about the things that matter to you. The people that matter.”
“You. You matter.” He lifts your hand and kisses it. “I know it hasn’t even been a week yet that we’ve been together like this, but it feels like much longer. It feels like, to me, this is something that could go on for a long time.” He groans, letting his head fall back on the pillow. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
“I know what you’re trying to say. And I feel the same way. It does seem like it’s been longer than barely a week. And I’m…I’m crazy about you, you know that? And I’m scared to admit how much I feel. Because I’m scared in general about what’s going to happen with us. Anyway, I don’t want to spoil the mood. Today has been perfect.” You turn on your side, running your fingers through his hair.
“Yeah, it really has. But I still think we can make it a little bit better.”
Once again he moves to cage your body with his. The kisses and touches lose their playfulness. There is seriousness here. Intent.
“Sis,” he whispers against your ear. “I’m crazy about you, too.” His fingers trail over your breasts and ribs and tuck between your thighs, coating in your slick before he presses one inside of you, hissing at the sensation of being wrapped in that silky heat. He pumps gently, slowly working you open, lightly teasing your clit with his thumb, making you writhe and squirm in pleasure.
“William.”
“Mmmm?”
“I want you inside me.”
His fingers instantly still, his face drawing back to study your features. “What? You mean…?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He hesitates, his eyes still locked on yours.
“Do you want to?”
“Are you kidding? Fuck, of course I do. I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“It always hurts the first time. I mean, that’s what I’ve always heard. It’s like a rite of passage to adulthood.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeats. “I want you to enjoy it. I want to make it good for you.”
“So make it good for me.”
He gives a nervous sounding chuckle. “The condoms are in my nightstand. I’ll have to go get them.”
“I’ll wait.”
He climbs back off the bed, casting another glance at you once he reaches the door. “I think I’m more nervous about this than you are.”
“If you’re not ready it’s okay.”
“I’m going.”
He grasps the doorknob firmly and you watch him exit your room, admiring the view of his nude departing figure. Outwardly, you seem calm, but inwardly…you’re nervous. Of course you are. Your first time. You only get one shot at this. One person to surrender your virginity to.
But you can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. And you want to take advantage of an opportunity like this, when you can take your time, when you’re not sneaking around or afraid of getting caught. You’d already done your duty calling the hotel to check in with your parents from the mall, ensuring there won’t be any interruptions for the rest of the evening. This is your time. Yours and William’s.
You’ve had health class. People talk. Yet the experience of watching your partner tear the wrapper open, seeing the reservoir for sperm before he unrolls the barrier over his cock suddenly makes you realize how real this just got. It’s actually happening. You’re really doing this.
His hands linger a little longer on your thighs as he adjusts them, stroking your skin, perhaps stalling, perhaps making sure you’re positioned well, comfortably, that you’re ready for him. Your stomach flutters when he leans forward, his body weight beginning to drop onto you as he lines his cock up with your entrance, that place up until now it’s been forbidden from.
Pressure. Burning. It’s nothing like having a finger inside; the arousal you’d thought so copious suddenly seems insufficient. Your body’s natural resistance makes you wince at the intruding stretch and he stops advancing immediately, looking at you with concern.
“I’m okay. Keep going,” you hastily reassure him. You’ve got a handful of the sheet beneath you twisted in your fingers to accompany your gritted teeth. You can do this. People deliver children through that space. You can manage this much, surely.
“I’m hurting you,” he murmurs unhappily, still pausing where’s he left off.
“It’ll stop after awhile.”
“I want you to enjoy this.”
“William, move, please.”
He resumes pushing his cock forward. Maybe it’s because he’s going so slowly. Maybe all at once would be better. Like tearing off a bandaid.
“You’re tense, try to relax. You’re fighting against me.”
“I’m not trying to.” You can feel exactly what he’s talking about. It’s like your canal has clamped down, barring entrance. Maybe you didn’t prepare enough. Maybe you needed more foreplay or you should have used additional lubricant or…
“I think we should stop.” He doesn’t wait for your next protest, withdrawing whatever amount he’d thrust into you and peeling the condom off. It still burns and aches between your legs. You let them fold and drop down straight while he tosses the used birth control into the wastebin near the bed and then lies beside you. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says soothingly, resting his fingers against your jaw and turning your face towards his.
You can’t help but feel like a failure. “I wanted to. I was ready. I am ready.”
“When the time is right it’ll happen. There are so many other things we can do to give pleasure to each other.”
“But now is the right time. We don’t have to worry about school in the morning or our parents walking in or…”
William turns onto his side, frowning. “Is that why you’re suddenly in a rush? Because you think this is the only chance we’ll get?”
You bite your lip and shake your head. “Not just because of that. I want to, every time your body is against mine. When you tell me you want to be inside me. When I beg you to fuck me. In the shower last night, when it was almost like we were…” You feel yourself losing confidence but you force yourself to press on, “…like we were actually fucking and when you were touching me after you came it was like you were trying to push it inside and I kind of wanted you to, that idea that it was like…being bred or…”
“Enough,” he chokes out, capturing your lips roughly. “I don’t mean stop talking, I mean I just…I want that, too. I want to be inside you, Sis. I want to cum inside you and feel you cum around me.”
“Maybe it’s the condom. Maybe if we tried without it.”
“We can’t. You know we can’t. Do you have any idea where you are in your menstrual cycle?”
“My last period was a few days before Mom left for her trip.”
“No wonder you were so bitchy.” He huffs a laugh when he sees your expression darken. “Teasing,” he murmurs before kissing your mouth again. “Even if I pull out, that’s so risky. And pulling out defeats the entire purpose of what we’re talking about, so…”
“So don’t pull out.”
“Christ, you cannot say things like that,” he groans against your neck.
“Fuck me for real. The right way. That’s what I want,” you declare, raking your hands through his dark chocolate tresses. “I want to actually feel you, not some stupid latex. At least just for the first time.”
He makes a nervous sounding hum. “We need to get you on the pill.”
“Yeah, I know. When Mom gets back I’ll talk to her about making me an appointment.”
“How do you think that discussion is going to go?”
“Probably very poorly. Accompanied by a long lecture.”
“My father thankfully didn’t belabor the point too much. I think he was even more uncomfortable during that conversation than I was. Anyway.” He rubs his thumb below your bottom lip. “I want to make you happy.”
“I know. And I don’t want to pressure you into something you’re not ready for.”
“It’s not that I’m not ready. It’s just…” He sighs in frustration. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Anything?”
“Yeah.”
“Kiss me.”
“That I can do.” His mouth covers yours and you feel some of the tension easing, your head relaxing against the pillows as he chases your lips and tongue. There’s still a little discomfort from earlier, but it’s much more tolerable now.
“I want to eat you out, but you’re probably going to taste like that fucking condom.”
“So you want to take a shower, then?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
He grins as you sit up. Back into familiar territory now. He slaps your buttocks playfully on the way into the bathroom. You kiss him while you wait for the water to heat up, then step beneath the spray, handing him the bar of soap while you let your hair become saturated.
He’s gentle when his sudsy fingers probe your sex, cautiously lathering between your lips, teasing your clit, more hesitant outside your entrance.
“You can touch me, it’s okay.” You ensure your voice carries over the sound of the spraying water.
“Sis,” he purrs against your ear, jerking your body back tightly against his chest, his hard cock prodding you against your buttocks. You slide your hand down the forearm slotted between your breasts to meet his, your fingers working together in tandem. You feel yourself growing aroused again, fluid leaking from inside you, that hungry, needy little fluttery pulsing ache at wanting to be full, even with the memory of the discomfort so close.
“William.”
“You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes.”
“Fill you up, mark you as mine…?”
“Please...”
“Going to get another ring for that other hand. Everyone is going to know you’re mine.” The lather has rinsed clean now, only water and your own slick coating your throbbing pussy. His words are having that magic effect again, your desire overtaking any logic or reason. You don’t waste too much time cleansing anything else, in a sudden hurry to be back out of the shower.
It’s the most half assed attempt at toweling dry ever before he guides your fairly damp body back into your bed. You’re going to have to change the sheets afterwards unless you want to sleep on wet linen. Not that it’s not going get messy anyway with…
William attacks your clit with his tongue the moment your head hits the pillow. You shove a hand into his damp locks, watching him deliver sharp licks and soft kisses, nudging softly at your opening, a final test, perhaps, to see that you’re not too sore, that you’re really ready. A finger joins his tongue, then a second, shallowly probing. Your pelvis arches, seeking even deeper contact.
The hand he tucks beneath your neck is shaking when he’s repositioned you both again, the fat head of his bare cock penetrating you. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop, just plunges inside in one breath stealing motion.
“God, you’re so tight and warm,” he pants. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Keep going. Don’t stop,” you plead, squeezing his ribs with your knees. The pain is still there, but you’re already getting used to it, finding that rolling your hips along with his helps smooth the passage, makes it feel better as your clit is ground against his body. His voice is the best balm of all, reassuring between kisses, complimenting you on how perfect you are, how sexy, how good it feels to finally be doing this.
“You like it, love? Like your brother’s cock buried inside you?”
“Fuck, yes…” He’s omitted the step- part intentionally, you have no doubt, judging by the crooked grin he offers, well aware of the effect his words have.
“I can feel you trying to milk me, you want me to cum inside you so badly, don’t you? You love practicing making a baby…”
There’s so much sound to what you’re doing: the slap of skin and William’s grunts and your own harsh breathing interspersed with keens of pleasure. He searches for one of your hands and interweaves his fingers through yours, pressing them down into the matress.
“William…”
“You like it?” His face is hovering just above yours, dripping with perspiration as much as lingering shower water now, the droplets striking your lips and sliding along your tongue.
“I love it,” you gasp.
“I love you,” he whispers, and you feel your heart lurch in your chest. You get lost in the darkness of his eyes; in that rocking rhythm that sends you over the precipice, the sensation familiar and yet different now that you’re filled, first with his cock and then the warm spray of his cum inside of you. You’re both still for long moments, catching your breath, the haze of lust gradually clearing. He makes an almost pained sounding gasp when he finally slips free, muttering something about being overly sensitive, much more concerned with assessing how you are, his fingers anxiously darting over your skin, his lips peppering kisses over your brows and cheeks and lips.
“I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling gently.
“You came,” he said, his voice full of wonder and perhaps a touch of pride. “Not every woman comes from…I mean I heard…I’m being stupid, aren’t I? I’ll just shut up now.” He flops down beside you and you roll onto your side, resting you head against his chest. Your thighs are still tingling post orgasm, the inner muscles slightly aching from holding one position for a longer length of time than you’re accustomed to. Sex, you decide at that moment, is really quite exhausting.
“We have to change the bedding,” you mumble, lazily dragging your fingers back and forth over his arm. You can feel his semen leaking back out of you, adding to the wet spots already pressed into the sheets.
“Yeah, in a minute. My heart is still going a mile a minute.”
“I know. I can hear it.”
“I’m beginning to understand how people have heart attacks while doing this.” He pauses. “And I’m absolutely starving now.”
You laugh, pressing your mouth to his pectoral muscle in a quick gesture of affection. “Yeah, same.”
“Want to do something crazy like go outside in November with wet hair and get something from the drive thru?”
“You can use the hair dryer, you know, but yes, that sounds like fun.”
“Or we could have something delivered, maybe. But that’ll mean getting dressed to open the door anyway. And it’ll have to be pizza,” he groans, his tongue darting out to touch the scabbed corner of his mouth. Bleeding again, but not as severely as before. It seems you’re both getting used to it.
“We’ll go through the drive thru.”
“Okay. Promise we’ll go shopping and have a home cooked meal this week though, okay? Maybe even do that tomorrow.”
“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll get up in a minute.”
“We’re both wiped, huh?”
“Used a lot of adrenaline, I think.”
“You promise me you feel okay?”
“Yes.”
“You really enjoyed it?”
“Yes.” You extricate yourself from his embrace and push yourself up into a sitting position. “No regrets.”
“Same.” He sits up, his fingers wandering to your finger adorned with the ring. “People say things in the heat of the moment sometimes. Things they don’t mean,” he muses aloud, gently rotating the jewelry so that it’s aligned properly in the center.
“I know.”
His gaze meets yours. “I meant them. Every word. I don’t care if we’re in high school. I know what I want.”
You nod, thinking about everything he’d said. Talking about marrying you. Confessing his feelings. It terrifies you. Excites you, too. Such a tangled mess. But you want more. You know that much, at least. So you follow him back into the shower and out of it. Help him make the bed. Dash to his car, your breath clouding the chilled air as you go. Lean over his lap to order at the intercom. Hide a smile behind your fingers when you watch him fumble his wallet out of his back pocket, one hip lifted to make room to access it. Those hips that had just been pressing into yours not so long ago. The smile fades. He passes you the paper bag after slotting the drinks in the molded plastic beverage holders, his eyes meeting yours.
You want him all over again.
William and Dispatch, part 2
A smile in the dark.
The first time Andrew cums because of William Afton happens later that evening, after he’s tossed and turned and punched his pillow and decided fuck it, why not, it’s not like anyone’s ever going to know he jerked off thinking about his new employer’s mouth. So he shoves his hands beneath the waistband of his briefs and begins fucking his fist. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t blown a load in a few days or maybe it’s because that man, that fucking man with those lips and those eyes and that accent are haunting his thoughts more than they should, tearing a sound he doesn’t recognize from the back of his throat, high pitched and needy when he erupts a generous amount of seed. It’s good, too good and too fast but at least it’s taken the edge off. Maybe he’ll do it again in the morning in the shower before work. That should take care of it.
