ynisreal

[ynisreal]

wires (9) - michael afton x reader

summary: Ennard visits you. Michael meets Elizabeth. tw: Michael has a gun?

The wind whistled in your helmet, the sound being the result of the clash between the heavy material and the cold night breezes. Michael's broad torso protected your body from the cold air mass on the way to your house, only your helmet-wrapped head was resting against the man's shoulder. You were both in a comfortable silence, which showed how tired you both were from the hard work you had to put in at the establishment. Tomorrow, your day shift promised the same amount of activity, given that many of the tasks had not been completed, such as cleaning the bathroom and disposing of all the garbage that had accumulated during the days of the investigation.

"We're almost there," Michael announces softly, but with an elevated tone, given the sound of the engine and the wind cutting through his voice. You tighten your arms around his waist as a sign of understanding. Without a verbal response from you, Michael asks: "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, just a bit tired," you reply, bringing your helmet close to Michael's helmet to make sure he hears. Michael would immediately stop the bike if he didn't hear your answer to his question, with the intention of checking on your well-being. However, the bike didn't stop and Michael nodded positively, signaling that he had heard.

When you arrive in your neighborhood, Michael slows down the motorcycle and soon your house comes into view at the side of your field of vision. The man turns off the bike and straightens his posture to look at you through the tinted window of his helmet. "We're here, doll," Michael announces, offering you his hand to help you down from the padded seat. You accept the man's help.

"Thank you, Michael," you say, "not just for the ride, but for all your help during the day. I can't thank you enough". Your words are sincere, but Michael can't take them seriously with the scene in front of him. Your voice coming out shaky because of the effort you were making to take off your helmet, your hair all messed up and the skin on your chin red from the force you were exerting. "It's okay, let me help you one more time," the man replied, his laughter slightly muffled by the heavy material of his helmet.

Michael carefully undoes your helmet, grasping the material with both hands and pulling it upwards, unlike what you had tried. When you're finally free, his hands quickly remove the hair in your mouth and fix the strands that were stuck to your forehead. "I'm serious," you continue, "I'm genuinely grateful for everything you've done and continue to do for me," your hands find Michael's shoulders, feeling the cold leather in your fingers.

Michael's helmet tilts a little, and he says: "And I'm answering, it's okay, I like spending time with you."

"And all the people around me have died so I can't let that happen to you too," the man adds mentally. He knows it's true, that the reason Michael is always going out of his way to look after your well-being comes from love, but it also comes from fear. You had met Michael at one of the most confusing and difficult times in the man's life, when he was literally dead and imprisoned in the establishment he had been killed in. You were and still are the only reason Michael is grateful that his soul didn't depart. That his soul let Michael live these moments with you.

You smile, oblivious to the thoughts running through Michael's mind. "I like spending time with you too," you reply shyly, still getting used to the idea of expressing your passion for the man out loud, something Michael seemed to be doing with ease. Your hands find Michael's shoulders, and you drop a kiss on the dark glass of the man's helmet. A gentle and small gesture, but given the circumstances of your situation, in which Michael wants to keep his appearance a secret and the physical contact you both allow yourselves to have can only happen with the removal of your vision. That's what you could do at the moment.

"Don't you want to close your eyes again?" Michael asks, his voice full of tenderness, once again tilting his head to beg for your touch. You laugh, "Michael, no more taking my sight away for today," your answer is firm, but your tone laced with happiness, "Go home, I'll see you tomorrow."

Michael's hands, now hidden by his leather gloves, circle your waist, squeezing lightly. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow then," he says, and it's a strange feeling: you can't see Michael's face, but from the tone of his voice, you can recognize when he's smiling. You smile back, "See you tomorrow, Michael".

The engine of Michael's motorcycle makes a loud noise as soon as you close the door to your house, indicating the man's departure. A sigh leaves your lips, one you didn't even know you were holding in. Michael has been good company for you today, allowing you to feel safe and comfortable during your shift. But your body is recognizing the stress you went through today, your body still recognizes the place where you could have been in danger. That's why, as soon as you get home, your limbs scream exhaustion, but you ignore it and call out:

"Cassie! I'm home!" you announce, knowing that she was already home at that time. Your sister confirms your hypothesis when she comes running to greet you. She was still in her uniform, and the neighbor who looked after her while you were at work was walking slowly beside the little girl.

You thank her once again for the care she took of Cassie, just as you did every day you came home from work. "It's okay, I admit I missed the little one," she smiles and you smile back, opening the door for your neighbor to go back to her house. You don't know if your neighbor is aware of the situation you've been through, but even if she was, the old woman never mentioned or asked you about it, which was good, it would avoid future discomfort of having to recount the events that happened that night.

"Cassie, go and have a shower before dinner," you say as soon as you close the door. Cassie nods positively and does as you ask. As you hear the shower turn on, you start to prepare the table and the food you're going to serve. Returning to the establishment had its difficulties, but perhaps establishing a routine like today's would help you get back on track. Cassie didn't deserve a neglectful sister, or a dysfunctional sister, Cassie needed security and protection. You had to provide that for her, just as Michael had commented.

Cassie gets out of the bath after a few minutes, dressed in her pyjamas and rushes to the dining table, where you are waiting for her. The two of you start eating, and a light conversation starts up between you, Cassie telling you about her day at school and the gossip she had told her friends. This moment brings you a sense of normality, of routine, of stability, something you knew you both needed. You suffered, but Cassie suffered too, even though she didn't have all the information about what had happened. She deserves a childhood, and you're reminded of that right now. You didn't have the chance to be a child, but Cassie would, you would give it to her.

After washing the dishes and tidying up the kitchen, you put the little girl to bed, stroking her hair that was sprawled on the pillow. The light in her room was low, the open window bringing the light from the street and a comforting breeze into the room. Cassie was afraid of the dark, so she insisted on leaving the window open, the sound of outside the house making her feel safer and less alone in the small room. You were reading one of the books the school recommended for home reading while your fingers stroked the locks of your sister's hair.

"Why did you close the window?" Cassie asks, interrupting your reading. You were so tired that your own eyes couldn't do anything but read the big colorful words in the children's book.

"Cass, I didn't close it, try to sleep," you reply, closing your eyes, resting your sight a little.

"Then why is it so dark?" Cassie asks, her voice in an irritated tone, as if she's catching you in a lie. You sigh loudly and open your eyes, finally shifting your vision from the book.

It was dark. Well, not that dark, but for Cassie's taste, the child whom you've put to sleep all these years, you knew that this kind of darkness wasn't comfortable for her. Your head immediately turns to the window, expecting to find the curtains closed. But they were open. What was darkening the room was not the curtains, but the tall, broad figure who was preventing the light from outside from entering the room.

Your eyes widen.

Someone or something is staring at you through the window.

"I'm home, Henry," Michael announced when he arrived at Henry's residence. He knows that the man should be at home answering calls from lawyers and dealing with the crisis that had erupted once again at Fazbear Entertainment. Henry had seen and resolved some of these crises before, but every one, no matter how many times, always left the older man stressed. After all, it was dead bodies that were being mentioned and the company's management seemed to deal with it as if it were a minor causality, the marketing team trying to cover it up and the team of lawyers going to court to clear the corporation's name once again.

"How is she?" was the first question Henry asked when he saw Michael. "I think she's coping better than I did back then," the younger man replied, sighing and taking off his helmet as he made sure the door to the residence was closed. "Well, give yourself some credit, you were younger than her when everything happened," Henry reminds him, looking away from the various papers on the table to look at Michael.

"Yeah, I know," Michael sighs again, dropping his heavy jacket on the sofa and stretching his arms, limbs tired after driving the motorcycle. "Anyway, I believe she's going to be fine, I'll make sure of it everyday," he continues, "Any news from Ennard?"

"Not yet," Henry replies, "The company secretary called me today, but with the chaos in the legal team, I'm dealing with a lot of people at the same time," the older man rubs his eyes tiredly, "I need to get back to her tomorrow morning."

Michael nods positively, "I don't even want to think about what that son of a bitch is doing," the younger man growls, "Elizabeth did the right thing in getting rid of that piece of garbage."

"Mike," Henry calls out, "When we do confront Ennard, try to remember that they're just kids. They've committed crimes, yes, but they're just wronged children, seized by a violent energy."

Michael doesn't answer. He knows it, but just like any other human, Michael feels anger. He knows that everything leads back to his father, and that at the end of the day, everything is his fault. But how do you keep that thought when you're literally being cut open alive? How do you think they're just children when you have to walk around every day hiding because you're dead? He can't remember that as he looks at the same scar on his torso every night.

The younger man gives no answer and goes off to get ready for bed. Well, he wasn't going to sleep, but a routine kept him sane. Michael would clean himself, redo some surgical stitches on his skin and face, read and watch television. In the dark hours of the night, Michael would make rounds through streets that he and Henry had pre-selected. These contained streets with small abandoned properties, little traffic and almost no police surveillance. Michael was looking for Ennard.

Today was the same repetition of tasks and when Henry went to bed, Michael had already left the house to do his patrol. Michael left his motorcycle parked at the beginning of the street and started walking. He had his mask on, but no hood, as there was no movement of people in the area. Even though the goal of this patrol was to find Ennard, he liked feeling the cool breeze on his face, not being in the shadows and being able to see something other than Henry's house or the establishment where he worked.

A few minutes into his walk, however, he heard a noise. The noise came from a dark alley next to a small business. Michael knew Ennard well enough to understand the animatronic's behavior patterns, so he didn't call out to the noise, just grabbed the gun he had hidden from Henry and started walking silently towards the source of the noise.

Michael had already formulated an entire plan of action in his head in a matter of seconds, given that, on the dark nights back at the establishment, all he could think about was revenge. It wasn't difficult for Michael to let anger take control of his dead body, a feeling that had controlled his life for many years. But it was all for nothing when he heard:

"Mike?", a sweet, childish voice sounded from the dark alley.

The man froze. His hand quickly left the gun in his pocket and pressed down on his heart, which was no longer beating. An act that demonstrated the physical pain Michael felt when he heard that voice, all the feelings like regret, longing, welcome and sadness almost piercing Michael's stomach once again.

"Liz?" Michael doesn't cry, because he has no way of producing tears.

Michael starts to quicken his steps to meet his sister in the alley, but the voice stops him immediately.

"Don't come any closer," Elizabeth warns, but her tone isn't coarse or direct, the sweet voice always present, "I don't want to hurt you again."

"No, no, you won't, I know that," Michael replies desperately, not wanting to be away from the sister he misses so much, "Please Liz, Henry and I are worried about you, I can't stand not knowing how you are or where you are, please-"

"Your eyes have changed," Elizabeth notes, "You used to have the same eyes as Dad, but now they're black," she says sadly.

"Good, I don't want anything from that son of a bitch," Michael growls, crossing his arms, but soon regrets it, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to swear in front of you."

"I'm used to it," Elizabeth recalls. Michael was not a calm type of teenager, even before all the murders, always being impulsive in his words and actions. The animatronic sighs, making a metallic sound of wires whipping around. "I don't want you to look for me anymore."

"What?" Michael realizes the angry tone in her voice, but he doesn't have time to calm down before he is interrupted by his sister: "Michael, listen to me, Ennard is looking for a new skin to hide in."

"Yes, I know," the man replied, rubbing his forehead nervously. "But, Liz, what do you mean you don't want me-"

"He's still hiding in the store," Elizabeth ignores Michael's question, interrupting him once again.

"What?" Michael asks, genuinely confused. He had made sure Ennard wasn't there when he checked the establishment.

"Ennard doesn't know about Remnant yet, so he's looking for victims near the establishment, like the company employee and the daytime security guard-," Elizabeth explains Ennard's plan to Michael, but as soon as she vocalizes the last word, the sound of footsteps rapidly colliding with concrete is heard.

"Mike?" Elizabeth called out. No answer.

Michael had run off as soon as he heard that Ennard was after you. He didn't want to leave early, the long-awaited reunion with his sister being reduced to mere minutes as soon as she mentioned you. Michael promised you that he would protect you, and when he realized that you could be one of Ennard's first targets, Michael never felt more alive. Not in a positive way, but all the physical reactions of fear and despair were echoed in his body, even if no organs worked anymore.

The man ran down the empty street until he reached his motorcycle, on which he quickly started and accelerated the engine, creating a mass of air that blew away all the leaves and small animals, easily waking up all the people who were sleeping a block away.

Michael had read a lot about the physiological fight-or-flight reaction in the medical books he was consuming. As the body raises its heart rate, the pupils dilate and the blood flow to the muscles increases, so it gives the individual a flushed expression. Michael understood that this is the body's preparation to fight or flee, in order to save its own life. The man recognizes that, in all the years since his father's murders, he had experienced this set of symptoms described in the books. Michael always chose to fight, even in situations where there was no dangerous or life-threatening stimulus, but because his body had experienced countless situations of acute stress, Michael always triggered this same set of symptoms.

But Michael has never wanted to fight as much as he does now.

The engine of his motorcycle is making a loud noise as he drives down his street, but Michael doesn't care about the noise, wanting to get to your house as quickly as possible. The man can't feel anything at the moment, only the instinct to fight to protect, not his life, which had already been lost, but yours. Michael spots your house with wide eyes and speeds up even more, even if it wasn't possible. He lets go of the bike's pedals and drops the bike while it's still in motion, making a loud noise as the concrete scratches the metal of the bike. Because of the impact, Michael loses his balance and falls along with the bike, tearing the clothes he was wearing, but he quickly gets up and runs out the door.

"Y/n!" you hear as soon as your eyes meet the figure in your window. However, the moment you and your sister look away from the shadow that was staring at the two of you, the sound of the window breaking causes your sister to scream in fright.

The scream is heard by Michael, who is anxiously knocking on your door. In an act of desperation, he raises his leg and starts kicking the door in the hope that it will fall down or form a hole so that he can break in and get you both out.

Your heart races, and unlike Michael, who constantly used his physiological symptoms to fight, you run away. Your arms grab the figure of your sister, who was lying on your shoulder, hugging her to your torso and you start to run, managing to catch the dark, tall figure coming through Cassie's bedroom window on the side of your vision.

"Michael!" you shout in response, your voice breathless from the adrenaline rushing through your muscles. Your footsteps are like feathers on the ground, quickly touching and levitating off the wooden floor in desperation. On hearing your call, Michael takes a few steps back and begins to slam his body hard into the door, hearing some of the bones in his arm break with the force he was hitting them with. After repeating this movement for a few seconds, the door finally falls, exposing you carrying your sister as you run across the living room, Ennard's heavy footsteps echoing down the corridors.

"Y/n!", Michael calls out to you and your body seems to react to the sound of his voice, releasing more adrenaline to flow through your veins. Your feet gain more strength and you speed up your run to reach Michael.

Your body collides with his, your arm protecting your sister's back and head from the rough contact your figure had with Michael. The man doesn't think twice about taking your sister from your lap to hug her around his torso, then taking your hand to start practically dragging you down the street, the rhythm of the footsteps of the two of you rapid and accelerated. Michael didn't mind leaving his own motorcycle on the street, as there was no way he could fit the three of you on it. So he decided to run with the two of you through the dark, empty streets of your neighborhood, looking for any opportunity to hide and check that the both of you were okay. Michael feels Cassie's arms tighten around his shoulders and your hand tremble in his.

You still didn't have time to think about what had happened: who was that figure? Why was Michael here? If Michael knew, why didn't he call the police? Was Cassie going to be safe? Would you be safe?

All these questions are silenced by Michael's hand in yours as he pulls you through the neighborhood, his steps as desperate as yours. Your sister had accepted the stranger's lap, hiding her face in Michael's neck.

You knew one thing for sure: you trusted Michael.

[ynisreal]

wires (8) - michael afton x reader

author´s note: helloooo tumblr! so, i've already uploaded these two chapters to ao3, because my main fan work consumption is on the site… sorry for the delay in posting them here :P summary: Michael tells you part of the truth. You and Michael clean up the establishment. Where is Ennard?

"You know what his goal is, right?" Henry's voice echoes in Michael's memories. Of course he knows, that same goal was hinging and hammering on Michael's memories all the way to your house. "Ennard must be looking for a new body to camouflage himself with again," Henry reminds the younger man of each metallic limb entering his stomach and wearing his skin like a coat. Michael wasn't going to forget the animatronic's purpose, having experienced first-hand what the big robot intended to do.

"I know, but he won't be able to find one so quickly. The person he chooses has to be injected by Remnant through the scooper before he dies or, anyway - during, as happened to me," Michael's answer to Henry's question pops into his memory, reminding him of the seriousness of the situation they were in, "I don't think Ennard knows about this, so until he finds out, there will be other bodies just like Noah's, failed attempts to find a puppet for this piece of shit."

That's Michael's fear. It's the same fear that makes him hold on a little tighter to the hands that are intertwined on his torso. You notice the change in his grip, finally understanding that you weren't the only one afraid of going back to the establishment. All along the way, Michael has been giving you these little indications that he was also afraid of what had happened, even though he didn't want to show it to you. The sudden grip on your hands, the slightly controlled breathing and the tension in the broad shoulders of the man in front of you. When there was a red light and Michael's motorcycle stopped, the man's hands brushed against your thigh, his anxious fingers tapping out a frantic rhythm on your skin. Honestly, you feel a little guilty for not comforting him, but you know how serious Michael is about his secrets and what he decides to share, so you don't want to force an opening and end up fighting with him again. You don't have the strength to get into a fight about who yells the loudest with Michael right now, with the vivid images of Noah's organs racing through your head.

"Thank you for coming to pick me up," you thank him, trying once again to distract yourself and Michael from the fear you were both feeling on your way back to the establishment. "Sure, I promised I'd help you carry the weight on your back, and I'm going to do just that," Michael replies, in a slightly happier tone than his demeanor showed. He was trying to reassure you and show confidence, which you could appreciate in him.

You smile under the large helmet that surrounds your face, "Is this the extra helmet you use when you offer girls a ride?" you joke, trying once again to ease the tension in his shoulders. However, this seems to have the opposite effect when you feel his shoulders tense up once again, perhaps even a little more. This makes you open your mouth in shock, "Wow, here I was just joking, and little did I know that I was another one of your victims," you imitate an angry tone, wanting to hear what Michael's response would be.

"Calm down, it was only two," Michael replies quickly, turning his helmeted head slightly in your direction, keeping his eyes on the road. "Apart from you, of course," the last comment being added in an obviously teasing tone, the man clearly amused by the little jealous tantrum you were throwing. "Hm, I see, should I assume that they also worked with you? Or that you also wrote them notes?" you add, continuing to dramatize the situation, amused by the lightness in which you and Michael were chatting, which completes its task in distracting both of you from the fear hanging over both your minds.

"No, that was just you," Michael says seriously, which surprises you a little, given the joking tone the subject was taking.

It's true. You feel it almost immediately.

"I didn't used to get too involved with the people I had sex with or talked to, that only started with you," Michael adds, not really caring what his words meant or what they suggested.

True. Again.

Your cheeks immediately blush. Shit, how Michael had the ability to dominate your thoughts and make the problems surrounding your head seem like ants next to his magnitude. "Well, what's in the past doesn't matter, I'm glad you've changed. You're the kind of person that everyone would love to meet," you replied awkwardly, not knowing how to react to Michael's sudden confession, letting the first words that came into your mind take over your facial muscles and spill out of your mouth.

Michael doesn't answer. After all, that clumsy little reply of yours brought a light into Michael's mind. He had changed, after meeting you, after so many months locked in the silence and darkness of the establishment, after dying and having to drag his own corpse out of a dark alley, Michael had changed. And this change was a good one, of course he still had certain reactions or behaviors that were already automatic in his brain, but even unconsciously, he had opened up to you, he wanted that opening. Michael was willing to open all his scars for you to look inside, through all the blood and pain.

"We're here," Michael says, seeing such the familiar establishment lurking on the sidewalk. You raise your head to look through the tinted window of the helmet, feeling your stomach rise in your throat and threaten to come out of your mouth. Days passed, Noah's case was still open, analyzing suspects, the sun still rose and fell the same way as before, but your fear was still there. Michael's company made you feel safer, knowing that neither you nor he would ever walk those same corridors alone, but it was inevitable that you would create various scenarios in your head about how the two of you would end up dead in the same way as Noah.