It doesn’t.
The next time he cums because of William Afton is in the back of his car. They’ve met up at some shitty rest stop somewhere late at night, the knowing smirk of greeting when the dispatcher yanks open the passenger door making him even harder than he’d been on the drive there.
To his surprise and momentary confusion the grinning man shakes his head. “In the back,” he clarifies, so that’s what Andrew does. He gets in the back seat of that sedan and William joins him, grabbing a handful of the button front shirt he’d worn to work at MCM that day and dragging him roughly towards his mouth.
That kiss tells him in an instant everything he might have suspected about the married business man—that this definitely isn’t the first time he’s been with someone of the same sex. He’s too confident, too adept at fitting their faces together, accommodating the wider jaws and more angular cheeks, all of those places that are so much rounder and more delicate on a female. He doesn’t hesitate to drive his tongue right between Andrew’s lips and he nearly panics because it’s almost pleasurable enough to make him cum untouched. He’s that fucking good.
William’s got his pants open in record time, a little hum of appreciation vibrating against his new employee’s lips as his fingers curl around his cock, longer than his own but just as smooth, hands that have never know hard physical labor, his engineering skills better served in creating mock-ups on paper and directing others to create their realties, like that poor sap Edwin Murray is doing right now.
He doesn’t expect that sinful mouth to suddenly abandon his and shift lower, for it to engulf his cock and suck, hard, the breath knocked sharply from his lungs, one hand fisting in Afton’s silky mane while the other shoves against the roof of the car. He really, really wishes he had a cigarette in his mouth right then, a piece of hard candy, anything to keep his tongue occupied, but the other man seems to have anticipated this need as well, one thumb shoved between his lips for him to lap at.
It’s almost better than the blowjob he’s receiving—and make no mistake, Andrew is ranking this one as the best he’s ever had from any male or female ever, the man is absurdly talented—sucking on William’s thumb, then shifting to his palm, the inside of his wrist, the skin there hot and thin with his pulse bounding beneath it. The man bent over his lap groans and a fresh wave of saliva coats his cock, slurped up and spit back out over and over.
Now he’s caught in a kind of endless loop of almost but not quite climaxing, teetering on the edge until William’s thumb smooths over the wedge of his bottom lip, the gesture so oddly tender contrasting with that obscene, wet ritual happening below that it’s just what he needs to finally spill. William swallows every ounce of that release. He can feel it, the movement of his throat as he swallows, the pressure of his tongue holding his cock against the roof of his mouth while he drains him dry, even going so far as to lap the crown after to make sure he’s really gotten it all.
He watches as the man drags the back of his shirtsleeve across his mouth as he straightens—covered in his own saliva, it really had been quite damp and messy—that smug little smirk of his back again. The seat creaks as he leans back to regard the dispatcher.
Andrew wonders what he’s told his wife as an excuse for being out so late—if he simply cites business and leaves it at that. He wonders if she suspects or if she’s long accustomed to it. He’s almost bold enough to inquire about his business partner, to verify if the rumors are true, but he thinks that’s a shade too far, even if he had just shot a load down Afton’s gullet.
He’s not entirely sure what etiquette requires here—if he’s expected to return the exact same favor or not. But his new boss spares him the trouble of not knowing, guiding his hand over what’s a considerable bulge in his trousers. He feels somewhat clumsy as he fumbles the man’s fly open, but he’s rewarded with a pretty little hiss of air between teeth as soon as he touches his cock, finding him leaking and practically scalding. He experiments briefly, testing to see what William seems to like best: a roll of fingers over the head to smooth the precum over; a thumb stroking over the frenulum beneath; an alteration between a tight and loose grip; shorter and longer strokes. He doesn’t think it really matters much, judging by the amount of squirming and seat creaking. He leans over to kiss the man’s throat, inhaling aftershave and cologne, feeling a slight rasp of new hair growth against his tongue.
He really likes the sounds William is making, helpless ones not so unlike the one he’d made that first night he’d busted thinking about him in bed. So it all feels like it’s come quite literally full circle as Afton suddenly tenses, grasping his wrist and shuddering, his cock spitting out an impressive batch of sperm as well.
Andrew lets the man recover, digging the cigarette he’s been craving out of his pocket and offering one to William, who accepts, leaning over to crank one of the fogged windows down. Brilliant idea. He does the same on his side, lighting his cigarette, jolting a bit when Afton leans sharply towards him, but he simply utilizes the ignited end to light his own, then reclines back, taking a drag and smirking.
“You know,” he says, quite casually, as if he has not just been choking on dick and having his fondled by the man seated beside him, his voice just a touch raspier than it normally is, “there’s a new technician I’ve recruited recently that I think you might enjoy working with.” He doesn’t immediately elaborate, merely aiming smoke towards the open window.
“Oh?” He doesn’t know what else to say. Is Afton implying he’s gay or bi? Is this someone William’s also had in the backseat of his car?
“Puts in long hours. Does a good job. A bit whiny at times, but at the end of the day we get the work out of him. He seems to respond better to male dispatchers with smooth voices. I think he’d appreciate yours.” An odd way to go about a compliment, but, you know. This is William Afton we’re talking about here.
He suddenly shoves at the door and exits the car, leaving Andrew to hastily mirror his movements once he’s done up his pants again.
“What’s his name?” Andrew glances across the roof of the car at the cofounder of Fazbear Entertainment.
“Arnold. Goes by Arnie. Forget his last name. It’s not important, anyway. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” William tugs the cigarette from his lips, flashing another grin before settling back behind the wheel. The engine awakens and the tires dig into the gravel, kicking up some dust and pebbles before finding their grip, the car once again navigating a path back onto the road. Well. That was that, then. Don’t call me, I’ll call you, probably. Maybe. Was this going to be a regular thing now? A random event? Fuck.
Andrew nudges at the grooves of the tire track left by Afton’s car, burning a little more nicotine and tobacco before he gets in his vehicle and drives home.
part 2 yayyyy
@waddiwasu And blaming you for this, too
A little William and Dispatch for you…
Andrew didn’t expect to be closing a deal with his prospective employer in the woods behind a striped circus tent at the Fall Fest of all places, but, this is William Afton we’re talking about here, and let’s face it, nothing about the man has ever been conventional.
Case in point, the cofounder of Fazbear Entertainment is currently making short work of a candy apple, one of the many food offerings at the carnival, while the MCM employee savors the last cigarette of the pack. He’s been trying to cut back, because those flights of stairs at Murray’s are starting to strain his lungs a little more than they should (the elevators are notorious for breaking down and he is not going to get trapped on one for who knows how many hours, thank you very much) but old habits are hard to break. He’s always been a bit orally fixated if he’s being perfectly honest, constantly sucking on lollipops or candy cigarettes in his childhood before he’d exchanged the latter for the real thing. The red glaze coating the fruit speared on the wooden stick that William continues to devour is horrendously appealing. He’s more than a little tempted to ask for a bite; even to try a little taste from the man’s mouth directly, those plush lips flushed from the cooler autumn air so inviting.
Afton is married with children, but there are salacious rumors about he and his business partner, so it wouldn’t truly surprise him to learn if he hasn’t at least tried batting for the other team as it were at some point. He watches the taller man lick the stray bits of sugar from his fingers (gone already—shame, that) and his lips wrap around each finger for perhaps a heartbeat longer than is really required; the wet sounds as he finally releases each digit bordering on obscenity. But beyond this is the sultry expression on the British man’s features, those pale eyes transfixing Andrew’s own. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the effect he’s having on the man’s tightening pants, and he’s quite obviously enjoying every minute of it.
The dispatcher is good at appearing calm during stressful situations, a necessary qualification for his job position, so he doesn’t think he’s giving anything anyway just then (hoping fervently that the slight bulge in his trousers isn’t too noticeable) merely clearing his throat as a way to opening a conversation, his feet shuffling a bit in the carpet of leaves that stir a musky sweet scent into the air that combines with the smoke he’s exhaling.
“So what are you offering if I leave MCM?”
He’s not going to beat about the bush; the flash in William’s eyes sparkling with the reflected lights of the festival looks approving at this direct approach. “An additional half of your present salary, after taxes. Full benefits, even though you’ll be working part time to start with.”
Andrew frowns, slotting the cigarette firmly between his lips and folding his arms across his chest, feeling more of his confidence returning, focusing on the terms and letting the distraction below his belt ease slightly. “Why only part time?”
“Because you’re initially going to remain at MCM. It will be helpful to me if you provide inside information. Edwin has a terrible business acumen. He’s running up the costs of the contracts considerably. With your help I think we can make those debts even greater.” William’s teeth flash in a wicked grin, very visible even in the dark outskirts of the trees surrounding the clearing. His eyes flick downward just for the briefest moment, the grin widening. So he’s noticed. Well.
“You want to bankrupt him,” he murmurs out loud, plucking the cigarette free and blowing out a stream of smoke. “Why? He’s working with…oh. You’re going to put him out of business and then claim it for your own.”
“Precisely. He’ll do the work, Fazbear Entertainment will continue to reject it, making greater and greater demands, he won’t be able to deliver with the rising costs, and then we’ll collect our winnings when MCM goes under, all wrapped up with a tidy legal bow.”
Andrew’s thumbnail flicks a few ashes to the ground. He watches them fall, careful to make sure nothing lit touches the leaves. “I was always under the impression that Murray was your friend.”
“So is he, to his own detriment.” Another unfriendly smile splits his lips.
“You’re taking a risk, telling me all of this, aren’t you? What if I decided not to become a turncoat after all?”
“I have full confidence that you’ll be joining our team.”
The sound of a firework being launched nearby makes the dispatcher jump and he nearly drops the cigarette. “Shit.” He laughs nervously. “Forgot there were going to be fireworks.”
“Every Saturday evening,” William boasts. “So, how about it? Ready to join up?”
Andrew considers the offer around the last of his cigarette. He doesn’t really feel any particular loyalty towards Murray; he’s also not sure he entirely trusts Afton, either. William’s clearly got no qualms about doing whatever it takes to get ahead, even if it means betraying an alleged friend.
Andrew kind of admires that level of ruthlessness, to be honest.
“Make it double my current wages and it’s a deal.”
“Double?” William repeats, snickering, then his features lit by the burst of colorful pyrotechnics in the sky abruptly sober. “Alright. Double.”
Inwardly Fazbear Entertainment’s newest recruit curses. His new boss had agreed far too readily. Which means he might have been able to push him for a little bit more. Still, double the amount he’s making at MCM is nothing to sneeze at.
“You have some paperwork for me to fill out?” The fireworks display seems to have ended. There is only the sound of the fairgrounds crowd, more diminished now that the show is over and the carnival will soon be closing for the evening.
“It should be arriving at your home address by Monday.”
Andrew blinks. “You really assumed I was going to say yes.”
“I really did.”
The dispatcher nods. “Okay. When do I start?”
“You already have. Go find out what’s taking him so long with those pizzeria blueprints, will you?”
“Technically I shouldn’t be working until I sign those papers.”
“Technically you’re an at will employee and I’m within my rights to terminate you as I see fit for any reason at any time.”
“And I could go to Murray and sell the information that you’re betraying him for a pretty penny.”
“Ed is a cheap bastard. He won’t pony up. I like that cutthroat enthusiasm, though. That’s the Fazbear Entertainment spirit.” William smiles again, withdrawing something from his suit jacket pocket, then tucking it into Andrew’s own as he moves to pass by him. “An extra little gift for you. A treat voucher. You looked quite…hungry,” he murmurs. “Or maybe that was something else. If it was, I’m more than willing to discuss it sometime in the near future.”
He pats the pocket before departing the stand of trees, leaving the dispatcher to stare after the man before he decides to follow him.
I meant to answer this like 5 years ago ITS SO GOOD THANK YOU
@waddiwasu I blame you for this
the assistant | william afton x f!reader x dave miller
chapter seven
Explicit content, 3.8k words, new 7/25/25
ao3 link
Helpy seems quite pleased to greet you when you enter the makeshift playroom.
The little bear animatronic raises its arms in that universally understood symbol all toddlers have and you hoist him up into your arms, swiftly reminded of how much weight the diminutive animatronic still possesses. Your eyes flick down to the pile of books the robot had stacked carefully into a makeshift staircase for its stubby legs.
“He’s learning,” you murmur, considering the bear’s handiwork, absently stroking over one metal arm. You don’t think there’s any kind of programmed sensation that would allow the animatronic to enjoy the feeling, but he seems content enough, regarding you with his bright blue eyes, his mouth parted in a buck toothed grin.
“Sure he is,” Dave agrees, sounding like a proud parent, giving him an affectionate little pat on the shoulder before he begins tidying the room, pausing here and there to reconsider the furnishings. “I don’t want to make this into a prison, but I want to keep him safe.”
“Put a lock on the outside of the door, maybe,” you suggest. “Because now that he’s figured out how to stack and climb on things, it won’t take him much longer to get that doorknob turned. I shudder to think what would happen if he was left free to wander the building unattended all day.” You walk over to where several strands of glitter covered stars and some crayon shaded paper animatronics are hanging and Helpy begins pointing, jabbing his short digits towards what is clearly his handiwork and squirming excitedly, forcing you to adjust your grip on him. “Did you do these all by yourself? Wow!”