Michael noticed your hesitation, so he squeezed your hand that was still wrapped around his torso, signaling that he would be entering with you. He would help you carry the tiring weight of fear, even if his hands were growing calluses from having carried the same fear alone for several years.

The engine noise ceases and you look around the parking lot, unaccustomed to the scenery belonging to the establishment. You remove your helmet awkwardly, wrinkling your nose as you feel some of your hair being pulled along with the material. Your eyes meet the dark glass of Michael's helmet, and you wait a few seconds, a little confused by your companion's delay, when it finally hits you.

"Do you want me to go in first?" you ask, your voice soft and your head tilting slightly in sympathy. Michael's gentle laugh makes itself known and he lifts his hand to stroke your cheek.

"No need, just wait for me at the exit to the parking lot," he replies, knowing that you would feel uncomfortable entering the establishment alone, but you still wanted to make him comfortable. Michael still had no plans to show his face to you, that hadn't changed, so he appreciated your respect for his secret.

You nod and give him a small kiss on the hand that was hidden in a glove, which you assumed was part of the bike's equipment. Your footsteps echoed through the establishment as you walked up to the large red door that marked "Exit" in black letters. Michael waited until the footsteps were far enough for him to take off his helmet, wrinkling his nose when he felt bits of skin from his face getting stuck in the material. Shit, he would have to buy a wider helmet to avoid the cracks that were forming in his face, leading to some black patches from the necrotic muscles. He picks up the backpack he had brought, reaching for his hoodie and the black surgical mask he had brought. After lifting the hood from the hoodie, the upper part of his face was hidden, along with the lower part which was covered by the mask.

After a few minutes, you hear Michael's footsteps echoing through the garage, signaling to you that he was coming to meet you. "Is this the exit?" you ask, given that he's been working in the establishment longer than you. Michael saw the red door next to you and made a positive sign with his hands, showing you the new bandages that covered his fingers and hands. The famous mask and hood you were used to seeing every week are back, and you finally realize how much you had missed Michael. Honestly, you were grateful. A lot of feelings went through your head these last few days, especially with Noah's death and the story Henry told you, which helped you realize that: life is grey. It doesn't judge, it doesn't help or facilitate nor does it hinder or slow you down. Life gives what it can, and now, you were extremely grateful for what little Michael shared with you. Whether it was a blind kiss, a faceless figure or sweet words that were muffled by the mask. Life gave it to you, and you felt grateful for what seemed so little to other people, but was immense to you. And for Michael too.

"And the wage earners always come back to collect their wages," Michael said casually, letting out a theatrical sigh as he opened and held the large, eye-catching door for you to pass through. You let out a small laugh, "True, the chocolates my sister likes are very expensive these days," the same joking tone in the man's voice is heard in your own, enjoying the light mood you were starting the shift in. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's just your sister who eats them," Michael says sarcastically, calling the elevator as he pushes the button that instantly lights up. You let out another laugh, pushing the man's arm a little too hard, just to provoke him. But honestly, with the short contact of your hand on his toned arm, you realize that even if you had used one hundred percent of your strength, Michael might not have moved at all.

The elevator finally opens its doors, making a loud noise, as apparently all the doors in this establishment do. Michael lets you in first, extending his arm between the open space of the doors to prevent them from closing. As you enter that familiar environment, the reality of the place you're returning to makes itself present in your stomach again. Memories of you running through the corridors and praying to any entity that would listen to you so that you wouldn't be the next victim return to your mind, letting the discomfort begin to grow in your body. You are not alone is what you try to repeat to yourself, as an attempt to stabilize your anxiety. And it was the reality, you weren't alone, Michael was with you, the man who always tried to help you and ease your worries, why should this time be any different? It wouldn't.

The man next to you found your sudden silence strange, imagining that the memories and traumas of that night must be tormenting you. He still didn't know the details of what you had done or what you had thought on that day, only receiving the narrative through indirect sources—via Henry and the reports the older man had brought home. His imagination filled in some of the gaps, relying on the fact that Michael had been through similar experiences a few times to make accurate assumptions. "Close your eyes," Michael says impulsively, his voice coming out hoarse, surprising even himself as if his body had taken action before he realized what he was about to do.

You hardly needed time to react, immediately complying with Michael's request and allowing your sight to be stripped away. Your swift response exuded desperation, a realization that left you a little embarrassed. It became clear how effortlessly Michael could read your body language, especially in your most vulnerable moments. Your other senses took over, enabling you to listen to Michael's movements. You heard the elastic of the mask being stretched and the friction of the material against the man's skin, indicating that he had removed the object. Almost immediately afterward, your sense of touch allowed you to feel Michael's lips meeting yours. The kiss was slow and sweet, the small cuts on the man's mouth adding a subtle tickle, especially when you reached out to grab the material of his hoodie, bringing the two of you even closer. The affirmation you sought was present in the shared kiss—Michael was here. The same Michael who had promised to help you, no matter how challenging things became.

The sound of the elevator doors opening echoes through the closed room and you feel Michael's hand cover your eyes, even though you've kept them closed. The sweet taste of the man's lips disappears, replaced by the cold breeze that envelops the bare lower part of your face. "We're here," Michael whispers, his husky voice close to your ear. You nod positively, a little nervous about your prolonged lack of sight. The hand covering your eyes finally leaves, allowing your vision to return, the dim lighting of the establishment invading your eyesight again, irritating you slightly.

You glance at Michael, who already has his mask back on. The affirmation you were repeating was now firmly in your mind, so you didn't hesitate to take the first step, making your way towards the heavy, noisy doors of the main hall. This time, the loud sound didn't startle you, showing how determined your brain is to ignore any kind of fear, focusing solely on the mantra hammering away at the back of your mind. Michael follows you, satisfied that the little bit of encouragement he provided in the kiss worked, pleased with the image in front of him: you attempting to move forward. It won't be easy, but he can try to make it easier for you.

Michael follows you, noticing how you're walking a bit too fast through the main hall, searching for the cleaning utensils to organize the chaos that the police and investigators had left behind. Michael's strong arm appears in the corner of your vision as you reach for the mop bucket.

"Doll, slow down, I'm here to help you," his voice is once again close to your ear, "I'm glad you're determined, but don't forget that I also have my role in helping you," he continues, grabbing the bucket with ease and placing it on the floor in front of you.

"Okay, sorry, I'm just afraid this wave of motivation is gonna leave too soon," you express, rubbing your hands on your uniform, a sign of your sudden hyperactivity. "So don't use it all up within seconds, just take a deep breath and calmly use up your motivation battery, so you don't go into total denial about everything that happened," Michael says calmly, raising his arm to pick up the other utensils. "Honestly, denial would be a good way to deal with all this," you admit, watching as the man in front of you, once again, gathers up all the items and then leaves you empty-handed.

Michael turns his head towards you, letting the dim light illuminate the upper part of his face. With so many emotions over the last few days, you'd forgotten: Michael's eyes were completely dark. A dark black that consumed all the light in the room and didn't reflect a single glint. You remember the drawing you made that associated this feature, which at the time you thought was imaginary on your part, with the eyes of a powerful villain. It's true, it was a look that would make any villain envy the darkness and emptiness that his gaze conveys. But you couldn't possibly think that about his gaze, knowing that Michael wasn't a villain, at least not in your eyes. You looked away, not wanting Michael to find out that his eyes were uncovered. After all, if he kept secrets, you could keep yours.

"Don't say that," the man's voice is serious, "Denial won't do any good, in fact, reality will only hit harder afterwards," Michael says. Truth, you feel it again. Damn, you wish you could tear your insides apart so you could stop feeling these intuitions. Feeling your body betraying you and agreeing with Michael.

"Yeah," you reply dryly, in denial about being able to stay in denial, basically. "I hate to be cliché, but time heals all wounds, and well, justice heals other wounds too," Michael looks back at the shelves, reaching for the cleaning cloths and gloves.

"Have you experienced this before?" your voice comes out hoarse, a little frustrated with Michael's advice, not wanting to accept the reality that you would have to cope with your emotions and fears. The man doesn't stop in his movements, continuing to throw the cloths he found into the bucket in front of you. He takes a few seconds to respond, as if he's thinking about what to say.

"Yes," Michael says, "Noah wasn't the first death in this establishment."

Well, what the fuck? Isn't this kind of information usually shared with new employees?

You don't answer, your body speaks for itself, your eyes going wide and your hands clenching your uniform. "What do you mean?" your voice comes out a little broken, your fear returning almost instantly. Michael realizes this, so he makes the decision to tell you this story in another manner. "I'm going to tell you, I just need you to close your eyes so I can comfort you," he says, his voice heavy with anxiety. Shit, it was hard having to be careful about the secrecy of his appearance and keeping you physically close at such times.

You sigh and close your eyes again. Michael brings you close, covering the top of your face once again with his hand and letting his other hand caress the fabric of your uniform that was covering your shoulder. "It's been a while since that body was found," Michael is careful with his words, not wanting to scare you or expose himself too much, "Henry, the man you met, was the one who found the body, but the killer was already identified in that case, so you don't have to-"

"Did this man come back to life, or did something happen to him after death?" you ask curiously, remembering the tale Henry had told you. You really didn't believe that the man had come back to life, so you assumed that it must be some kind of lesson or significance that the employees of this establishment shared. Well, you were partly right.

"What do you mean?", the hand on your shoulder stops abruptly, surprised by your question. "Henry told me that he knew a story about a man who had another chance in life after he died," you explain, your hand reaching for Michael's to return the caress on your shoulder that was helping you to calm down, "Well, I assumed that it was a well-known tale in the establishment, and since Henry found the body, he may have tried to pass it on to me," you conclude, a little confused by your own statement. "Forget it, I must look crazy," you add, finally finding Michael's hand as you feel the familiar bandages around your fingers.

Michael smiles beneath his mask, evidently Henry must have shared the story of his death with you. "Would you like the story to end like that?" Michael asks, resuming his caress on your shoulder, "For the corpse that Henry found to come back to life?". You think for a few seconds, not understanding Michael's question, but regardless, you decide to answer: "Yes, it would be less gruesome than ending up with Henry running around the corridors afraid of being the next one, just like me," you shrug, the sincerity in your voice making your speech seem a little too casual for the reality of your statement.

"Okay," Michael smiles, a smile so big that he's afraid the necrotic tissue on his cheek will tear deeply. "You mentioned that the killer was identified, is he under arrest?" you ask.