Dave smiles softly. “He’s gotten much better at coloring. Staying inside the lines and everything.” His grin fades as he regards his adopted charge’s makeshift attempt at escape once more. “I think you’re right. I suppose there isn’t much choice but to put an outside lock on the door.” The security guard settles his hands on his hips. “I wanted to make a nice place for him. I don’t want it to feel like punishment. He’s had enough of that being tossed aside in the storage room.”
“It’s a very thoughtful idea. We’ll keep working on it,” you hastily reassure him. “When we’ve had some rest,” you manage around a yawn, stepping closer to the dark haired man. Dave rests a hand over the bear’s eyes and bends to brush his mouth against yours.
“Have to maintain his innocence,” he whispers, letting his fingers fall. The bear then attempts to reach up to cover the guard’s eyes, perhaps thinking it might be a variation on a game of peek-a-boo. Dave laughs in surprise, briefly slotting his fingers between the metallic ones.
“You’re a good dad,” you observe, then grin apologetically as another yawn overtakes you.
“You need to go home and get some sleep.” He tucks his hands beneath Helpy’s armpits, lifting him and cradling him against his chest.
“We,” you correct. “We’re gonna take a bath and have breakfast first, though.”
Dave remains silent, the smile sliding from his lips like melting ice cream.
“Dave?”
“I can’t go with you,” he replies, his voice full of regret as he absently strokes Helpy’s back.
You frown. “What do you mean? You said we were going to.”
“I said you deserved those things.”
“Dave, come on. I’m too tired for this joke.” You begin to move towards the door. He sets the bear gently back down on the floor but doesn’t attempt to approach you.
“I can’t leave.”
“Why not? Listen, you have been getting in early and staying late for as long as I’ve known you. For free,” you add. “You’re more than entitled to leave on time for once.”
“I can’t leave,” he repeats. Helpy tips his head back to regard the male employee, then turns his head to look at you.
“Dave, what’s going on?”
“I have to stay here.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head, looking uncomfortable.
You step closer to him, not acknowledging the small metal hand that suddenly clutches your pants leg. “What’s going on?” You repeat.
“Nothing. I just…you should go home now.”
“No. Not unless you’re coming with me.” You fold your arms across your chest.
“I can’t,” he repeats, looking anguished. “And I can’t tell you why, either, so there’s no point in asking me again.”
You blink, momentarily stunned speechless. Helpy’s returned to Dave’s side now, patting his calf reassuringly.
“Dave?”
“I can’t,” he says, his voice raw. He takes a step closer, his hands framing your face. “Trust me, I want to. More than anything. But I can’t. So please go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You don’t know what to say. You had been soaring over cloud nine just moments ago, and now you feel a gnawing pit in your stomach. You have a feeling William might have something to do with this, but what that is, you can’t begin to fathom. Was he blackmailing him for some reason? Did he have some hold over him that kept him indebted in perpetual servitude?
“You can tell me, you know. Trust me. Whatever’s going on, I’ll try to help.”
“You can’t help.” His hands drop back to his sides. “Go home.”
“What if I stayed with you instead? We could take a nap and then work on the playroom some more?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not going to spend the day here and then go straight back to work again overnight. You need to rest.”
“So do you,” you counter.
“No, I don’t. There’s no reason for you to remain here.”
The words sting. “Oh, really? There isn’t? So should I just forget about what happened in the office earlier, too?”
Dave remains silent.
Helpy, clearly distressed about the argument occuring, begins tugging anxiously on your pants leg again.
“It’s okay, little guy. Stay here with Dave. Since apparently he’s not going anywhere,” you mutter bitterly, bending to gently pry his metal fingers free and offering a pet on his tummy as consolation before you straighten and exit the room.
***
You don’t sleep well.
Even after breakfast and a warm bath you find yourself suddenly wide awake and restless. You toss and turn, reviewing the events of the day in your mind. Working on the programming in the office. Finding the animatronic arm. Confronting Wiliam only to find yourself with more questions than answers. Kissing Dave. Being touched by him. Then hearing his refusal to leave. It just didn’t make sense.
Your eyes are burning when you finally throw back the covers and get dressed. They need rest desperately but you just can’t bring yourself to keep them closed. It’s going to be hell staring at a computer monitor all day. Assuming that’s what you’d be doing, of course; maybe William had something else in mind. The man was unpredictable to say the least.
William. Dave. What was the hold the first had over the latter? Not simply manager and employee. Certainly not friends. But there’s a strange kind of tension there. A confusing intimacy of knowledge about one another. You try over and over to sort through what little you know about the two men, trying to separate and reorganize the cluster of facts like unraveling a skein of tangled yarn, but by the time you drive to work you find yourself with more questions than answers.
You’re disappointed but not surprised to discover that Dave isn’t waiting at the door to greet you when you pass through the employee entrance. Maybe upset you hadn’t arrived early like you usually do to spend extra time with him. Well, fine. You can’t quite bring yourself to enter the security office, so you make your way to Afton’s office instead.
You find William already seated behind the desk, talking on the phone, the conversation suddenly brought to a close when he sees you enter. More secrets.
You find yourself growing angry. Dave is lying. William is lying. You slam your bag onto the shelf in the closet, then roughly jerk the chair out from under the desk before sitting in it, making sure to give your boss a wide berth. Your fingers fly over the keyboard as you begin inputting code without prompting, continuing what you had started yesterday, jabbing at the keys in rapid succession.
“I’ve never seen you work so quickly or diligently before. My compliments to whichever poor soul has pissed you off.”
You instantly freeze, glancing over at your mentor to find his gaze on your features. “What?”
“You’re clearly upset. You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”
You shake your head. “It’s nothing,” you mumble.
“It is. Come now, don’t make me drag it out of you. Tell me.”
You chew your bottom lip, hesitating at how best to approach this. You can’t get a clear read on the other man’s mood yet. He seems like he’s being sincere, but…you know how quickly he can flip. How sadistic he is. He loves setting traps, planting landmines and later watching you struggle to extract yourself from the wreckage. “Why doesn’t Dave ever leave on time?”
William blinks, then sighs. “This again? I don’t know, probably because he’s borderline incompetent. I told you not to waste your time with him. You really can’t follow directions, can you?”
The latter query almost sounds more affectionate that condescending, momentarily disarming you, but then your resolve firms and your shoulders stiffen. “Are you…blackmailing him?”
Your mentor suddenly bursts out laughing, startling you. “Blackmailing? Hardly. He possesses nothing of interest to me.” He busies himself with adjusting the cuff links on his shirt sleeves, and you’re more certain than ever that you’re on to something. The amusement, the fidgeting, it’s all a cover up.
“If he’s so useless, why employ him at all?”
William silently regards you for a few moments, now absently stroking the back of his wrist with one thumb. He looks unfazed, for the most part, but you feel like you’ve got the advantage here.
Or maybe that’s just what he wants you to believe.
“Why doesn’t Dave get to leave on time?” You repeat, refusing to back down.
“Because he has nowhere to go.”
The calmly uttered answer temporarily steals your breath away, your vocal chords straining to function properly. “What do you mean?” You croak.
“I mean he has no home to go to. He lives here,” he replies, spreading his hands in an encompassing gesture.
Your mouth falls open in disbelief and confusion. He can’t be serious. This is a joke. He’s teasing you. He has to be. “What?”
“Am I going to have to repeat every answer for you? I said he lives here,” William snaps in his customary ascerbic tone.
“But…” An image of Dave sprawled in the chair in the security office with his head tipped back and eyes closed as he attempts slumber coalesces in your thoughts. Morning after morning, you’d left him behind to do this. You shake your head, refusing to believe this possibility. “But he can’t…”
“He can, and he does.”
“Where? Where does he sleep? He can’t work twenty four hours a day.”
“Of course not. He has down time and recharges, just like the rest of us.” He smirks, then leans forward slightly. “So there it is. Mystery solved. I assume he didn’t tell you because he’s ashamed. As a courtesy I’m not going to say where his living quarters are. I assume he’d tell you if he wanted you to know.”
“He lives here,” you repeat in disbelief. It suddenly makes some things make sense, and yet… “Are you charging him rent?”
A flicker of irritation briefly bathes his features. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I’m not.”
“What’s going to happen when you transition completely to the new facility? Where is he supposed to stay?”
“He’ll remain here for as long as this building stands,” the restaurant owner vows.
“You have no intentions of taking him with you, do you? You never did.”
“He’s not a pet.” William jerks his chair back suddenly, the legs scraping against the floor. “And this isn’t a charity.”
“If he had just told me, I would have offered to…”
“To what? Be his roommate?” He scoffs.
“Yes. At least given him the option, until…”
“If that was what he wanted, don’t you think he would have asked already?”
The words sting. Of course they do. He’d meant them to.
Except William doesn’t look triumphant or pleased. He looks…regretful? Sympathetic? Is that even possible?
“I told you not to waste your time on him,” he repeats, but the words lack their customary malice. “You’re here to learn from me. You’re my assistant.”
“I know that,” you reply, your voice tight with emotions barely held in check.
There’s a brief pause before he interrupts the sudden silence. “Let’s take a break. Go get something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“It will do you good to go out and get some fresh air.”
“Since when do you care about what’s good for me?” You mumble bitterly.
“Since always.”
You rock back into your chair, stunned by this declaration. “You yell at me. Belittle me. Insult me and demean me. Make me kneel and beg,” you continue, hearing the warble in your voice but refusing to surrender to it, “and you think that’s good for me?”
“As I’ve emphasized many times previously, this isn’t a position for a weak person. For someone that lacks commitment.”
“You don’t want me to be strong, though. You want me to be submissive. Obedient.”
“If you were those things you wouldn’t struggle nearly as much, I agree. But the struggle itself builds character, so there is still an upside in the end.”
His placidity is even more confusing than his typical aggressive demeanor. You avert your gaze, sniffling. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Not today. You have to hold onto some shred of dignity. You’re already feeling humiliated enough as it is. “Why didn’t he tell me?” You whisper, not really expecting an answer.
“Because sometimes a lie is kinder than the truth.” William stands, holding out a hand to you. “Why don’t you go freshen up in the restroom, then we’ll get something to eat. You’ll come back to this with a clearer mind.”
You stare at the hand mistrustfully, then slowly place yours along it.
He pulls you to your feet, his fingers still wrapped around yours even after you’ve risen, and that touch feels achingly familiar. The way Dave holds your hand. The way William does.
The two of them, so alike, yet so different.
***
Watching William Afton consume a cheeseburger and French fries at two in the morning is something to behold.
You realize that before this you’ve never really seen him consume anything other than alcohol and cigarettes. You stare in rapt fascination as he devours the entire meal in several minutes, leaning back and adjusting his belt once there are only grease stained wrappers remaining.
He glances over at you, noticing your gaze. “What?”
“Nothing, I just…I’ve never seen you eat before.”
“That fascinating, is it?” He rattles the ice in the bottom of his cup of soda. “How do you think I maintain this stunning physique?” He quips, patting his abdomen.
“Was that…are you making a joke?”
“Depends. Did it land?”
You shake your head, reluctantly grinning as you munch on one of your fries. “You’re in a very strange mood tonight.”
“Would you prefer I go back to the, how did you phrase it, the belittling and demeaning?”
“No,” you say quietly, the grin quickly slipping away. You turn your face towards the passenger side window. The drive thru has one customer in line. The dining room is closed at this hour, the lights dimmed. This is where you’d gone to get the ice for your hand injury. That memory confuses you now when compared to this sudden change in his demeanor. Is this just another game for him? Making you let your guard down so he could launch a surprise attack and gloat later on?
“What are you thinking about?”
You take your time slathering a chicken nugget with sweet and sour sauce. “Wondering why you’re acting like this.”
“That still sounds dangerously close to disapproval.”
“Wondering what game you’re playing,” you clarify. “Why you’re pretending to be my friend all of a sudden,” you continue, watching the golden brown sauce drip down back into the container.
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” He asks quietly, seemingly unperturbed by your musings.
“I don’t know.” You scrape the bottom of the chicken morsel along the rim of the plastic cup and hurriedly pop it into your mouth before it drips and makes a mess, chewing thoughtfully. “Are you?”
William runs a hand over the top of the steering wheel. “Have you ever heard the expression: insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?”
“Didn’t Einstein say that?”
“There’s actually no evidence that he did. It’s been misattributed so often that the notion has been taken as gospel, though. Amazing how quickly rumors are spread,” he muses thoughtfully, his eyes following the vehicle that’s now exiting the parking lot before returning to your face. “But regardless, my point remains. I think it’s time to switch tactics with regards to your training.”
You squirm in your seat. You’re not sure how you feel about this. Any of this. If anyone had told you earlier that day that’s you’d be sitting outside of a McDonald’s eating chicken nuggets in William Afton’s car, you never would have believed them. The fact that he’s now behaving completely differently, being unusually soft and—dare you say it—kind, is even more confusing. You just can’t see what he’s getting out of this.
And that, of course, is the problem.
Because you don’t believe, no matter what your mentor claims, that this is merely some shift in managing your curriculum to enhance your learning. William doesn’t do anything for nothing. He wants something. And you’re fairly certain he’s going to expect you to pony up when the time comes.
“So that’s it, then? No more insults and making me kneel and beg?”
“You make it sound like that was a daily occurrence,” he murmurs.
“You’re going to treat me like an actual human being, an equal?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He smirks and you blink. Another attempt at humor?
You decide to leave it there for now, merely nodding when he asks you if you’re finished eating. You hate to admit you do feel better. Physically, anyway; emotionally, you’re still impossibly conflicted. You’re itching to talk to Dave, but you’re also kind of dreading it. Do you just confront him outright? Do you simply make an offer of a proper living space and see how he reacts? Do you really want to live with the man when you’ve barely just begun your relationship? How will he feel once he learns you and William were talking about him? Is that really so different than when they discuss you when you’re not around?
Why does everyone have so many secrets?
“You know, you can begin parking out here if you’d prefer, since it’s closer to my office,” William announces after you’ve returned to the pizzeria, pulling into a space near the main entrance.
“Oh. I guess…yeah, okay. Thanks.” You follow him inside the building, wondering if Dave is watching you on the cameras, what he’s thinking. You suppose you’ll find out when you see him after work.
After work.
Your full stomach suddenly feels queasy. Strange to think you’re nervous about speaking to the security guard. That’s something you haven’t experienced in months. Not since you’d gotten to know him.
Thought you’d gotten to know him, anyway.
The rest of the morning passes by swiftly. William seems to be keeping up his end of the bargain, so you endeavor to do the same. And it’s actually…almost enjoyable. The tension eases from your shoulders. You laugh at his jokes. He patiently points out your errors. This is how it could have been all along. How it should have been.
“Well, that’s enough for today. Good work.” William stands, retrieving the jacket he’d slung over the back of his chair. He hands you your bag from the closet, surprising you yet again with how polite and generous he’s being. “How about a ride to your car?”
“I can walk. It’s not that far. Thanks, though.”
“Alright, if you’re sure. Get some sleep.”
You nod, walking alongside him until your paths diverge, your employer heading towards the dining room while you start the trek down the corridor to the back of the building.
You’ve been mentally rehearsing what you’re going to say for awhile now, still undecided as you approach the security office. Your footsteps slow as you realize the door is closed. You’ve never seen it shut in all the time you’ve worked here.
You set your bag down and knock on the door, calling Dave’s name, then try the handle. Locked.
You worry your bottom lip, casting a wary glance down the dimly lit hallway. Should you start searching for him? You don’t think you could leave without knowing where he is. You really need to talk to him.
You dig your flashlight out of your bag and decide to check on Helpy first. The door is now secure with a new shiny padlock. So that project had been completed, at least.
Where else could Dave be?
You reluctantly decide to check Deep Storage, lingering just long enough in the dark space to ascertain that it’s empty before moving on with your search. You begin making your way methodically through the facility, grateful for the comfort of the additional light source in your hand, firmly ignoring the little noises you hear every now and again, convincing yourself that the whispers and clangs are imaginary; are just innocent, natural sounds caused by the deteriorating, neglected facility structure itself. The employer locker rooms are empty. No one is in the kitchen or dining room or in Parts and Service. You check the arcade and all the restrooms. No Dave. Where could he possibly be living? You suppose there are still places you haven’t seen yet during your explorations. Doors that are locked that you have no keys for.
Now you’re standing back outside the security office, torn about what to do next. Maybe he’s inside. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk. That might be it. You try knocking one final time, calling his name a little louder. Silence.
You retreive your backpack, tucking the flashlight back inside before heading towards the exit. You don’t see what else you can do for now. You resolve to return here early later that evening, your first order of business finding and speaking to Dave before you begin your shift.
You’re so weary from the emotional roller coaster of the past couple of day’s events that by the time you return home you simply drop down onto your mattress and fall asleep.
the murray girl | william afton x f!reader
chapter two
Explicit content, 3.2k words, new 7/23/25
ao3 link
Your first date with William Afton is on Friday night, just three days from now.
You’d handed him your phone number before he’d left the party that evening, though the chances that he or his friend Henry already had it because of their acquaintance with your brother was more than likely. Still, there had been something so satisfying about scrawling on a scrap of paper torn from the bottom of Fiona’s grocery shopping list and pressing it into his palm. Reaching up to pluck the stray bits of grass that had lodged themselves in his hair after you’d had your impromptu roll down the hill. Enjoying the way his fingers had done the same, returning the favor, grazing here, siphoning there. You like his touch already.
You like him already.
The current temperature inside of your sibling’s warehouse, though, not so much. It had been a severe oversight on his part not to ventilate the facility better. He’s promised air conditioning at some point in the future, but you know how scatterbrained he can be. Edwin tends to flit from one idea to the next, excited about a certain project before almost immediately getting distracted by another.
So here you are, sitting at the workbench tinkering with the latest Mrs. Handy animatronic model, the voice lines already recorded by your sister in law Fiona. The woman seems impervious to the less than ideal climate inside the factory; she’s still early in the pregnancy, but you can only imagine that’s going to become more difficult to manage over time, even if she is mainly just recording her voice nowadays and doing less puppetry work.
You’re so focused on the task at hand, currently inserting a circuit board that you’ve just finished soldering into the face, that the voices growing steadily louder nearby don’t immediately register. It’s not uncommon for Ed to invite guests and prospective clients into the workrooms, even though the practical side of you wonders if that’s entirely wise; if he’s not revealing too many trade secrets that someone might want to steal. He calls you pessimistic, but you think of it more as being practical. Still, he’s the one keeping the family business afloat, so you suppose he knows what he’s doing.
Now that the owners of the increasingly loud conversation have breached the workroom, you can finally distinguish that one is your brother’s, along with another pair that sound familiar. Particularly that one with the British accent. Wait.
Your head lifts and you turn to see William Afton sauntering—there really is no other way to describe his movement, he just has this slinky sort of prowl that reminds you of a cat—with his hands tucked into his pockets. He’s chosen to wear a more subdued three piece suit today, this one a traditional sort in a shade of deep navy contrasting sharply with a cream colored shirt and a tie that’s a startling shade of crimson. Henry and Edwin barely acknowledge you, sparing you only a brief glance and nod, still deep in discussion as they continue walking, but your future date’s eyes are firmly fixed on your features, what you now recognize as a trademark smirk playing about his lips. He hangs back until the other two men have cleared the room, then bends swiftly over your shoulder, his breath sending pleasant little shivers through you as he murmurs close to your ear.
“Hello again.”
“Hi,” you return, feeling your cheeks immediately flush. Oh, you’ve got it bad already. It’s like being back in high school, crushing on one of your classmates.
“What are you working on there?” You think he’s merely making polite conversation; you don’t believe he’s interested in your current project in the slightest, judging by the fact that his eyes are on you, not at the object laying on the table’s surface.
“Um, I’m updating the newest design for the Mrs. Helpy animatronic,” you mumble. “Finessing the facial components so that the expressions look smoother, more natural.” Of course the fellow engineer could see that for himself if he really cared to. You’re not sure how technical you should get, so your lips clamp shut and you wait for a response.
“Hmmm,” he hums. You can’t interpret it. A criticism? Boredom? Mild amusement? “It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” The hand resting on the back of your chair suddenly shifts, his fingers lightly caressing your shoulders.
“Ye-yes,” you stammer. Why are you so nervous? You’d been a lot more confident during your first encounter.
“Want to go grab an ice cream?”
“I um…I’m on the clock.” You gesture towards the one mounted on the wall with the pliers you’re still clutching, but his gaze still has not shifted from your face since he’d entered the workroom.
William chuckles softly. Your hair stirs beneath the gently exhaled draft of air. “I bet we could sneak out and no one would notice. Besides, he’s your brother. What is he going to do, fire you?”
“No, but…” You set the tool down, hesitating. An ice cream would be heavenly right now. There’s a bead of perspiration trickling down your spine, making you lean further towards accepting the offer.
“I’ll bring you straight back afterwards, I promise.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be touring with Ed?” Your mouth is so dry. You don’t think you’re going to be able to refuse. You don’t want to; you just feel a little guilty. It seems like taking advantage because you’re related to the owner of the company. No one else present seems to be paying much attention, but still.
“My partner can handle that.” He straightens, stepping back to allow you room to move. “Ready?”
You cast one last glance at the bear still waiting unfinished before you, then let your eyes sweep around the stuffy room, finally settling back on William.
“Okay. Let’s go. Only for a few minutes, though,” you remind him as you stand, tucking your chair back beneath the desk.
“Of course,” he agrees smoothly. “Whatever you’d like.”
***
What you’d like, you decide once you arrive at the ice cream stand fifteen minutes later, is a vanilla soft serve cone. Basic, perhaps, but it’s exactly what you’re craving.
William, as it turns out, is a fast eater. He takes swift, precise bites of his dish of chocolate ice cream, moving at a rapid pace until he’s finished long before you. All you can think is that you’d have instant brain freeze if you tried to keep up that pace and you wince internally as you imagine that lancing pain, giving a much slower, contemplative lick to the side of your cone.
“Sorry I’m so slow,” you apologize, glancing across the picnic table at him. It’s still early enough in the day before the lunch rush that there isn’t a large crowd. You practically have the place to yourselves.
“No need to be sorry. Take your time.” He props his chin up on his palm, watching your every movement.
You suddenly become self conscious about your tongue’s movements against the dairy treat. He’s not leering or anything like that, but…it’s almost like he’s devouring you with his gaze. You feel exposed. Vulnerable. Yet it’s not exactly unpleasant. It’s actually kind of nice for a change. Everyone always pay so much attention to Edwin. You’ve never been the focus, always just a supporting cast member for the main character as it were. But this man already makes you feel like you are the headlining act. Special.
“So you own the company that runs Fall Fest, right?” You feel a little silly keeping the conversation to something business related, but it seems as good a place to start as any.
“Yes. Have you attended before?”
“A few times when I was younger.” You rescue a melting dribble of ice cream before it had a chance to reach your knuckles, catching the white droplet on your tongue. “What’s my brother working on for you? I’ve heard him mention something about prototypes, but I don’t know too many specifics.”
“My partner and I are planning to open a large pizzeria and arcade with a full stage animatronic performance for children’s birthday parties.”
“Kind of like the showroom,” you suggest, referring to the theatrical display your brother had created to dazzle potential investors, complete with a musical number by an animatronic band.
“Yes, along those lines. Currently we’ve been operating on a much smaller scale, more akin to a family restaurant, along with hosting events like the annual carnival you mentioned earlier. This will greatly expand our range.” He lets his arm drop, beginning to pick at a peeling sliver of dark green paint on the table. “What are you hoping to pursue, once you escape your brother’s clutches?”
“I haven’t decided yet, to be honest. So many things interest me. That’s why I want to gain as much experience as I can this summer.” You’ve finally finished the dollop of ice cream crowning the cone and now take your first bite of the lip of it, crunching thoughtfully. “I like the idea of the animatronics being free moving as opposed to stationary. Maybe I’ll focus more on that at some point. I know Ed’s been struggling a bit with the springlock designs…” Your voice trails off. “I’m talking too much again, aren’t I? You’d probably rather talk about something other than work.”
“Not at all. It’s always a pleasure to hear about someone’s passion for their craft.” The businessman lifts the paint chip free, rolling it between his thumb and index fingers. “Do I make you nervous?” His eyes suddenly lift to meet yours.
You actually feel your breath hitch before you recover. “A little, I guess. Mainly because I’m with a person who’s vandalizing another business’s table,” you tease, using the remains of your disappearing cone to point towards the layer of paint he’d just lifted free, exposing weathered gray wood grain beneath.
“Vandalizing,” he repeats, sounding as if he’s savoring the word. “I was thinking it was more like helping them strip the paint. They’ve used the wrong kind. The entire lot is going to be in very poor shape by summer’s end.” He lets the morsel fall from his fingers. “Where should I take you Friday evening, hmmm? Dinner and then what? A movie? Bowling?”
“Oh!” You gasp around the last bite of your ice cream cone. “I haven’t gone bowling in ages.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do. I should warn you, I’m quite adept.”
“Really?” You lift one eyebrow skeptically at this boast.
“Oh, yes.” He flashes a grin. “My aim is rather…impeccable.” That smile. That smile is just too powerful. How many business deals has he closed because of that look alone? How many women have succumbed to its charm?
This last thought sobers you a little, allowing your gaze to shift elsewhere.
“Ready to head back? Or can I steal you for a moment longer?”
You glance at your wristwatch. “I guess a couple more minutes won’t hurt.”
“Of course they won’t. Let’s go for a walk.”
You nod, swinging your legs back over the bench. You wait for your companion to toss his trash in the wastebin before you accompany him down the sidewalk.
“So how long have you and Henry known each other?”
William tilts his head back, considering. “Oh, a long time now. Has to be nearly a decade. We’ve been roommates since college, although I must admit I’m starting to crave a place of my own.”
“I didn’t realize you live together.”
“In the beginning, it was a necessity, a way of saving money. Convenient, too, because we we were traveling to the same places every day. But now that the excuse of attending the university is long behind us, I’m looking to invest in a proper home. I’ve been scouring the newspaper every week.”
You nod. “I get it. It was kind of nice, getting away for a bit, living in the dorms, experiencing a different living space. But now that I’m back at the manor…I don’t know. It feels a little different now. Maybe it’s because Fiona and Edwin are starting a family. Of course there’s plenty of room and I’ll always be welcome there, and obviously it’s great to save money on rent, but…”
“But you want to be on your own,” he concludes. “Maybe not right away, but soon.”
“I think so.” You shake your head. “I’m not anywhere near where you are in the planning stage, though. I haven’t even begun looking yet.”
“Well, as you’ve said, it’s smart to save money when you can. And it would be difficult leaving that beautiful property behind,” he muses. “Part of the difficulty I’ve been experiencing is trying to decide if it’s better to live somewhere more rural but have a longer commute, or stay urban and be close to the business,” he says, gently helping you steer around an oncoming pedestrian, his hand briefly lingering on your arm afterwards.