That's going to be impossible to explain, Michael thinks.

"No," the man replies sincerely, not wanting to delve into who, or rather what, the killer was. "That's why I'm here with you, it's safer for both of us, and believe me, I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure that these same stories don't repeat themselves with you or your sister."

"My sister?" you vocalize, your hand that was stroking Michael's bandages quickly ceasing. "Michael, what does my sister have to do with this?", your voice sounds irritated, which makes Michael hesitate in his movements. Shit, he said too much.

"She has nothing to do with it, Y/n, calm down," Michael blurted out as he felt your hand grip his tightly. Not that it was actually hurting, but he could sense the desperation in your tone. "I only vocalized my concern for both of you, I know how much you love and care for her."

"Okay, but why should the murder in this establishment worry my sister?" you asked once again, the irritation you felt still not subsiding.

"There's a killer on the loose, Y/n, that's what I'm saying, we don't know where he is," Michael knows that what he's telling you is the opposite of comforting or calming you, but it's the truth. He didn't want you walking the streets carefree or letting your sister come home from school completely alone. Ennard was still on the loose, and he was testing bodies until he could find one that would hold up, which won't happen until Ennard realizes that the corpse needs Remnant.

You sigh, letting the depth of Michael's statement settle within you. He was presenting facts that were difficult to accept, the realization that your sister or other people could be in danger. You couldn't afford to let fear paralyze you, to be as openly vulnerable as you were being, you needed strength and courage in this moment, especially since your little sister depended on your protection and care.

While Michael could bring you comfort and motivation, this line of thinking brought you courage and determination. You had to control your emotions, after all, it wasn't just your life that depended on it.

It worried the man when he didn't hear any response from you, but soon after, he listened to your breathing become more controlled, as if you were trying to calm your thoughts and stabilize your heart. "I understand, thank you for clarifying that to me," you finally reply, your voice strangely calm, "I needed to hear that, thank you Michael," you add, raising your hand to caress his other hand, which was still positioned over your eyes.

Michael smiles, satisfied with the conclusion of the confusing and unexpected conversation you two shared. So he carefully lowers his mask, sealing the discussion you two had with a small kiss, just to bring you and him a sense of comfort and closeness after a sensitive conversation for both of you.

When you feel the hand being removed from your eyes, Michael is already wearing his mask and standing at the same distance he considers safe. Your gaze falls on the utensils already positioned in the bucket, apart from the mop and broom in Michael's hands. You crouch down to pick up the bucket with the cloths and cleaning products, but Michael's arm reaches for the item before you can grab it.

"Why do you still try?" Michael's voice is laced with teasing, totally different from the tone you two had been talking in a few minutes ago. You let out a hearty laugh when you saw that Michael was practically hugging the broom and mop with one arm, squeezing them tightly against his body so they wouldn't fall off, while his free arm was carrying the bucket. "If you'd rather contort yourself to carry the bucket than let me handle a broom, honestly, you're crazy," you smiled, holding out your arms, hoping that Michael would make an exception for today.

"Call me crazy all you want," he says, ignoring your offer and starts walking through the corridors in search of the mess made by the investigators. You roll your eyes, amused by Michael's extreme insistence on being a gentleman, but you still follow him down the corridors to start your day shift.

"Fuck, couldn't those jerks collect their damn tapes?", Michael's voice rings out through the corridors until you reach Ballora's gallery, where you were. Hearing him get angry about this makes you laugh as you organize some boxes that the cops had emptied during the investigation. "Damn it, just put that shit in the garbage can, did they have to leave it on the floor?", Michael finally makes his way to the door of the room you were in.

"Michael, it's our job to manage the establishment, their only job is to investigate," you explain, without taking your eyes off the task you were doing, sorting out the items that were for the decoration box that ended up on the floor due to the policemen's carelessness. "But it's also their job to have the minimum of human dignity and throw garbage in the garbage can," Michael replies, still frustrated by the mess that had established itself in the Funtime auditorium: badly cleaned blood, torn yellow tapes on the floor, empty coffee cups everywhere and, to complete the humiliation, the staff toilet near the auditorium was clogged. Not that Michael needed it, he no longer has a functioning digestive system, but you did, and the asshole cops apparently didn't think about your digestive system while they clogged up the only fucking toilet in this establishment.

"Are you going to unclog the toilet? I can finish the boxes quickly and get it done," you asked, turning your body towards the door. You saw Michael standing in the doorway, holding two transparent garbage bags, both visibly full. "No, I'll do it," Michael replied in frustration, not at you, but at the mess. As much as he found the months he spent alone in the establishment frustrating, he had created a sense of home for the place. For him, seeing this messy and untidy place that he'd practically lived in for months would burst a vein, well, if he had veins with blood pumping through them.

"You're already cleaning the auditorium, which I believe has been left in a mess of blood and other filth," you plead. Michael had immediately offered to clean the auditorium, knowing that it would be uncomfortable for you to relive your memories there, even more so with the blood barely cleaned up by the investigators who collected the body and the various tapes written "Crime Scene".

"No, I'll clean the auditorium and the bathroom, no problem," Michael put the bags down, sighing at the effort he'd been putting in all afternoon. It was strange, to spend the whole afternoon mopping the floor and walking back and forth through the corridors to carry bags of garbage, and not break a sweat. He felt hot and breathless from the hard work, but he couldn't sweat anymore. "I don't want to kiss you later and have you smell like stale coffee and bleach," Michael explained, putting one hand on his waist and the other to loosen the hoodie he was wearing, shaking the fabric of the collar so that a breeze of air would cool his dead body.

"Oh yeah, then I'll have to smell that on you later," you laugh, not at all convinced by Michael's explanation. "I don't want your sister to be traumatized by the stink she'll smell when you get home," Michael says, his voice carrying a provocative tone, which makes you smile once again.

Michael looked extremely attractive right now, even with his face covered. The fabric of the hoodie really helped with the masterpiece in front of you, making no effort to hide the man's physique, apart from the fact that, with the movement he was making with the fabric, you could see a bit of bandage around his abdomen. You had discovered yet another feature of your sexual preference with Michael, finding the bandages he wore on his hands extremely attractive, even if you didn't understand why he wore them. A good amount of time had passed since the episode in the control room, and honestly, all you wanted now was to have the opportunity to feel Michael like that again.

"Doll, I'm going to throw this shit away and finish the auditorium tomorrow, I need to sort out the fucking toilet by today," Michael announces, picking up the bags again. You nod positively, "I like it when you call me that," you say with a fond smile on your face, happy to have Michael working with you, it really managed to distract you from the fact that the two of you were cleaning up the mess of the policemen - policemen who had come to investigate a murder.

"Brings back good memories, right?" Michael's voice echoed through the corridors, the malice evident in his tone, but he missed the opportunity to see your cheeks blush and your eyes close in shyness. But your face bore a smile, good memories indeed.

You took the opportunity that Michael had taken on the task of cleaning and unclogging the toilet to check the Scooping Room. Over the last few days, you had called the company a few times, explaining the situation of the robot forgotten in the establishment. The secretary had been polite to you, but she repeated that there was no record of the animatronic you were describing, an animatronic with several exposed wires and white plates forming a face that held a hat on top. You were confused by the situation, which she tried to explain could be some robot from another establishment or an export error by the construction company. The secretary explained that they were swamped with demands from the redesign of this facility and the lawyers who were handling the lawsuit over Noah's death, so she couldn't give you a definite date of when someone would pick up the lost animatronic.

So, walking quickly through the Funtime auditorium, avoiding looking at any traces of blood or, frankly, anywhere other than the small door of the Scooping Room, you decide to check on the animatronic, even to see if the police had removed it or done anything to the robot. When you enter the dark room, the animatronic is no longer next to the door, which makes you think almost immediately that it must have been removed, but as soon as your eyes get used to the darkness of the room, you can see the animatronic standing next to the large scooper in the middle of the room.

The animatronic was positioned in a creepy way, its arms, which were tubes and tubes of wires, were next to its metallic body, with its eyes turned towards the door, where you were standing. Next to him was the large scooper, which you assumed was for rebuilding or destroying the robots. "Well, it looks like they left you right here," you vocalized in a low voice, making sure Michael didn't hear any noise coming from the auditorium. The animatronic was submerged in the darkness of the place, the open door with the low lighting of the auditorium didn't do your vision any justice, you could only see the white plates that formed the robot's face and the long tubes that escaped from the metal body. Some dark spots were on the animatronic's white face, which made you think that the policemen must have moved the robot and let some coffee drip onto the plates. You were still amazed at the lack of care the investigators had shown with the establishment.

When you hear footsteps in the corridor and Michael's voice calling your name accompanied by some complaints about the smell in the bathroom, you immediately close the door to the scooping room and practically run through the auditorium, taking care not to bump into anything and cause a loud sound that would attract Michael's attention. "Y/n, let's close up and leave, I can't stand that stink any longer, tomorrow I'll bring a gas mask to keep cleaning the bathroom," Michael says, as he walks towards Ballora's gallery, but quickly notices that you are no longer there. "Y/n?" Michael says louder, wanting to hear an answer from you before he turns this establishment upside down, creating more chaos than the policemen left behind.

"I'm here," you reply as you run down the corridors to meet Michael. "Where did you go? Finished with the boxes?" the man asks as soon as he sees you running towards him, his hood hiding the frown of concern that has formed on his eyebrows. "I went to have a look in the auditorium, but I came running when I heard your call," you explain, placing your hand on the old walls of the corridor, trying to calm your breathing. Well, it wasn't entirely a lie, but you still felt bad about lying in front of Michael, especially about a subject he clearly felt strongly about.

"Hm, you could have told me," Michael replied, crossing his arms, "It's okay, next time, just let me know before you go to the auditorium, I don't like the thought of you alone in that place," the man explained, his husky voice filling your ears with a tone of distress.

"It's okay, Michael," you responded, smiling awkwardly due to the shortness of breath you were still feeling. "Let's go, you need a shower," your attempts to calm your breathing allowed you to inhale deeply of the reek that covered the man at that moment. Honestly, you were relieved that he had offered to clean the bathroom, you wouldn't put up with that smell for a second before vomiting.

"Wow, look what a gentleman gets for cleaning the bathroom for a girl," Michael imitates a sad voice, "Get used to the smell, doll, you'll have to cling to me on the bike on the way home," the man adds, letting out a small laugh while your face contorts into a disgusted expression. "Honestly, I'd rather walk," you admit to the man in front of you, who, upon hearing your statement, lets out another laugh, this time more sincere and louder than the first.

"I'll walk with you then," Michael starts heading towards the auditorium, moving past you, while your figure is still leaning against the same wall, trying to rest your body from the effort you've exerted today. "I'm going to lock the rooms, wait for me here so we can head down together," he said, stroking your hair gently as he came across your clumsy figure, still leaning against the wall. Your gaze was on the floor, giving Michael free access to run his fingers through the strands of your hair, which were shiny with sweat and a little messy. For Michael, it was another reminder that your body was alive, your body was warm, sweating and flushed red, unlike the cold, purple fingers of the dead man.

You nod positively at him, feeling the touch of careful fingers in your hair go away, accompanied by the sound of Michael's footsteps once again echoing through the corridors. The wall was strangely comfortable for you, so as Michael had asked, you didn't move, letting your whole body lean against the wall as you waited for Michael to return and leave.

The man does his task quickly, locking all the rooms that had been opened in the investigation and checking if the ones that remained locked were properly closed. Arriving at the auditorium, Michael moves in hurried steps towards the door that was so familiar from his nightmares. Now he and Noah shared the same place of death. No matter how much his steps faltered or how much his dead heart screamed at him to get away from that door, he always checked to see if it was closed. It seemed that his soul recognized the place, as all the organs that were no longer active in his lifeless body twitched and writhed in pain. Michael unconsciously raised his hand to protect his abdomen, an unnecessary and useless action for his current situation. His stomach had already been ripped open, all his organs had already been expelled onto the floor, Michael's survival instinct had nothing left to protect.

Even though his hand was shaking, he reached out for the handle, which, to make matters worse for Michael, was open. At that moment, the fear ceased, the feeling of rage and revenge taking over Michael's entire body, already expecting to find Ennard behind that door. He couldn't risk leaving that door open, not with you here, not with your figure standing a few meters away from this room. The door swung open abruptly and violently, the dust that guarded the entrance flying everywhere given the room's lack of use.

There was no one there. Or rather, there was no animatronic. The room was dark, but Michael could draw this room with his eyes closed, he didn't need light, the memory that terrified him every night would help him navigate the room. The man wasn't stupid, he knew and had experience with the way animatronics hid, so he made a point of checking every corner or square meter of the small space. Michael felt his soul almost jump out of his body once again as he stood inside the Scooper Room, recognizing that it was here that he had lost his life, it was in this small space that Michael didn't see the light, Michael didn't hear, see or feel anything for the first time in his life. At least, he couldn't feel anything after he felt the large piece of metal puncture his stomach. He couldn't hear anything after his ear almost bled from his own screams. Ennard was the last vision he had.

Ennard wasn't here. Michael felt selfish for being relieved, at least, he didn't want to imagine how he would deal with knowing that Ennard was in the establishment at the same time as you were. However, that meant it was somewhere else, loose on the streets of this city in search of a corpse to dress, just as he had done with Michael.

The man quickly closes the door, locking it before going to meet you.

[ynisreal]

wires (7) - michael afton x reader

author’s note: hello! thank u for all the love and sorry for the delay :P

summary: You and Henry talk. Michael and Henry make difficult decisions. You have to get back to work. (6k)

Chapter 7

"Here you go," Henry hands you the plastic cup with the hot drink you've chosen. After reading Michael's note, Henry offered you a ride home, but you insisted that you wanted to explain what had happened today, as soon as possible, so that your nightmare would finally end. Henry understood your motives, but insisted on bringing you to a quieter place, where the two of you could talk freely and without the noise of sirens or police officers talking loudly.

So now you found yourselves in a small local coffee shop, where there were only students with their books and the staff of the café. You thanked Henry for the drink, and took a small sip, feeling the small dose of dopamine that the hot drink provided try to rewire your brain. You were still in shock, but getting away from the establishment certainly helped you calm down. Henry was also good company, not pushing you to speak, just standing next to you and comfortably silent, waiting for you to take the initiative. It was good to be around someone as understanding as him at this time, despite the fact that you only met him twice.

"Take your time, I don't have a timetable for coming home," Henry says smiling fondly at you, "I know your head must be a mess now, so you can take the time to organize a timeline." You look at him, understanding what he meant. And it was true, your head was a mess before, but after telling and retelling the same story to so many people today, you can easily dictate the same speech you did to everyone else. However, with the adrenaline finally leaving your body after so long, you're out of energy. In those moments when your body is totally without motivation or initiative, sincerity and truth come to the surface, taking advantage of the lack of strength in your inhibitory control. That's why, at that very second, when your brain was so tired of controlling your actions, you say:

"I saw Noah's organs scattered all over the floor," your voice is strangely calm for the gravity of your speech. Henry's eyes widen. "I never thought I'd witness something like this, I've heard it on true crime podcasts or online reports, but it all seems so unreal until you actually witness violence like this," you continue, holding the cup with both hands, letting the hot liquid exchange heat with your cold hands.

"Yes," Henry replies, a soft tone in his voice. He understood well what you were talking about, after all, he never thought he would find the soul of his only daughter trapped in a puppet. It was an event that people only visualize in films or books, so he understood your shock now, what you thought was such a distant reality was closer than you imagined. Henry didn't comment on or interfere with your train of thought, letting you say what you wanted.

"I never thought about how I would die or when," you continue, your eyes downcast and slightly open, as if you were reliving the scene, "But, Henry, do you think I could die like that?" you ask, now staring at the man you've just met. Well, that's certainly not what Henry was expecting when he came to talk to you, but he knew the curse that this franchise carried was bound to cause some unpredictable events, turning people into monsters or survivors, defying all the laws of nature and even making the dead come back. Predictability was not present in Henry's life.

"I don't know, Y/n," Henry replied sincerely, letting his shoulders slump in defeat. He had no words of comfort for your situation, knowing that there was no comfort to give you, the fear in your eyes was clear. "We don't control the way we die, only what we do in life and the people we take care of during our days," the man continued, letting his back rest against the seat, still surprised that he was having such a deep conversation with a woman he had only just met. At least, in person, because he'd already heard a lot about you from Michael.

"I see," you reply, a little disappointed by the man's response. Well, you couldn't expect him to say that there's a way out of all your insecurities and fear, but in a situation like yours, you couldn't help but hope that a stranger like him would lie to you, words of comfort so surreal that you might believe them. "Thank you for being honest, Henry," you smile, thanking the man who kept you company during this chaotic night. Henry smiles back.

Henry looks at you for a few seconds, wondering whether or not to tell you what was on his mind. You seemed calmer, a softer look on your face, but fear was recognizable in your gaze. He had seen this fear too many times in Michael's eyes and in his own. It didn't suit you, so Henry sighs, catching your eye.

"There's a legend - Well, I wouldn't say a legend, but a story that really struck me," Henry begins, smiling slightly as he sees your eyes light up with curiosity, "It's about a man who made a mistake during his teenage years, an accident that killed a person he loved very much, and after that, he spent his whole life trying to make up for that mistake and several others that weren't caused by him. This man suffered a lot, lost many people and got hurt on his journey, plunging and sinking into this dark and lonely path, so much so that he ended up dying in a violent way." Henry pauses, taking a few seconds to breathe, "However, life is not cruel, it may seem so, but everything happens for a reason, so life gave this man a second chance. He came back to life, he got the second chance he deserves so much," the man in front of you smiles slightly, "I'm not saying that you can predict your death or that if you're good enough, your death will be peaceful, but that you can be sure that some bad things happen for good things to happen."

You don't know how to feel about this story, in fact, it left you a little confused. Why was Henry telling you this? Soon, you feel that same feeling you felt that day with Michael in the hallway. Your stomach seems to turn over in tears to let you know that that story or legend was in fact a ***truth***. You continue to smile, trying to disguise the discomfort that is settling in your body, lightly clutching the shirt you were wearing, waiting for the feeling to pass. It was violent with your body, almost as if you could feel your intuition screaming at you in every way that Henry was telling a real story.

Henry didn't know what to make of your silence, just watching you smile softly, seeming to understand what he had said. "Well, I'm sorry if I said something that made you uncomfortable, I just thought you'd like to hear this story," Henry starts to apologize, but is soon interrupted by you, "No, no, it's just a difficult story to absorb, but I think I understand, thank you Henry," you say, raising your cup to take another sip.

Henry seems pleased that you've understood, a bit happy to have comforted you at least a little. You talk some more, and you recount all the events of your terrible day to him, answering the questions he had and thanking him when he said he would talk to the head office about you having a few days off, because of the trauma you have suffered and the investigation that will take place. You don't know if the time off will be a good idea, maybe staying at home trapped in your thoughts won't be pleasant, but going back to the same place where you found Noah's open body wasn't an idea you liked either. Henry tells you that the night security guard will be notified of your absence and the investigation, at which you ask:

"Will Michael be working both shifts?" you interrupt Henry, worried that Michael might have to spend the whole day in that establishment. Henry looks at you, his mouth slightly open in surprise at your question. "Well, we don't know yet...", the man in front of you replies sincerely. Even Henry didn't want Michael to spend the whole day in that establishment before he found out who had killed Noah.

"If so, I'll go back to work," you say quickly, raising your back from the seat, showing confidence in your statement, "It's not fair that he has to work all day alone in that place," you continue, an assertive voice, as if the fear you had been feeling before disappeared for a few seconds. Henry doesn't know what to say to your suggestion, knowing that Michael will cut his head off if he lets you back into the establishment.

"I'll talk to him - but I don't know if the head office will agree to you returning to the establishment so soon," Henry replies, still impressed by your confidence. You cared about Michael, you didn't want him to spend the whole day alone in that establishment, especially since the murder took place during your working hours. You were just as stubborn as Michael, but Henry couldn't get frustrated about that, satisfied that the man he loved like a son had someone who cared about him besides Henry. Michael could be a little careless at times, still used to the anger and impulsiveness that had haunted him since his teenage years, so having someone like you who could look after him made Henry a little calmer.