“What about Henry? What does he think about moving?”
“Henry is kind of a…how do I phrase this?…a passive person. Very relaxed. Goes with the flow. If I announced tomorrow I was moving out, he would take it in stride. Maybe stay put where he is, because he’s a bit of a creature of habit, too. He likes the comfort of a routine. Familiarity.”
“And you’re the opposite.”
“In some ways, very much so. I like being spontaneous. Taking risks. Experiencing life, not kowtowing to it or hiding from it.”
You think you’re somewhere in the middle of those two extremes. You understand the comfort of familiar surroundings, but you see the appeal of pursuing the unknown as well.
“So are you excited about your new niece or nephew on the way?” The British man’s voice interrupts your reverie.
You nod, then shrug. “I’m happy for them. I really like Fiona. She balances my brother out. I just don’t know much about babies. I guess I’m gonna learn soon.”
William kicks at a pebble on the curb, sending it skittering off onto the gravel driveway of a hair salon. “She’ll be lucky to have you there for moral support, at the very least.”
“Maybe. I just hope I don’t drop it, or…”
“You’ll be fine,” he says reassuringly. “I can’t picture you as anything other than a responsible aunt. Maybe wait a bit on teaching them your rolling trick though, hmmm?”
“Oh, gosh.” You press a hand to your mouth. “I can’t believe we did that.”
“It was fun. A good icebreaker.” He halts and you pause beside him. “I suppose I should probably bring you back now, as much as I don’t want to. Six sound okay to pick you up on Friday?”
“That’s perfect.”
“Alright, Miss Murray. Let’s get you back to work.”
***
“I have never seen you clean this much.” Henry Emily watches his roommate rearrange the stack of magazines on the coffee table for the third time in a row.
“I’m trying to make a good impression,” William mutters, frowning over a watermark left from some beverage, now permanently causing the glossy paper cover to be rippled. “Next time, use a coaster.”
“How do you know it was me? You don’t always use them either,” the bearded man argues, watching his friend gather one of his sketchbooks from where it’s been tucked between the couch cushions. “Hey! Careful with that.”
“Put it where it belongs.” He holds it out for the other engineer to take.
“I thought you guys were going out to dinner or something.”
“We are. But at some point sooner or later I’ll be inviting her back here one evening, so keep the place tidy and make sure you’re not in your underwear for heaven’s sake.”
“It’s hot today,” he protests. “And I’m behind closed doors. Anyway, I still think what you’re doing is wrong,” he grumbles, his fingers curling protectively around the sketchbook.
“Your opinion has been duly noted.”
“You don’t feel even just the slightest bit guilty for using her?”
The dark haired man settles his hand on his hips as he surveys the room a final time, deciding that its appearance is acceptable. “No, I don’t. Besides, what is it that I’m doing that’s so terrible? Taking a young woman who’s been severely neglected out for an enjoyable evening shouldn’t be a crime.”
“It wouldn’t be, if that was the only reason you were doing it, Bill,” Henry counters. “I know that look. Like a shark’s when there’s blood in the water. It’s the same one you wore when you talked that owner into accepting an offer way below asking for the diner’s lot.”
“It’s just good business practice,” the taller man scoffs. “You let people take advantage of you. You’re too soft,” William criticizes. “If I let you manage the finances we’d be bankrupt and living on the street.”
The other man shoves the glasses sitting on the edge of his nose further back. “I think that’s a bit harsh.”
William lets his arms drop. “Okay, fine, maybe a little. But you understand what I mean. You know I’m right. This is going to work to our advantage, Hen. Just trust me.”
“She’s a nice girl.”
“I didn’t say she wasn’t. She’s quite pretty, and I’ve actually enjoyed her company thus far.”
“The Murrays are all good people,” Henry continues. “They don’t deserve to be betrayed.”
“Who said anything about betrayal? Henry, come on.” He nudges his shoulder playfully. “I’m merely ensuring the foundation for this partnership is solid. We have expectations that need to be met. Ed holds an important part of our future in his hands, and we can’t let his flighty approach jeopardize that. A connection with his sister ensures we have an additional foot firmly wedged in the door.”
“Just promise me you’re not going to hurt her if you don’t get your way and things don’t turn out like you expect them to.”
William presses a hand to his chest, his eyes widening as he appears offended. “Of course I’m not going to hurt her. Anyway, there’s absolutely no reason to fear that this endeavor won’t be a rousing success.”
Henry shakes his head, but doesn’t voice any further arguments. “I’m going to get back to working on the new sketches. I want to get them over to Ed before he gets started on construction so he doesn’t waste time and money working on the wrong design.”
“How considerate of you,” William murmurs, so softly that it’s barely audible.
Internally, he’s secretly scheming. If he continuously rejects Edwin’s work and makes more demands, it will indeed cost him time—and, more importantly—money. If he manages to bankrupt the Murray company and then sue for breach of contract, he’ll be able to seize everything free and clear, as the law dictates. It’s a genius ploy, really. He’d thank his business partner for the idea, but he doesn’t want to reveal it this early on. There will be plenty of time for that later. Henry will come around to his way of thinking eventually.
He always does.
William Afton wonders once again if any of this is new; how much longer he will succumb to the effects of the amnesia. Perhaps he will never remember. And maybe that’s for the best.
Maybe, a sinister little whisper echoes from deep within, that’s because you don’t really want to remember.
a sequel to forgotten
william afton x f!reader
Explicit content, 3.2k words, new 7/21/25
ao3 link
William sits in his home office well past midnight.
The ticking of the clock on the wall has long since faded to white noise. The figures on the budget spreadsheet displayed on the computer monitor are blurred beyond recognition. He thinks of the feel of your silky wet heat against his fingers; the touch of your hand on his cock. And he wonders once again if any of this is new; how much longer he will succumb to the effects of the amnesia. Perhaps he will never remember. And maybe that’s for the best.
Maybe, a sinister little whisper echoes from deep within, that’s because you don’t really want to remember.
He’s exhausted, and yet he doesn’t want to go to that bed with the cool sheets and the even colder wife; can’t retire to that couch you’d just been occupying with his son all evening, either, that sour little worm of jealousy still relentlessly gnawing at his gut. So the recliner in the corner of the living room it is. He unfastens his belt and loosens his tie, regarding the hand-me-down piece of furniture dubiously. Wait. Hand-me-down? How did he know that? Another memory trying to trickle through, unbidden, then. There’s a quilt tucked over the back of the chair, a crocheted piece that he feels certain must have been a gift from some elderly member of the family. He lifts and unfolds it, spreading it over his lap once he’s sat down and raised the leg rest. Reasonably comfortable, all things considered. He leans over to switch the lamp off, wondering if you’ve gone to bed yet. Perhaps you’d showered first. Washing away the scent of him. His son.
His lips still burn from the recall of yours on his.
***
William is back inside the car. His old one that was totaled after the accident.
The seatbelt digs into his chest. Tires screech and the steering wheel slips from his grasp. Glass shatters. Too fast. Everything is happening too quickly.
Darkness.
***
He jerks awake to a sunlit room, to a pair of green eyes studying him.
They belong to his middle child, his daughter Elizabeth. She resembles her mother, but not so closely as his eldest offspring does himself. A veritable copy and paste, his oldest son. In appearance only, of course; he sees nothing in Michael to indicate he’s taken after his father in any other way (other than your taste in a certain young woman, a nasty little voice remarks internally). He clearly doesn’t share what must have once been an ambition for running a business. He’s not really sure where his interests lie (other than that, shut up, please). If he doesn’t see Michael at dinner, it seems that the introverted adolescent is shut away in his room most of the time.
“Why are you sleeping here?”
William blinks, his attention returning to the girl standing before him. His neck is sore from resting hunched up against one side of the recliner, a position he’d come to occupy at some time during the night. He massages it now, grimacing. “I didn’t want to disturb your mother.”
“She’s already been up for hours,” she announces, looking a bit smug, the toe of one Mary Jane digging into the carpet, leaving behind a darkened circle as the fibers are disturbed.
Her father straightens, reaching for the lever to fold the leg rest back into place, hastily shoving the blanket off his lap. “What time is it?”
“Time to leave for school. And work. You’re going to be late,” she admonishes in a singsong voice before turning and leaving the room. Brat.
He scrambles to his feet, following his daughter into the kitchen, where a pair of packed lunches have been laid out on the counter. Presumably Michael doesn’t need one prepared at his age, so these must belong to the other two children. His wife is busy tidying the kitchen table after what surely had held breakfast, barely sparing him a glance as he enters the room.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
The woman stops midway through dragging a sponge over the placemats, her eyes fixing sharply on her spouse’s. “I already cook and clean and look after the children as well as work. Am I now meant to be an alarm clock for you as well?”
He stares at her, speechless at this reprimand.
The blonde shakes her head and sighs. “Never mind. I have a private lesson today so I won’t be home until six. It would be nice if you could see your way to fixing dinner this evening. There are still leftovers from last night you can bring to work for lunch today, since you didn’t seem to have much of an appetite at dinner.” She washes and dries her hands at the sink, then grabs her purse off the counter, ushering the two younger children now laden with backpacks towards the front door. A bit of commotion ensues—Evan’s done up his laces incorrectly, a fact which his sibling is only too happy to point out—and then the door clicks shut and the house grows silent once again.
Out of habit more than hunger William moves to the refrigerator, pulling open the door to survey the contents within. There is the aforementioned foil wrapped casserole dish with the leftovers on the top shelf. A gallon of milk. Orange juice. A carton of eggs. Butter. Jelly. Plenty of ingredients to make breakfast between this selection and the pantry’s likely contents, and yet none of it appeals to him, so he settles for brewing a pot of coffee instead, mulling over his spouse’s words while the machine chortles in the background.
Does he really contribute so little?
He makes his way up the winding staircase, then enters the master bedroom. The bed is made. The closet is full of clothes all neatly pressed and hung. He thinks about the blanket he’d left in a rumpled pile on the recliner downstairs. The garments he’s going to remove now and thrust into a laundry hamper that never seems overly full, the washing under control.
Is this why there is such a gap between them, both physical and emotional? Why his children feel just as distant?
What kind of a man had he been?
What kind of a man is he now? The kind that cheats on his spouse. With his son’s girlfriend, no less.
Stop it.
William drags a hand through his hair. All along he’s been feeling like he’s surrounded by strangers. But is he the one that has made them that way? Pushing them away? Ignoring them?
His fingers curl around the rim of the counter as he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Stubble lines his cheeks, his chin, his jaw. His clothing is rumpled, his hair tousled and wild. All things he can remedy. But within. Within will not change. There is still the feeling that he doesn’t belong here. He should be grateful for what he has, but he isn’t. And he doesn’t think this is new, either. He thinks he might have always coveted what others have. Never satisfied. Craving more.
He could stay home from work today. Do laundry. Tidy up. Go shopping and prepare a nice meal. A kind gesture. A display of gratitude.
But he knows he’s not going to, from the moment he rinses his toothbrush before applying a dollop of paste. He’s going to drive to that damn restaurant, and he’s going to slog through another shift filled with demanding customers and glitchy animatronics and the ever looming account balances that are tipped severely in the wrong direction.
He should at least tackle that last one. Get some advice on that front, see how he can turn things around. Start there.
With a renewed sense of purpose, he finishes getting ready. Fills a thermos full of the fresh brewed coffee. Even folds the blanket and puts it back where it belongs.
At least it’s something.
***
However buoyed up William might have been striding into the pizzeria that morning, it doesn’t take long for his energy to sink right back down again.
He’s assaulted with problems almost as soon as he enters the building: a broken appliance, a delayed food shipment, an animatronic stage performer that is completely locked up. The prize counter is running low on stock and an arcade machine is consuming tokens but not allowing gameplay.
There are fewer customers at this time of day, but the noise volume is already giving him a headache. He ducks down the back hallway, eager to escape to his office for a moment’s peace. Something smacks his forehead and he curses, reaching up to swat at the offending object, then he freezes.
Your stars.
It had been your idea to hang them here, hadn’t it? A vague recollection begins to coalesce. What was it you had said to him? Something about thinking about happier times when he was having a bad day?
Today was certainly shaping up to be one of those.
He carefully avoids colliding with any more of the decorations as he continues to his office, shutting the door with a sigh.
***
“You seriously expect me to just give up the restaurant? I’ve invested everything into this place.”
William spins the office chair around in an angry circle. This phone conversation was not progressing at all like he’d hoped it would.
“Now, Bill, I’m not saying that you have to do it,” the man on the other end of the line hastily attempts to reassure him, “I’m just suggesting it. That’s my job: advising you. The math doesn’t lie. You’re paying out more than you’re taking in. The novelty of the place seems to have worn off. That’s the nature of these things. Before you incur any more losses, I feel that you should sell.”
“And do what?”
“And invest your money in something more secure. Forget about all this robot hoopla. Focus on just running a good restaurant. Or try something else entirely. The computer industry is really booming. Maybe you can get in on that.”
“I don’t know how to do anything else,” he mutters sullenly, picking at a lifting corner of his desk calendar.
“You’d learn. You’re an intelligent guy. Look, Bill, I’m telling you this as a friend: cut your losses before it’s too late.”
William’s teeth clench. He finds himself cringing every time the financial advisor utters the nickname. And he most certainly doesn’t feel like this man is any kind of friend.