"Okay, but tell them that if Michael has to work two shifts, I'm begging them to let me come back," you cross your arms, leaning back against the comfortable seat. Henry smiles softly and nods. You finish your drinks and Henry kindly escorts you home, promising to keep in touch to give you updates on the case and bring you news from the headquarters. You thank him and wish the caring man you got to know better that evening a good night.

"How is she?" is the first thing Henry hears when he gets home. Michael was standing there, wearing the same clothes as when he left the establishment. The television was off and the carpet was a bit messy, which showed Henry that Michael had probably been walking around in circles like a lunatic. "Good night to you too, Mike," Henry said with sarcasm, closing the door behind him.

"Don't give me that, answer me," Michael said a little irritated by Henry's lack of comment, the concern evident on the younger man's purplish face. Michael was without his mask and hood, which made his dark eyes more noticeable. Henry had gotten used to Michael's new figure, but in the bright lighting of his house, he could see that there was a small sparkle in the great darkness that was Michael's gaze, functioning almost like a pupil, following Henry's walking figure. Maybe it was the little glimmer of Michael's soul, Henry thought, not bothered by the possibility, given how crazy his day had already been.

"Are you going to keep staring at me or are you going to answer me?" Michael asks once again, gesturing with his hands, trying to get Henry's attention. "Your eyes have a little sparkle in them, it's not completely black," Henry said, dropping the bag he was carrying on the sofa and then sitting down, looking at Michael's standing figure, who was staring back at him in frustration. "No shit, Sherlock Holmes, it's not like I haven't looked in the fucking mirror today," Michael says, his tone harsh, getting increasingly annoyed with Henry. Michael was counting down the seconds to grab Henry's car key and speed off to your house to check on you.

Henry decided to have mercy on Michael, so he answered: "She's fine, still in shock, but after reading your note, she seemed visibly better," Henry said, taking off the shoes that were tight on his feet. Michael sighs, bringing his hand to his chest, calm taking over his face as he knew you were all right. The man knew what it was like to see a corpse for the first time, the sensation of meeting death and sensing it so closely that you begin to feel its soft touch on your shoulder is an unequal feeling. He had felt this sentiment several times, up until the day he was actually touched by his old friend. That feeling came back to him today, and all he could imagine is that you're feeling the same way, questioning your whole life and the point of it all, being violently reminded that, at the end of the day, you're just a piece of meat with bones and a soul.

"Was it that bad?" Michael asks, having no information about the murder or how Noah's body was found, but given the franchise's track record, he could only expect the worst. Henry raises his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes roughly, "Well, from what she told me, Noah's body looked like yours, his mouth was forced open and his organs were scattered all over the floor, it seems he had a deep opening in his torso," Henry says.

"Holy shit," Michael sighs heavily, dropping his body onto the sofa in frustration, echoing Henry's tired movement. The younger man's hands clamped over his purple mouth in shock, his thoughts racing through his head, not knowing how to react to the information Henry had just told him. Damn it, why did it have to be like this? Michael tried so hard to hide his own body and appearance from your sight, only to have fate slap him across the face and display the same way he died to you. The man's eyes closed in anger, it seemed as if this nightmare would never end, having literally pulled Michael back from his death to continue living the same stories and the same traumas forever. And now you were involved. "Do you think that Ennard is back?" Michael asks quietly.

Henry takes his hands away from his face to look at Michael, understanding the younger man's fear, "I don't know, Mike," he sighs, letting one hand rest on his partner's broad shoulder, the one person who has been with him through all the worst moments of his life, and this will be no different, "But, the police investigated the scene and there was no report of an animatronic, which indicates to us that, if Ennard was there, he certainly isn't anymore.... ", Henry concludes, trying to comfort Michael, seeing the anger resurface in the dead man's dark eyes.

Michael sighs, understanding Henry's words, "No trace from Liz?" the younger man asks about his sister, even though he knows that Ennard and Elizabeth are now two different animatronics, having felt the metallic remains of his sister come out of his mouth days before Ennard abandoned Michael's body in a dark alley. Henry allowed his face to relax into a sad expression, feeling the heavy mood settling between the two of them, given the pair's proximity to the little girl, who was now missing, possessing an animatronic. "No, no sign of her... I'm sorry, Mike," Henry replied.

"It's okay", Michael whispers, knowing that it wasn't the older man's fault, but he can't help also feeling disappointed, after all, he wanted to be reunited with his little sister once again. Michael understood that, before, when Liz saw him working at the Sister Location for the first time, she thought Michael was their father. Well, they do look alike, but perhaps, after the years the two siblings had been apart, Liz had forgotten her older brother's face, overwhelmed by revenge and anger. Michael would never blame her, or Evan, he could only imagine what it was like to be trapped forever in a metallic body, filled with rage and confusion, having to take on a new form that was so distant from a human body. All this suffering being processed in a mind that was made for drawing and for playing with toys was unimaginable for Michael.

"Well, when do I go back to the establishment?" Michael tries to change the subject, trying not to think too much about his siblings, knowing that it was a path of no return, always ending up with Michael either angry or sobbing in Henry's arms.

Henry scratches the back of his head when he hears Michael's question. The younger man notices Henry's nervous mannerism, quickly realizing the discomfort of the man next to him from the question he asked. "What is it?", Michael asks, now a little on edge.

"Y/n refused to allow you to work two shifts, and, well, frankly - I agree with her," Henry begins to explain calmly, knowing that the next sentence would irritate Michael even more, "She believes that it's better for you two to work the day shift together than for one of you to do it alone".

Michael's eyes widen. Henry didn't expect to hear what spilled out of Michael's mouth. The younger man started to laugh, incredulous at what you had suggested, and even more in disbelief at Henry for telling him. "No way in hell," Michael said between laughs, all of the emotions he'd been through that night finally making him a little less lucid. It was laughable really, Michael was never going to let you go back there, at least not now, not until he finds out who killed Noah and where that killer is.

"Michael," Henry calls out to the man who kept laughing, "I completely agree with her." At that moment, the laughter stops immediately, causing Michael to turn his head to meet Henry's eyes. "What?" the younger man says abruptly, "You must be crazy," Michael adds, his voice hoarse and his anger more evident. There were too many overwhelming emotions for one night, Ennard might be back, no sign of Liz and now, Henry thinks it's a great idea to put you in the same place where Noah was killed. Michael may have died for good and is now in purgatory paying for all of his sins.

"Mike, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to let you wander around that establishment alone - I know how much you want to find Ennard, but we can't take that risk," Henry explained, his hands gesticulating in an effort to give Michael an impression of confidence. However, he could see that Henry was nervous, the younger man's temperament being a little worse tonight, after so many revelations in a matter of minutes.

"And you think it's a better idea to let Y/n roam those corridors instead of me?" Michael said louder, the anger that had been swirling inside the man finally exploding. "Come on, Henry, just think, would you rather have a person who doesn't know what they're up against wandering around the same corridors where Noah was killed than me, a person who's lived all these years in this fucking shithole - and still managed to die at the hands of one of those monsters?" Michael is screaming now, once again letting the force of hatred get the best of him, driving him to lash out at Henry, the man who had cared for him his whole life.

Henry had seen this coming, he knew it would be an extra sensitive topic for Michael. The younger man was very protective over you, verbally expressing how he didn't want to tell you the truth or show you what he looked like, in fear of you getting too involved and ending up dead just like everyone Michael had ever loved. So obviously he would have that reaction, the thought of letting you wander around the place while there was the possibility of Ennard being there was unbearable for Michael.

"That's not what I meant-" Henry says calmly, not wanting to add fuel to the fire, so he stands up and reaches for Michael's shoulders lightly, just to get the younger man's attention. "I just don't want you wandering around those corridors on your own, Mike," Henry continues, his gaze soft and pained. Michael immediately returned his gaze.

"I don't want any more victims for this establishment, I'm sorry, I know how much you want to continue investigating on your own, but I can't let you do that, Michael," Henry explains, the concern evident in his voice, "Neither can she, so for the first time in your life, please let other people take care of you too," the older man blurts out, the calm tone and gentle smile never leaving his face. Michael widened his eyes, not knowing how to react once again that night, just taking a deep breath and reaching for Henry's arms, which were still resting on his shoulders.

"I don't want her to become a victim of this chaos," Michael began to whisper, as if he and Henry were little children sharing their secrets. "I don't know if I can lose anyone else," he continued, aware of what he was implying. Henry realized it too.

"You're not going to lose anyone, and she doesn't want to see you hurt either," the older man says, "It's what I can do for now, I don't want to see you alone in that establishment and neither does she, and you're not willing to let her come back, so I propose that you two work the day shift, at least until we can find whoever did this," Henry suggests, watching the pained look take shape on the younger man's face, knowing that it's a difficult decision for him to make. Michael didn't want to imagine what would become of him if you got hurt or died in that establishment, another one among the dozens of victims in this never-ending nightmare. And worst of all, the feeling of having absolutely no control settles in Michael's chest, it's such a familiar situation for him. He's done everything to save Liz, he's done everything to right his wrongs with Evan, to release the souls that are trapped in eternal torment and to kill his father. Nothing worked, in fact, they only got worse. Would it be the same for you? Would it be the end of your story to watch your sister die and then yourself perish in Ennard's hands? Michael can't see anything beyond that. He was selfish, he was selfish with you, he shouldn't have gotten close to you, he shouldn't have kissed you or had sex with you. Michael shouldn't have fallen in love.

"Hey, hey, look-", Henry noticed the anxiety taking over the younger man's dead body, his broad shoulders shaking slightly with his gaze lost on the floor. "I know we've both lost a lot of people to this madness we call life, I warned you from the beginning not to let the relationship between you two get any deeper, but there's no going back in time, now you have to protect her, don't let this franchise take another good soul from this world - Don't give up now on the love you fought so hard for," the father Michael never had uttered, his voice firm, as if it were a warning. And it was a warning, one that Michael genuinely needed. The damage had already been done, now he would have to deal with the consequences of having gotten close to you, and frankly, he was willing to go to any lengths to see you safe and smiling. That thought awoke something in Michael, motivation gushing through his bloodless veins, knowing that there was no one better in the world to protect you but him and Henry. Michael was familiar with the threat, having come face to face with Ennard and, well, having died in his arms.