On top of this lies that foul taste of failure. He despises it, knowing the one thing he’s supposed to excel at has become an insurmountable challenge. He can’t provide what he’s meant to. His establishment is no longer popular. Wanted. Desired.
He’s meant to tuck his tail between his legs and surrender like a loser, the notion making bile rise in his throat.
He doesn’t even bother bidding the man on the other end of the line farewell before dropping the phone back onto the receiver. His eyes flick to the clock on the wall. Two thirty. He’s barely gotten anything accomplished. He’s going to have to leave to get dinner ready soon. Unless he just grabs something from the pizzeria or picks up takeout on the way home. He knows his wife won’t approve. But what choice does he have? What choice does he have about any of this?
He feels like there’s a dam of emotions about to burst inside of him. He can’t hold the floods back much longer. He doesn’t want to. He’s not going to keep being civil just to make others feel more comfortable. He’s tired of walking on egg shells. He wants to smash and rage, to break and tear and rip. He can’t bear the thought of countless years of mundane dinners and strained, polite conversations about inconsequential topics; being forced to smile and grovel to irate parents and snot nosed kids to earn a living. It’s all so suffocating. He hates this. All of this. His entire existence.
Except for you, his breath of fresh air.
The man closes his eyes and massages his temples. The headache that’s been lurking for the last couple of hours is steadily getting worse, threatening to become more and more debilitating as the stress piles on. He doesn’t even hear the knock on his office door the first time it occurs, only calling out on the second or third attempt while he rummages in the desk drawers looking for some acetaminophen.
“Come in.”
“Hi.”
William immediately forgets his search for pain relief, straightening in his chair.
You hover on the threshold of the open door, looking as uncertain as he feels.
“What are you doing here?” He rises from behind the desk, stepping forward and shutting the door behind you. He’s more than a little surprised to see you. Are you that easy to conjure? All he has to do is think of you and you’ll be summoned to his side? “How did you get here?” Now he’s imagining his son waiting for you just a short distance away. His momentary bliss is instantly shattered.
“My friend gave me a ride. I have a job application.”
He’s absurdly relieved to hear Michael isn’t in the vicinity, but he can’t stifle a snicker of bitter amusement at this other news. “Oh, perfect timing. After I’ve just been told to sell my business. Sure, I’ll hire you,” he agrees mockingly. “An employee without a reliable source of transportation sounds like exactly what we need.”
You blink, staring open mouthed. It takes you a moment to recover. “You’re…you’re selling Freddy’s?”
“That’s what my financial advisor just suggested. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he murmurs, his voice softening slightly. He folds his arms across his chest, frowning at you. “Why are you really here?”
“I…needed an excuse to see you,” you reply hesitantly.
“You just saw me last night.” He doesn’t know why he’s unleashing his frustration on you of all people. Easy target, maybe. It’s unfair, of course. Unlucky you.
“I know.” Your voice is quiet.
“You already have the excuse then, don’t you? Since you’re dating Michael.” There it is. It’s disgusting how jealous he sounds. He should feel remorse, for cheating with you, for betraying his son and wife both. But he still doesn’t. Not properly. Not for the reasons he’s supposed to. It’s more akin to a type of self-pity. Loathsome, he knows. Yet the feeling is there all the same.
“After the accident, I promised myself I was going to be a better girlfriend. I went to the hospital to visit you when you were unconscious, convincing my conscience it was the right thing to do,” you continue. Perhaps this is something you’d been mentally rehearsing, trying out the sound of, the words carefully chosen, and now that the moment’s arrived, you’ve got to rush to get them out. “I swore that if you were spared, I wouldn’t give in to temptation with you a second time. That I’d be loyal to Mike.” You rake a hand through your hair, looking anguished. “But I couldn’t help myself last night.”
William’s arms drop, his shoulders relaxing as he surrenders his defensive posture. “Why didn’t you say anything about this sooner?”
“I didn’t know how to bring it up. I wasn’t even sure if it was fair to, since you’re not…you’re not entirely you. I mean, you can’t remember much. I thought…I thought maybe the best thing was for you to have a chance at a fresh start. The business was stressing you out so much before and your marriage was struggling…”
The restaurant owner shoves his hands inside his pockets and shakes his head. “Those circumstances remain the same; worse, even. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be.” He pauses. “Am I anything like who I was before the accident?”
“In some ways, yes. In others, no. You’re…different,” you reply cautiously.
“Did you prefer me as I was before?”
You shake your head swiftly, biting your lip. “I didn’t say that. Anyway, it’s not about my preference.”
“But surely you must have one,” he persists. “Afraid to tell me the truth, then.”
“William…”
“Just tell me the truth, because I really can’t take anymore of this. I can’t be whatever it is people expect when I can’t bloody well even remember—”
You inhale sharply, interrupting him. “I want you more than ever. I can’t stop thinking about you. I…”
The pages of the job application flutter to the floor as he gathers you roughly against him.
“What are you saying, hmmm?” He rasps. The skin beneath his shirt collar is on fire. Too hot. It’s always too hot in this accursed building. “Are these the kind of things you say to my son behind my back? Playing me for a fool? Using us both?” He gives you a little shake, jerking you even closer to him.
“Of course not,” you deny. “No. I just…I was afraid to give Michael up, because it would take away my chances to see you.”
“You could have found another excuse. The one you used today.”
“Why are you being so cruel?”
“You drive me mad, you know that? I cannot concentrate on anything, for want of you. How do you do it? How do you pretend with him? How can you kiss him and touch him and…” His voice trails off as he stares at your mouth, the tempting lush color of ripened strawberries.
”What about you? You’re married.” It’s the first time he can recall ever hearing anything resembling jealousy from you.
”A union in name only. You know that,” he adds, hypnotized now by the lovely flush in your cheeks; the feathery dip of your lashes. “Why did you come here today?” He repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “My life is falling apart around me, do you realize that? And at the center of it all is you, the only familiar part that I can cling to, and I lack the right to even call you mine. Denied the ability to even properly remember what was between us. What were we? What are we?”
You reach up, your hand snaking between the close press of bodies to touch his cheek. “I came here to see you. And we were…we are…William…”
A low moan escapes his lips before he crushes them to yours. So sweet, so welcoming, so achingly familiar. Like coming home. Your fingers tease his fevered skin beneath his shirt collar, sliding along the tendrils of hair curling at the nape of his neck. He rediscovers the mark he’d left on the side of your throat, sucking again at the patch of bruised skin, now tender and throbbing beneath his ravenous mouth.
“Come with me,” he hums beside your ear. He could ravish you right then and there, perhaps secure enough in his office, but it’s not what he wants. He needs to be away from all this; distance himself from all of these people and responsibilities that feel so strange, so wrong. He wants you alone, somewhere else, where he doesn’t have to share and sneak and steal moments away with the constant threat of discovery nipping at his heels.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere. I just want to leave. I need to get away. Just for a few hours…”
“Okay,” you agree, burrowing your face against his shirt. “I’ll go with you.”
His arms tighten around your body.
Gifted fanart for The Dark of the Woods from Carrot_a
the murray girl | william afton x f!reader
chapter one
William Afton’s already set his sights on acquiring all that Edwin Murray owns: his impressive home, his expansive showroom and factory, and everything contained within.
Then he learns of your existence. You are the inventor’s younger sister, a recent college graduate slated to work under your brother’s tutelage. Now William sees an even better opportunity to secure what he covets, concocting a plan to seduce you and lay permanent claim to the legacy of the Murray family once and for all.
Explicit content, 2.4k words, new 7/10/25
ao3 link
The day William Afton meets you begins much like any other.
To the casual observer it might appear as if the man wearing the purple suit is unaware of his surroundings, his attention seemingly focused on the newspaper spread open before him hovering just over the booth’s table. His business partner and best friend is seated across from him, digging a fork into a stack of griddle crakes slathered in maple syrup. Not real maple syrup, of course; just that synthetic, sugary concoction that stands in for the genuine article.
He takes a small sip from the ceramic cup filled with black coffee tucked beneath the local headlines. He never eats breakfast; coffee and cigarettes typically comprise his morning repasts.
“What time are we leaving for Ed’s party tonight?”
“Five thirty,” the co-owner of Fazbear Entertainment mutters, his gaze still fixed on the newsprint.
Henry spears another portion of his meal and chews thoughtfully. “I guess it’s quite the invite list. He’s trying to promote his latte, you know…”
The gray eyed man grunts noncommittally. “Waste of time, those gimmicks of his. He should stick with what his father established. Robotics are the future, not some foul, over-caffeinated beverage,” he growls disapprovingly, finally turning a page and beginning his intense scan anew.
“I tried some. It’s not that bad.” He looks pointedly at the dark liquid his friend has been consuming. “Certainly not any worse than drinking that.”
“If you’re going to add a gallon of creamer and sugar, you might as well not even bother with the coffee part at all.” His eyes flick up to regard the bearded man’s features. “Anyone interesting attending this evening?”
Henry shrugs. “I’m not sure. Depends on what you mean by interesting.”
“I mean interesting in the business sense, of course. Potentially profitable. For Fazbear Entertainment,” he further clarifies with exaggerated patience.
“Dunno. But it sounded like he plans on really filling up the manor with a crowd.”
“A nice piece of property, that. He’s making poor use of it, though.” Finding nothing of interest on the pages open before him, he turns to the next section.
“How so?” Henry wipes his mouth with a paper napkin, then crumples it into a tight ball and sets it on his syrup glazed plate.
“It could serve other purposes,” William replies vaguely. “Don’t forget to ask about those springlock plans again. He’s taking far too long with them.”
“I think he’s just being thorough about their safety,” the fair haired man murmurs.
“Or he’s spending too much time on these other nonsensical endeavors. Sugary children’s cereal and talking mushroom dolls aren’t going to make anyone a fortune.”
As expected, his business partner is quick to defend their mutual acquaintance. At this point William begins to tune his companion out, draining a little more of the coffee from its mug while browsing the rest of the contents of the newspaper.
Suddenly his head lifts, one word filtering through all the rest during Henry’s speech. “What did you say?”
“I said I think production might slow a bit because Fiona is going to be busy with the new baby and she won’t have as much time to—”
“—Not that,” the other man interrupts quickly. “The other.”
Henry frowns. “I don’t remember. I was talking about Ed’s sister coming home from college, and…”
“Yes, that.” William folds the paper several times until it mostly resembles the tidy pile it had been pressed into inside the dispenser outside the diner then sets it aside, leaning forward slightly. “His sister. Tell me about her.”
“I don’t really know her that well. I’ve only met her a couple of times.”
“What was she studying in school?”
“Engineering. Same thing we did. Ed said she was going to intern at the factory over the summer.”
“Is she, now? Working under her older brother’s shadow,” he muses thoughtfully.
Henry’s brow furrows. “Why are you so interested in her?”
“She might be useful to us. Help us nudge our friend,” his mouth twists around this last word, as if tastes sour to him, “when he needs it. Maybe gather information. Someday she might even want to come work for us.”
“You want to use her as a spy? Poach the man’s own sister? Come on, Bill, that’s pretty low.”
“I think it’s actually quite clever.” He holds up a hand and the waitress delivers the check shortly after. “Imagine you’re fresh out of college again. You’re eager to prove yourself. But instead of getting to do that, you’re trapped in the family business with no real prospects of career mobility. Your sibling inherited the company, and with it, all of the rights. All of the potential. You’re just paid labor. Probably not very well paid, either.”
“He’s got a baby on the way,” Henry protests. “Of course he’s going to save money where he can. Anyway, I don’t think it’s anything like what you’re suggesting. It can be tough finding work after you graduate. I think she’s probably going to be grateful. Treat it as a stepping stone to something else once she’s got some practical, real-world experience.”
“If that’s the case, there’s no harm in making sure she steps towards Fazbear Entertainment, then, is there?” William doesn’t bother waiting for a reply, digging his wallet out of his pants pocket and selecting a crisp bill from within. He sets it down on top of the check, then moves the coffee mug to secure them both. “You can treat me next time,” he says cheerily, sliding from the booth. “See you tonight.” He claps the seated man on the shoulder and then heads towards the exit.
***
You’ve never been one for parties.
Social gatherings tend to make you nervous. You find yourself ducking into the kitchen frequently under the pretense of helping to serve the trays of canapés, but in truth it’s really just a convenient excuse to escape the suffocating press of bodies. You’ve never seen so many people in your childhood home before. It’s unnerving to say the least.
You’ve just finished returning an empty tray to the growing stack beside the sink when you notice the man in the purple suit hovering just inside the doorway.
He’s tall, well over six feet, with a thatch of dark hair slicked mostly into place and gray eyes the color of a storm cloud. Those orbs barely retain a focus on you, his concentration clearly diverted elsewhere, but then they abruptly return, a whiplash strike that freezes you in place.
“You’re Eddie’s sister,” he murmurs.
You nod. You can’t decide if his outfit is hideous or elegant. It’s such a vibrant shade, and the texture is shiny, like satin. His skin looks so pale beside it. Porcelain. Bloodless. Except for his lips. These are pink. Full. Twitching now, as if he is fighting a smile.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m afraid there’s been an accident. A collision with another guest,” he explains, brushing fingers against his lapel. You notice then the discoloration, a slight greasy darkening splotch. “Is there something I can borrow to clean this, dish soap or…?”
“Oh! Yes, I’m sure there is, hang on.” You grab a handful of napkins still sitting in their plastic shrink wrap, wetting a portion and applying a dollop of blue liquid. One hand slips beneath the material to brace it, your fingers rapidly discovering the heat the man is radiating as you begin to scrub at the area.
“How did you know who I am?”
“It’s an ill kept secret, I’m afraid. You’re a dead ringer for your brother, though I must say the looks in the family certainly deviated entirely in your favor,” he murmurs.
Your cheeks flush at the compliment, your hand suddenly halting when you realize you’re leaving behind shredded bits of dampened napkin, the stain marring the man’s garment now spread much wider. “I feel like I’m making this worse,” you apologize.
“It’s alright. It’s overdue for a trip to the dry cleaner’s anyway,” he replies nonchalantly.
You like the man’s voice. British accent. Mellow. Lush. You wonder how he’s found his way to Hurricane of all places. A small town still, even with the recent surge in the population. What could possibly have brought him to your brother’s home?
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.”
“Where are my manners? I should have introduced myself from the outset. My name is William Afton.”
You find yourself struggling to both maintain his gaze and free yourself from it. You’ve never seen eyes like that before; not their appearance, nor their intensity. “How do you know my brother?”
“My company has contracted him to manufacture some of our animatronic designs. My business partner and I have been friends with him for several years now. Time you spent away at college, I understand.”
You head dips slightly in acknowledgment. “Once again you’ve got me at a disadvantage. You seem to be well informed and I don’t know anything about you.”
He smiles, and you realize this is how the man counteracts that razor sharp gaze of his. You feel yourself succumbing to it, utterly charmed by this gesture. “That’s easily remedied. Shall we have a walk around the grounds? I wouldn’t mind getting some clear air and enjoying a bit of one-on-one conversation.”
“Okay,” you agree, crumpling the napkin into a tight ball and tossing it into the wastebin before you lead the partygoer from the room.
***
William hadn’t counted on you being so pretty.
That just makes his ploy all that much more enjoyable. He doesn’t even have to feign his attraction, keeping his voice low and smooth, his smile ever at the ready. It takes a bit to pry you free from the shell you've encased yourself in, but little by little he spies glimpses inside of it. You’re enthusiastic about your prospective career. Loyal to your family, and that presents a bit of a hiccup, but he’s not daunted by this challenge in the slightest. With time, he can erode this. It’s a gift of his, that silver tongue. He knows precisely what to say, and exactly at what moment to utter it. All that’s needed is a little patience mixed with his natural charisma and charm.
He slips his jacket around your bare shoulders when he sees you shiver at the evening’s gradual dip in temperature; instinctively finds the perfect elevation to survey the Murray estate by your side. He catches you looking at him as much as the grounds and offers another secret smile full of promises.
Who knows? He might even keep some of them.
“I would love to have this much space. You’d never find anything like this in the city,” he murmurs appreciatively, his head tipping back, nostrils flaring slightly to inhale the fragrant crush of grass and wildflowers beneath his feet, a rare verdant luxury in this typically arid climate. William doubts the inventor even knows what he truly possesses here. The warehouse is visible in the distance, a tall building standing guard over the flatlands below. Edwin had once mentioned the underground tunnel leading from home to work, another convenience he grudgingly appreciates.
“It is special,” you agree. “My grandparents chose this site specifically for the location, and the view.” You readjust the loaned jacket draped over your shoulders. “When I was little, I used to…” Your voice trails off.
“What? What were you about to say?” He gently prompts.
You shake your head. “It’s silly.”
This from the woman whose brother makes bad puns and designs goofy looking inventions, he muses wryly. “Please, indulge me.”
“Well, I was just remembering that I used to pretend this was my castle.”
“A princess waiting for her prince, then?” William smiles.
“I actually liked to pretend I was a knight going off into battle. I’d lie down and close my eyes and roll down the hill over there,” you point to an area just visible in the fading light, “which seemed as high as a mountain when I was younger. It scared me, but it excited me, too, tumbling down to the bottom.”
“Hmmm.” He begins walking and you scramble to keep up.
“Where are you going?”
“Want to give it a try.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Maybe a bit. Is this the spot?”
“Yes, I think so.” You watch as the tall figure sits on the ground. “You’re really going to do this?”
“Why not?”
“You’re going to get grass stains on your shirt for one thing,” you caution.
The man shrugs. “So I’ll add it to the pile to be dry cleaned. Are you going to join me?”
“You’re crazy,” you say again, but it sounds more affectionate this time.
“You’ve come this far. You might as well finish the journey.” He stretches up a hand and you take it, settling beside him, your long skirt riding up slightly. You shrug out of his jacket, carefully setting it aside.
“You’re really going to do this.”
“I really am.”
You give a startled little laugh, plucking at a few blades of grass. “Okay, I’ll do it with you,” you finally commit.
“Probably should scoot back a little so we don’t knock into each other.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I always did this alone, didn’t think…”
”Didn't Ed ever join you?”
You shake your head. “He liked playing inside. Tinkering with the leftover scraps from Dad’s work.”
“Ready?” He calls out once you’ve distanced yourself.
“I feel silly.”
“There’s no one here to judge you.”
“Except you.”
“It was my idea, remember?”
“I guess.”
“I’m lying down now.” He waits a moment after getting into position.
“Okay.”
“Eyes closed?”
“Yes.”
“On three. One. Two. Three!”
He hears the nervous little shriek as you both begin to roll down the hill, followed by a burst of giggling, sharing your mirth as he finally comes to a stop at the bottom.
“Alright, then?” He asks cheerfully, brushing at his clothing. He’s fairly certain his hair is quite mussed by now. Normally he’s careful about his appearance, but he’s willing to sacrifice it in favor of winning you over.
“Yes, I think so. It’s a bit bumpier than I remember,” you reply ruefully.
William chuckles as he pushes himself to his feet, then walks towards you and offers a hand. He tugs you upright easily, noticing you stagger a bit, palms splaying across his chest to steady yourself.
“Sorry, I’m a little dizzy.”
He traps one of your hands before you can finish regaining your balance. “Let me take you out some evening, hmmm? I’ll pick you up for dinner.”
“Okay,” you agree breathlessly.
Too easy.
contact | arnold/dispatch
chapter 3
Explicit content, 4.3k words, new 7/4/25
ao3 link
This might be the last shower Arnie ever takes.
The last time he brushes his teeth or combs his hair or shaves, he muses as he enters the bathroom. And he’s not even in his own home to do it. He’s inside the apartment of a man whose name he still doesn’t know; a man who is only too happy to send him to his death, not once, but twice.
And he’s been foolish enough to agree to go both times.
Normally the technician does a hasty job shaving before work; sometimes he even does it in the van on the way, using the mirror on the sun visor for guidance. Yeah, yeah, he knows that’s kind of dangerous. But he’s a good driver. He’s got a perfect driving record, as a matter of fact, because that van is the means to his livelihood. He really needs to clean it out soon, though. Those discarded food wrappers are starting to pile up.
Not that any of that is going to matter much when I’m six feet under, he thinks bitterly.
The shaving cream he’s been lent lathers nicely. Much nicer than that cheap stuff he sometimes splurges and buys at the local grocery store. It’s not technically in the necessity category, so he doesn’t always have it available. But this is nice, this brand Dispatch has. Just like the sturdy razor clutched in a hand that’s surprisingly steady for a man with a date with the gallows. Nothing but the best products money can buy, of course. He strokes appraisingly over his cheeks and jaw once he’s finished, studying his appearance in the mirrored medicine cabinet. Soft and smooth. Probably the best job of it he’s done in a long while. At least he’ll meet his doom looking halfway decent.
Arnie switches on the shower to allow the hot water to run, more out of habit than necessity, accustomed to the delay in his own living space, the water heater not as efficient. He finishes brushing his teeth, wondering if he should toss out the toothbrush or just leave it in the cup beside the dispatcher’s. Was it a bid for good luck, or just foolish optimism? He's still uncertain when he steps over the lip of the tub and draws the curtain closed, now standing under the spray of water while mulling over his fate, the bar of Old Spice soap already forgotten in his hand, oblivious to the scent of citrus fruits and cinnamon and cedar with a hint of vanilla perfuming the air.
He doesn’t notice the bathroom door open; doesn’t realize he’s no longer alone until the vinyl liner and cloth curtain are pulled back and the apartment’s owner steps behind him. Maybe the dispatcher had knocked before he’d entered the room, but he doubts it. He doesn’t need an invitation to a place he owns. It would be beneath him to ask anyway. Arnie is the one that begs.
“What are you doing in here, hmmm? Daydreaming?” Dispatch hums beside his ear as he easily pulls the soap from his nerveless clutches.
The technician remains silent, staring at the pistachio colored tiles lining the wall in front of him. There’s a chip in the grout along one of the seams. He wonders if the other man has ever noticed it.
He briefly considers sharing the morbid thoughts he’d been having. Wondering how Fazbear Entertainment will handle his final affairs. An ex wife and a child living in another state are the only family he can lay claim to, and neither wants anything to do with him. He’d initially put his former spouse down as an emergency contact just for the sake of filling out the job application thoroughly, then had erased it, knowing she’d never come back. Maybe he’ll lie in a potter’s field. No funeral service. No headstone.
And Dispatch will simply doom another candidate. Dozens, if necessary. Until the mission is finally completed.
“I found something for you to wear. Perhaps not as rugged as your work clothes, but they’ll suffice. Save time wasted filling out a requisition form, acquiring a new uniform…” He begins lathering Arnie’s shoulders, and the touch feels wrong somehow. It’s too gentle. Too considerate. He doesn’t want that right now. He wants to hold onto the anger and the fear, as sour tasting as they are.
“You giving me the silent treatment now? Is that it?” His fingertips drag lather across his spine—supple and smooth, not calloused like Arnie’s own blue collar hands—following the curves, over and under and over again, finally resting just above the swelling curve of his buttocks.
Arnie bites his tongue. He wants to turn around and yell at the man. How dare he be so calm? So languid, as if they have all the time in the world? Of course he doesn’t care; he’s not the one going back in there. He’ll be safe and cozy in the office while the technician is forced to navigate a treacherous building and confront that metal monster once again.
When his coworker’s fingers abruptly abandon his body it’s almost a relief, but the feeling doesn’t last long. Now there is cool liquid being applied to his scalp, an arm snaking around his waist to tug him backward, away from the direct pulsing needles of water, so that his hair can be lathered properly. As Dispatch begin working near the nape of his neck Arnie sucks in a sharp breath. Sensitive there. His body is responding even though he doesn’t want it to. Betraying him.
“Does that feel good?” Somehow the man manages to speak in a low, sultry tone, the competition of the noise of the shower negligible. He nudges his subordinate forward again, bidding him to keep his eyes closed, guiding the water over his tresses. He obeys, listening to the sound of the suds splatting against the floor of the shower. For someone that had implied there was a limited amount of time, the dispatcher certainly seems to be dallying, combing his fingers through Arnie’s thick strands over and over, letting his nails scrape his scalp. Something warm presses against the back of his neck now, insistent, sucking, the realization that it’s his new lover’s mouth making his gut flutter, his cock twitch.
He whimpers when the other man touches him there, stroking over the hardening flesh. He rests a hand against the tiles, his head bowing, pulling his neck out of reach. The cut on his arm is beginning to throb again, a dull beat that mirrors the rhythm set by his heart.
“Arnie…”
“No.” He clamps down on his superior’s wrist, jerking his hand away and twisting around to face him. The water spills over the other man’s cheeks and nose and lips, his lashes half lowered in damp clusters over eyes gone dark with desire, the pupils blown wide. He looks like some Adonis sculpted into a fountain, wet and handsome and perfect. Too perfect.
“No?” Dispatch’s mouth twitches, seemingly unperturbed by his guest’s reluctance, his hands now firmly cupping his face. Arnie struggles to remain unresponsive when his mouth is captured, but it’s a lost cause. He tastes the shower water, faintly chlorine saturated, and the lingering mint of mouthwash. Their tongues wrestle and the technician feels himself grow lightheaded. He would have staggered, crumpled if not for the man keeping him upright, bracing the side of his neck and supporting the curve of one hip. Lips press hungrily against the divot of his suprasternal notch, filling the hollow, following the branch of collar bone, licking at the droplets of water scattered there.
Arnie struggles to swallow past the fingers now squeezing the column of his throat, an ever tightening constriction, the rings of cartilage compressed, narrowing his airway. He thinks for a split second that this will be his end after all; that his superior is so eager for him to meet his demise that he’s seeking it early. Then the vise around his throat abruptly loosens and he gasps, sucking in as much water as air, the scalding heat of the dispatcher’s cock grinding firmly against his abdomen.
“Arnie.” The name drags across his skin, needy, making him painfully aroused. Flushed and aching, the technician pulls at the other man’s bottom lip with his teeth. He wants to devour him, as poisonous and corrupt as he is; swallow every flavor lurking in every precipice and valley. He wants his bitter taste to be the final one he carries with him back into that factory; the final one that lingers on his lips and tongue and is pressed onto his teeth and gums and palate before he breathes his last, the ultimate sacrifice made for this wicked creature.
He feels the arousal spilling from the crown of his cock, a thicker type of wetness than the water cascading over it. It makes fucking into the loose circle of fingers offered even easier. He huffs his pleasure against Dispatch’s shoulder, his nipples pebbling as they brush the other man’s.
“Turn around.” The instructions confuse Arnie but he complies, surprised to feel something creamy and cool and almost greasy being spread between his thighs. Conditioner, maybe? But why—
“Oh, fuck.” A cock slides between them, rubbing against his perineum and nudging his balls.