"Okay, Henry," Michael replied, his voice charged with emotion, but it wasn't anger or anxiety like before, it was charged with initiative and determination. You weren't going to die, not you or your sister, Michael wasn't going to let that happen, even if it was the last thing his dead body did in this endless nightmare.

You were listening to the birds chirping outside, your sister had already left for school, leaving you alone once again with your thoughts. Cass had been good company, she had limited information about what had happened, but she understood that her older sister was in a bad place and needed a little more help. That's why Cass understood when you asked to sleep in bed with her, or when she woke up and still didn't have breakfast on the table, needing to remind you to eat. You didn't want to be neglecting her, but the sleep paralysis didn't let you rest, in fact, you were afraid to fall asleep, because every time you would wake up with your body paralyzed and Noah looking at you, his face so close to yours that you could see the emptiness in his eyes. He didn't do anything, he just stared at you, and that was enough to make you realize: Noah wanted you to be in his place. And honestly, spending your days afraid to even shut your eyes, forgetting to feed your sister and not being able to leave the house, maybe it would have been better if it had been you.

"Fuck," you whisper, bringing your hands up to rub your eyes, preventing them from closing involuntarily. Today you would be returning to the establishment after five days away, you haven't managed to grasp how many days have passed, just spending every hour of the day at home, watching television or in your sister's room, reading some children's book she saved for school. You don't know how you feel about going back to work, especially to look at that same auditorium where you found that body, where you found Noah. But you wanted to see Michael, you wanted to sink into his arms and, for a few short minutes, feel safe, feel surrounded by steel barriers where Noah's killer or ghost couldn't get to you.

With these thoughts, you forced yourself to get up from the sofa, being practically carried by your own legs to your room, where you changed into your uniform. Your uniform was clean, in fact, there was never a speck of blood on the fabric given its distance from the corpse, but just the fact that you wore it that night made you frantically clean it irrationally. After changing, you headed for the kitchen, writing a short note to your sister, letting her know that you had left for work and giving her the number of the pizzeria in the next street, in case she got hungry. Just then, a noise from outside your house startled you, making you freeze in your tracks. It was the sound of a motorcycle, but the point is: you don't know anyone who rides a motorcycle.

Your body didn't move, frozen at the thought of the killer coming to get you. Maybe he saw you talking to the police and was out for revenge, or he wanted to kill all the workers in the establishment. You don't know, and frankly, it doesn't matter why. The sound of the motorcycle has stopped, signaling that the stranger must have stopped in front of your house. This wakes you up from your trance, opening the knife drawer in the kitchen and immediately grabbing one. You don't know how to fight, but maybe with a sharp weapon, you'll have a few seconds to fight for your life. "Please, anyone who's listening, don't let my sister be the one to find my body," you pray, knowing the trauma she would suffer from seeing the mutilated body of the person she loves most in the world. You would fight, fight so that your sister would not be left alone in this world. Your grip on the knife tightens at the thought of your sister, you could be in deep shit, you could be sleepless for days or have the same sleep paralysis every night, nothing would take you away from your sister, she wouldn't suffer any more, you wouldn't let her.

"Hello? Anyone home?", a familiar voice sounds from the front door. Your mind takes a few seconds to process who it was, and as soon as you do, the knife falls to the floor and your feet can be heard colliding with the ground, quickly making their way to the front door.

"Shit, did Henry give me the wrong address?", Michael verbalizes his own thoughts quietly, placing his hand on the motorcycle helmet he was wearing. The helmet was a bit scratched and had accumulated some dust due to lack of use over a long period of time, but Michael was at least happy that he was riding again. He was on his way back to the bike, having knocked on the door a few times and continued to get no response, but the sound of the door opening made him stop in his tracks, ready to turn around and apologize for having mistaken the address, but a body colliding with his torso made any train of thought he was having come to an immediate halt.

You knew Michael wouldn't like this close distance between the two of you, but honestly, now it didn't matter, he could yell and get angry at you later, now you just wanted to feel his arms, you wanted to feel him close. Michael let a small laugh escape his lips, surprised at your reaction to seeing him. "Careful, you could end up hitting your head on my helmet," he said, extending his arm, covered by his leather jacket and bandages, to encircle your waist, accepting how close you were. Michael was wearing a large jacket and helmet, he knows there's no way you can feel the wires or notice the purple hue of his skin, so he returns the embrace, needing your touch just as you needed his.

You don't answer, not having the strength to think about anything other than feeling Michael close to you again. It could be that you missed him, it could be the fear you're feeling, it could be so many emotions, but what matters is that he's with you now. Michael continues to smile, one arm around your waist and the other holding your head against his torso, careful not to press the heavy helmet against your head. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, I heard what happened and that the establishment was suspended due to the investigation," Michael says, squeezing your waist as he feels you nod. Shit, he wanted you even closer. "It's okay, you're here now," you say, feeling your voice break a little.

Michael lifts one of his hands and touches your face, caressing your cheek, "I will always be here for you," he says. Michael doesn't know what effect this little speech had on you, but when he simply and effortlessly stated that he would always reach you, once again, you felt the *truth* in his speech. You were safe with Michael, he would always find you, he would reach out to you no matter what. Your body relaxed, feeling the tiredness and lack of sleep finally catch up with your brain, or perhaps, it was your body feeling that it had found a safe place to relax, the survival instinct finally going away and leaving just you and Michael.

"I've come to pick you up so we can go to work," Michael says, breaking the silence that had settled between the two of you. You don't raise your head, not wanting to leave him so soon, "Yes, Henry told me we'd be working the day shift together," you reply, now playing with your fingers on the heavy fabric of his jacket.

"Yes, because one of the workers refused to let me work alone," Michael says, squeezing your cheek lightly. Your skin was so warm in contrast to Michael's bandaged fingers, he had missed your warmth. "I don't know who this crazy woman is, do you? You'll have to introduce me to her..." he teased, wanting to hear your laughter again. He left Henry's house with one goal in mind, well, two actually: to protect you and, above all, to hear you laugh. Michael could imagine what you had been through in those five days, after all, he had lived it a few times in his life. And when you finally appeared, bringing light into the immense darkness that were his days, you became a space where he could be anything but Michael Afton, the man who has lost everything, the man seeking revenge or the man who will never rest, he could be Michael Afton with you. Just Michael Afton. And today, with him, you could be you, not the woman who had found the architect's body in the establishment where you worked. He wanted to see your carefree smile, he wanted to help you carry some of that weight, just as he did every time.

And he succeeded. You laughed, a light, soft laugh, heavy with the tones of tiredness you were feeling, but it was enough for Michael. He strokes your hair before finally pulling away to fetch the extra helmet he had brought. You thank him as you take the helmet, and just as you're about to put it on your head, you feel Michael's hand touch yours.

"Let me help you," Michael says, taking the helmet from your hands and placing it on top of your head. You quickly put your hair up in a ponytail and let Michael put the helmet on you with the agility and care that only an expert would have. Through the small tinted window in the helmet, you can see Michael grabbing an extra jacket from his backpack and holding it out to you. "You look too good in that jacket and helmet," he says, as you put the heavy jacket on over your uniform, "Shit, I think we should stay right here," Michael says, the teasing tone making you laugh again. Only Michael can make you forget reality and the thousands of worries in your head for a few seconds, building that steel barrier in your mind, with free access only for him. "Come on, Michael, let's go," you reply, lightly pushing the man's torso in front of you, signaling him to sit on the bike.

Michael smiles behind his helmet and does as you say, sitting on the bike and then holding out his hand to help you up too. He doesn't let his smile drop when he feels you wrap your arms around his waist. Shit, he should wear helmets and jackets more often, so he could have you touching him freely every day, just like now.

Yeah, Henry was right, Michael would never let anything happen to you.

[ynisreal]

wires (6) - michael afton x reader

summary: An unfortunate event happens. Michael finally leaves the establishment. You´re getting close to the truth. (5.5k) tw: death scenes, description of a corpse, police? and mentions of trauma.

Chapter Six

You arrive at the establishment at your usual time. Your interaction with Michael yesterday made you a little nervous, the stories he told you and the reaction he got at the end of his shift made you more paranoid than you really should have been. They were rumors, they were just gossip around the neighborhood, at least that's what you believed, but Michael's reaction, the strength with which he held you in the air, despite your protests and kicks to get you down, he didn't flinch. Michael carried you across the auditorium, his arms firmly around you, acting as if you were a threat to yourself. As if what you did or how you behaved would hurt you. It hammered away in your head all night, the confusion keeping you awake for a few hours until your heavy eyes forced you to sleep.

Your thoughts haunted you until this morning, following you to the front door of your work, greeting you at the entrance. Michael wasn't at the office waiting for you, unlike yesterday. You had warned him about Noah coming to the establishment today, which meant that Michael couldn't be seen here with you during your working hours, otherwise it would raise questions and problems with the company's head office, which would be a problem the two of you didn't want to deal with.

You go about your usual routine when you arrive at the establishment, checking all the closed doors that Michael locked during his working hours and turning on the lights in the animatronics' rooms. When you arrive at the Funtime auditorium, your eyes immediately meet the mysterious door you opened last night. You remember the events that led to Michael's reaction, and the presence of the forgotten animatronic comes to mind. With all the emotions that arose between you and Michael, you ended up forgetting to mention the hidden animatronic in the room, since the subject would probably aggravate Michael's nerves.

Your steps are directed towards the mysterious room, with the aim of checking whether Michael has locked it. Your fingers touch the cold handle, which is still a little dusty from lack of use. To your immense surprise, the door was still unlocked. Michael must have been so shaken up last night, you thought, that he forgot to lock the door again. And you were right, Michael wouldn't let you out of his arms for a few moments before you insisted that you had to go back to work. The man never went near that door again, and neither did you, feeling his gaze burning into your back every time you entered the auditorium to carry out a task.

You find the animatronic in the same position as before, the eyes that looked like two lanterns reasonably illuminating the dark room. "Damn, I'm sorry I left you here alone again," you criticize yourself for not having done anything about the great forgotten robot, "When Noah comes today, I'll have to ask him to notify headquarters." You take one last look at the robot, feeling a sense of pity for the disused machine.