“Put your legs together a little more. Yes, like that,” he croons into his ear. The sensation intensifies as he begins to have his thighs properly fucked from behind, the wet slap of skin punctuating their collective gasps and moans. It feels amazing; Arnie hasn’t done much in the way of stimulating anything aside from his cock and occasionally his scrotum. He doesn’t think he can cum from this, but judging from the hoarse rasping from his partner, the other man certainly is going to.
Once again the technician braces himself against the shower wall, the harsh, rapid thrusts jostling his body, making his hands squeak against the tiles.
“Arnie. Cum with me.”
He lets a hand drop, his fingers curling over his throbbing cock, trying to match the other man’s rhythm. There’s a roaring sound in his ears that might be his own pulse, like a freight train barreling forward over the rails. Fingers dig more firmly into his hips. His own grind back to meet the dispatcher’s, then thrust forward, guiding his cock through the narrow circle of his fist. Back and forth, until he feels the man behind him stop and stiffen and shudder, the sight of that splatter of cum making his own spew forth.
He braces his forearm against the wall, using it to cradle his forehead while he recovers. Dispatch kisses the back of his neck as he slides free from the tight clutch between his legs, now slipping an arm around his chest to hold him. It feels deceptively tender again; affectionate when it shouldn’t be, but he’ll allow it this time. One last little bit of comfort to enjoy.
All too soon it ends, his partner releasing him and Arnie moans in disappointment, confused until he realizes that the other man’s blindly reaching for the lever to shut the water off. He succeeds, swiping now at the shower curtain and liner, opening a pathway for them. It’s the fastest he’s ever toweled off, after exiting that tub; in truth, he’s still fairly damp, but at that moment he’s not overly concerned about a lecture that might ensue regarding dripping all over the sparkling linoleum or tidy shag carpeting. He watches his guide open the door to the adjoining bedroom, noting the bed linens still haven’t been changed, the ruby stains already faded to rust now that his blood has dried. The injury on his arm has stopped bleeding again, the discomfort lessened now that it’s no longer under the stinging spray of water.
“Come here, Arnie.”
He obeys, like he always does when instructed by the dispatcher, moving forward until he reaches the other man.
“Your outfit’s on the dresser. I need to strip the bed. I have leftovers in the fridge if you want them before we leave.”
The technician reaches for the undershirt and briefs folded neatly on top of the pile. “So that’s it, then,” he says softly, stroking a thumb over the fabric. Always the finest things money can buy, like the hygiene products and towels in the bathroom, earned from the labor of poor wretches like himself.
“What?”
“How do you do it?” He shakes his head, unfolding the shirt and shaking it open before pulling it over his head. “How do you sleep at night, knowing you’re condemning innocent lives?”
The dispatcher sighs. An annoyed sound. “We’ve discussed this already. Do I really need to repeat it?”
“Nope. I got the message the first time. You want me to risk my neck so you can buy more of your fancy conditioner and your whatever thread count sheets. I copy that loud and clear.”
“You make it sound as if I’m enjoying seeing our coworkers perish. As if that’s the ultimate goal. Things would be a lot simpler if your predecessors had succeeded. The company would have been spared a lot of resources and time wouldn’t have been wasted.” The other man begins pulling the pillows and comforter off of the bed, piling them on the floor beside it.
“Yet somehow you still manage to enjoy the benefits you reap from it, so it’s really all the same, isn’t it?” He steps into the boxer briefs next, wondering for a moment what he would’ve done if they weren’t roughly the same build. Probably made him wear his clothing anyway, most likely.
“Working to earn money is what motivates every employee, no matter what the job is. It’s what drives the economy and allows civilization to flourish.”
“I know that.” Arnie scowls. “I just wish…”
“What?” The elastic of the fitted sheet snaps as it’s lifted over one corner of the mattress, the man pausing to regard the technician.
“Just wished you cared a little more, is all. About the people you send on these missions,” he adds gruffly, thumbing the front of the long sleeve shirt closed.
“About you,” Dispatch clarifies.
“Not what I said,” the partially dressed man mutters, already regretting his words. He doesn’t need a reprimand or a lecture. He knows what this is and what it isn’t. It doesn’t matter what he wants. What he secretly aches for.
“I told you I was glad you made it out okay.”
“Yeah.”
“I meant that.”
Arnie shrugs, zipping the fly of his loaned pants. “Hard to tell when you’re talking to someone who openly admits they lie.”
“What is it you want from me, Arnie?”
“Nothing. Not a God damn thing.” He jerks on the leather strap of the belt, securing the buckle before threading it through the belt loops, the process interrupted when Dispatch suddenly drops the sheet and moves closer, wrapping his arms around him.
Arnie stiffens in surprise. He has to struggle to free his arms from the embrace of the other man, cautiously returning the gesture. “Why?” He whispers.
“You still don’t get it, do you? You think I’ve ever brought anyone else from work into my home? Into my bed?”
“I don’t…”
“I wanted you, Arnie. I want you,” he corrects gruffly against his cheek.
Something tightens painfully in the technician’s chest. Too much. It’s too close to what he craves.
“You don’t have to lie,” he admonishes. “I already agreed to go back.”
“I’m not lying.” He combs through Arnie’s damp tresses, drawing back to study his features.
“Oh…” He exhales a shuddering breath, his grip on the other man tightening. You’re killing me, he thinks. Killing me with kindness before you lead me back to the slaughterhouse. And it makes everything so much worse…
“We should get going,” Dispatch finally murmurs, releasing him and stepping back.
“Yeah, okay.” Arnie nods, watching as the other man stuffs the ball of sheets into a laundry hamper, then begins selecting clothes from his closet and dresser drawers. He rubs a hand against his recently shaven jaw, realizing he might’ve nicked himself in a couple of places after all. Hardly the worst of the injuries he’s likely to sustain, he thinks, following the apartment owner into the kitchen. He eats what’s set before him more out of necessity than appetite, his stomach more and more uneasy as the time to depart draws closer.
He sets his soiled dishes in the sink as directed, then steps into his work boots, dropping to one knee to lace them up properly. Dispatch sits on the couch to slide his Oxfords on, frowning over a scuff mark on the toe of one shoe before unfolding his legs and rising to his feet.
“Ready to leave?”
He’s not. He never will be. But he nods anyway.
***
They ride back to Fazbear Entertainment in silence.
Instead of parking closer to the entrance, the driver pulls into a vacant spot beside Arnie’s van. He withdraws the keys from the ignition, keeping them tucked into his fist as the pair continue to sit without speaking, the only sound the ticks as the engine block cools off.
Finally the dispatcher clears his throat. “Nervous, Arnie?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never led you astray before, have I?” The cheerfulness sounds forced.
“You know all bets are off once I set foot inside that building. That thing will be imitating you again. If it even decides to talk to me at all. It may just kill me as soon as I—”
“—No, it won’t,” the other man interrupts harshly.
“It killed those other men,” he reminds him. “We’re not trained for this. We’re technicians, not soldiers. We didn’t sign up for this. I didn’t sign up for this,” he adds softly. “When I don’t come back—”
“—You will,” Dispatch interrupts again, his voice a low growl.
“Will you immediately send another unsuspecting soul? Will you at least warn them first? Or will you just keep sending them…”
The dispatcher squirms in his seat. “Arnie, I told you, it’s not me making these decisions.”
“Will you?”
“Will I what?” He massages the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Will I follow my superior’s commands? Yes. Just like you need to obey yours.”
“Alright. I’m going.” Arnie begins reaching for the door handle, then hesitates. “What’s your name?”
His coworker blinks, looking surprised by this query. “If I tell you, you can’t use it over the radio,” he cautions.
“I won’t,” he promises.
“It’s Andrew.”
“Andrew,” he repeats, trying the sound of the name out loud. Yes, that suits him. He wonders if he goes by Andy or Drew; what one has to do to earn the privilege of addressing him so informally; what it would be like to gasp any version of it out during moments of intimacy. He’ll never know, will he? He should have asked sooner. Now it’s too late.
“Arnie, wait.” A hand curls around his sleeve, halting his progress again. “Good luck.” He sees the man’s throat working. Maybe it’s not what he really wanted to say. Maybe the real words are still trapped inside, piling up, waiting for a release that will never come.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He attempts to push the door open but the other man’s voice stops him yet again.
“Come back safe to me.”
Or perhaps those words have found their release after all. A lump is forming in Arnie’s throat as well, but he merely nods, hurriedly exiting the car.
The dispatcher’s gaze avoids his as he locks his sedan’s door. He begins walking towards the building with brisk strides. Arnie watches his departure, his hand resting on the handle of the van’s door. He thinks he hears a soft sound at one point, a little sorrowful groan that is distorted by the space of the parking garage, but he can’t be certain. Then Andrew vanishes from view and Arnie’s greeted with a creak of hinges as he pulls the door open and hoists himself behind the wheel, the Spring Bonnie bobble head jiggling a welcome. He’s immediately assaulted by the scent of garlic from the empty pizza box on the passenger seat beside him.
Seriously, if he somehow manages to survive this, he has to clean out this vehicle.
***
“Why did you come back here?”
The voice echoes in the showroom as soon as Arnie enters. Dispatch’s voice; or rather, the thing pretending to be him.
“You don’t have to bother with the charade anymore. I know you’re not him.”
Silence. He steps off the circular platform decorated with the image of a smiling sun, regarding the first security door tucked into a recess beside an octopus animatronic. He no longer has the Data Diver to grant him access, which means he’ll have to pry it open manually. If it’s even possible. If that entity will let him.
“Why did you come back here?” It’s still imitating Andrew’s voice. Funny, it doesn’t seem quite as convincing as it once did. Maybe because he’s just spent so much time talking with the dispatcher in person. The illusion can’t compare to the reality.
Arnie sighs resignedly. “I have a job to finish.”
“You finished it. I released you.”
“Yes, you did. But you deceived me. You stole the Data Diver that had the endo schematics downloaded onto it. I need those back.”
“I didn’t steal them. You can’t steal what already belongs to you.”
“They’re not yours.”
“They’re not yours, either.” He doesn’t know why he’s arguing with artificial intelligence. He’s honestly a little surprised nothing’s tried to attack him yet. “I’m not interested in anything else here. I just need to retrieve those things for Fazbear Entertainment, and then I’ll leave. For good.”
“I can’t allow you to leave with them.”
“Why not? What use are they to you?” He’s managed to remove the outer casing for the door control, but there’s another shield underneath.
A lengthy pause. “I need them for repairs.”
“Repairs?” Arnie rests his arm a moment, frowning. It’s beginning to throb again. He hopes it won’t start bleeding. He should have let Dispatch put another dressing on it. “What kind of repairs?”
“The M2 is…faulty.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your confusion isn’t surprising. You didn’t read all of the logs nor listen to all of the audio recordings.”
“A little busy trying to keep my head attached to my shoulders,” he mutters, sighing when he sees there’s yet a third barrier to his goal once the shield is removed.
“I am what came before: the first prototype, M1, my consciousness now stored in a super computer. It is M2 that attacked you. It has…adapted according to the violence it endured. But I can repair it. You can help me,” the disembodied voice remarks, sounding thoughtful.
“Why would I want to do that?” He asks warily, straightening after rummaging for a different tool in the case.
“Then the M2 would no longer pose a threat. I would surrender the Data Diver back to you, then.”
“And the schematics.”
“And the schematics,” the dispatcher’s cloned voice smoothly agrees.
“If you’re just a computer, why do you care what the M2 does?”
“Because I wasn’t always a computer. I was a wife, and a mother.” The voice evolves from the familiar mellow purr of Andrew’s to a woman’s, surprisingly warm and gentle. “And M2 was once my son. Are you a parent, Arnie?”
“Yeah.” He scuffs the toe of his work boot against the floor. “I don’t get to see my kid. My ex wife…” His voice trails off.
“So you understand, then. What it means to have a child. And to lose one.”
“Yes,” he agrees, feeling a wave of guilt and regret wash over him. The child had been a mistake; the result of a one night stand that he’d tried to make up for by marrying the girl. But they were never right for each other, and their differences were only the beginning of what had become a bitter relationship. He worked too much. He was too tired when he was home. He wasn’t present enough. He’d known his wife was right; just like it was right to get a divorce. He should have fought a little harder to see his kid, though. He just didn’t know how to balance those needs with the demands of work. How does anyone do it? Some people don’t even have the luxury of a partner and still manage to make it work.
He still thinks sometimes he should have tried a little harder, instead of just signing away his custody rights. Even if a complete separation was ultimately in everyone’s best interests. It was, wasn’t it? He has to believe it was.
“Will you help me, Arnie? Help me save my son?”
He sets the pliers down, sighing. He’s not entirely sure he trusts this computer since it’s already deceived him before, but it also let him escape, making him think it might not intend to harm him after all. Any ally might be better than none at all.
He toys briefly with the idea of scooping up the Data Diver and booking it for the exit, but he’s fairly certain the AI won’t be so benevolent once it realizes he’s double crossing it. He’s going to have to go along with the computer’s wishes if he wants any chance of getting out of here again.
“Alright. I’ll give it a shot.”
“Door’s open,” the voice chimes pleasantly. Now that he thinks about it, he has heard this voice before—Mrs. Helpful, the little bear animatronic that had assisted him with various tasks throughout the facility. “Head to the security office.”
Arnie straightens, watching the door slide open, granting him access. He inhales deeply, then steps forward.