As this little interaction comes to an end, the interphone sounds throughout the corridors of the establishment, announcing Noah's arrival. You quickly leave the room, leaving the door open as a reminder of the conversation you would have to have with the architect. Your run to the control room leaves the audible traces of your loud, careless footsteps for Michael to hear in the secret room, chuckling softly as he realizes the hurry in your steps. He was deep in thought today, seeing you so close to the scooping room brought such despair to Michael's already dead heart that he had to take several breaks to breathe and calm down during the day. He kept thinking of all the possibilities, the images of you with your stomach open and your guts spilling out onto the floor being imprinted on his mind. Michael doesn't know what he'd do with himself if that happened, well, he'd probably die again. And what's worse, he'd have no one to blame, no one to torture or kill for your death, being, once again in this absurd franchise, a terrible accident.

"Yes, yes, the report should be in the control room," your voice carries through the corridors, silencing Michael's aggressive thoughts, " I'll go get it," you answer Noah.

"Alice is doing some errands I asked her to do," Noah continues, his tone more irritated than usual, perhaps because of his assistant's absence. "You need to pick up the wood from that carpentry shop, there are some flooring options that the team is analyzing," the architect mentions to you, to which you internally roll your eyes. Michael clenches his jaw as he hears what the architect has asked of you, for fuck's sake, why couldn't Noah get it himself? Michael can already visualize the scene of you carrying the heavy wood, letting it fall on your foot or your delicate hand full of wooden splinters.

As frustrated as you were by the inconvinience of having to pick up the materials, you nodded enthusiastically, especially given Noah's mood, thanks to Alice not being here to mediate between you and the architect. However, you couldn't deny it, Noah was a brilliant architect, from the glimpses you had of the contents of the boxes, it was quality work with a well-defined theme, which made you excited to see the results of the work by the duo of architects who always took your peace away.

Noah stares at you, with an irritated look on his face, seemingly waiting for you to react. "Now," he says, frowning in frustration. This makes you widen your eyes in surprise, as you thought you could pick up the wooden items on your way out of work. Noah rolls his eyes at your surprised look, used to Alice's immediate responses.

"I can't leave the establishment before my workday is over," you try to explain, but Noah doesn't wait to hear it, taking the report from your hands. "If you come by tomorrow, I can have the materials here-", you sigh when you realize that he really didn't wait, already starting to walk towards the animatronics rooms, signaling that he doesn't care about your answer.

Michael is going to go crazy when he finds out that I carried pieces of wood into the building, you think, smiling to yourself. It's true, you may not know it, but Michael was able to hear Noah's request, and indeed, he was annoyed with the architect, always making sure that you didn't have to hurt yourself carrying heavy materials. As you remember the man, your frustration subsides a little, and you think about leaving a note for him today when you leave, given how nervous he was yesterday.

You make your way to the elevator, quickly checking that the keys to the doors are in your pocket along with your credential as you go. Michael hears the sound of the doors opening and closing, signifying that you had gone out to get the wooden materials. Now that you were out of the store, Michael was no longer entertained by hearing you work, so he lay back on the mattress, his head hidden in the thin pillow Henry had brought for him. After his death, Michael no longer had the ability to sleep, which was greatly missed in the eternal boredom that awaited him, but he could manage to relax in a state of meditation, his soul quieting down along with his thoughts. It wasn't like sleeping, but for the time being, it would do.

Michael could still hear the sound of boxes being dragged around the premises and Noah's annoying voice that was sometimes present when the architect was thinking aloud. It was the complete opposite of how Michael wanted to spend his afternoon, he wanted to be listening to your voice, your careless footsteps and watching you work while he hid in the shadows of the corridors. The dead man was tired, the image of you near the scooping room having drained his entire soul of any vitality, and going without hearing or seeing you didn't help. Frustrated, he picked up the small cottons next to his pillow and covered his own ears, being careful not to let any more skin fall off, as his skin was extremely weak and had to be stitched up several times a week. It was odd to not hear anything, but strangely liberating, the absence of the drums his heart used to play leaving a quietude inside his dead body.

With these thoughts, Michael kept his eyes open, picking up one of the many medical books Henry had gathered. The field of health had become one of Michael's interests after his death, since he was a failure at the various lessons the books pointed out, but it was interesting to understand the changes his body would witness. He now knew that his hair would take longer than other tissues to decompose, and that, as he had no intestines or stomach because the scooper had removed them, the hungry bacteria wouldn't eat his body from the inside out. This was a small relief in the desperate situation he found himself in, so he began to devour the diverse knowledge presented in the short sentences together with the complex images, forgetting how much he was missing your voice.

Your return to the store is delayed, taking longer than necessary, since you had dropped one of the pieces of wood on your foot as you were leaving the store and the caring owner bandaged your foot for you, afraid that you might have broken something. You don't think you broke it, but the impact of the wood on the bone of your foot had swollen and turned the skin purple. The way back to the establishment was made with you limping and the woods leaving small splinters in your lap during the cab ride. On the way up the elevator, you sigh heavily, pleased with your success, even at the cost of your foot, in bringing the pieces of wood to Noah. You are aware that the architect will not show any gratitude for your hard work, but just being able to tell Michael about your strength and ability brings a smile to your face. You can imagine the duality of pride and anger in the man's face, proud to see you working hard but angry at the architect for sending you to do a job that could have been solved by Noah himself.

"Sir? I've arrived", you announce as you open the noisy doors of the establishment, "I've brought the woods". You don't wait to hear a reply, leaving the pieces of wood on one of the tables in the main hall, walking towards the corridors. Noah wasn't very receptive, so it was no surprise that he was ignoring your presence. "Noah?" you called out as you looked between the open doors of the animatronics' rooms, searching for the architect. He still wasn't answering you or revealing the room he was in, which was making you frustrated. Your foot wasn't in the best condition to be walking around the entire establishment looking for Noah.

You entered the Funtime Auditorium when you saw the lights on, so you assumed that Noah was inside the room and maybe he was ignoring you for some reason that only made sense in his head. And well, you were right, Noah was there, but not ignoring you because he wanted to, but because he couldn't answer you. The architect was dead, but specifically with his face deformed, his chin dislocated to allow his mouth to be open in a non-human capacity, as if someone had tried to enter. His body had several deep cuts, so deep that they painted the floor with blood and allowed organs and muscles to be exposed or fall out around him. His eyes were on the door, they were on you, as if he were crawling around looking for the exit.

You don't scream, you don't really do anything. Your blood pressure drops, leaving your body immobile and your eyes glued to the corpse in front of you. You didn't have the strength to move your head, your body forcing you to face what would be one of the worst traumas of your life. Shit, your mother was more than a bitch to you and to your sister, your father also abandoned you even when your brain couldn't process what abandonment was and the responsibilities that took your freedom so early were traumatic, but they were alive and warm. They weren't full of blood, with exposed muscles and the ground littered with organs around an empty human.

Your survival instincts finally took over your body, the adrenaline making the pain in your foot disappear and your blood pressure rise again, pumping blood throughout your body, silencing your mind, knowing that the anxiety and fear could be felt later. You take off running, your breath caught in your chest, thinking that if you left the oxygen in your lungs it would let you go unnoticed by the possible killer. Your legs think the opposite, sticking to the floor roughly and noisily, not caring about anything other than getting out through those doors.

When you reach the main hall, you bump into tables and chairs, not bothering to change trajectory, just feeling an unimaginable force rise up inside you, pushing all the objects in front of you, allowing them to leave bruises on your legs from the impact. You open the doors and the loud sound doesn't scare you, the scene you've encountered leaving no room for any other fear or surprise to stimulate your brain. The elevator doors are open, and you rush in, clicking the first button you can reach. You collapse onto the floor, crying loudly, begging anyone listening to make this elevator go down faster. You were desperate, your heart burning in your chest, signaling to your brain the state of stress you were in.

The elevator doors open, and you run through the streets, looking for anyone who can help you. You finally find a small family, who flinch in fear at the sight of a woman running through the streets screaming at the top of her lungs - you probably looked like an insane person. When the words "police" and "death" sound coherent between your panting and your screams, the lady holds the hands of the small child next to her, and calmly replies that they will take you to the nearest police unit.

Michael was still reading, the cotton in his ear allowing his concentration to be enhanced, analyzing the various images that represented the division of the leg muscles. The man, in boredom and endless quiet, challenged himself to memorize the differences of each, pointing at his own leg and trying to guess. Even though his muscles were practically atrophied by this point. The sound of the doorknob of the secret room being forced open was so loud that it pierced through the thick cotton fabric, startling the man. He keeps quiet, thinking it was you trying to get in or checking that the doors were locked properly before you left.

"Michael? It's me, open up," Henry's voice makes the younger man sigh in relief, getting up from the mattress to open the door. Henry practically pushes Michael as soon as he gains access to the small room, which makes Michael frown in annoyance. Why was Henry in such a hurry? The older man was gasping for breath and sweat was showing on his blue shirt.

"Pack your things," Henry says quickly, pulling the sheets off the mattress on the floor, "Anything you can't carry, hide it, we're getting out of here," the older man continues, hastily gathering the sheets in his arms to pick up other items scattered on the floor of the small room. Michael couldn't ask what was going on, used to the trust he had in Henry, only listening to the man he considered family and starting to hide the books and throw a cloth over the small television in the corner. Michael's items weren't cluttered, taking up a small amount of space in the secret room, given that he always organized it to be more visibly comfortable, leaving his things lined up and clean of dust. Michael picked up the mattress and put it under the metal rack, helping Henry pick up the last of the books and CDs that had been stashed away, finally following the anxious man out of the establishment. He had quickly put on his mask, covering the lower part of his face, letting the hood hide his eyes and skin.

Michael was nervous, of course; he hadn't left the same place for months, staring at the same walls and corridors for what seemed like an eternity. As he reached the elevator, he heard Henry leave the items he was carrying on the floor while he reached into the pocket of his jeans for something. "Put these on," the older man handed Michael a pair of sunglasses, which he quickly put on, knowing that the sunlight would be unbearable for his eyes, which were used to the darkness and yellow bulbs of the establishment.

The pair got out of the elevator and walked straight to the garage, where there were three vehicles: Michael's old, abandoned motocycle, Henry's car and a luxury car that he assumed belonged to Noah. Michael's thoughts were racing and anxious, full of questions and guesses as to what might be going on. However, after so long living with doubts and an eternal state of anxiety, Michael knew better than to question Henry in these moments, knowing that the two of them could trust each other more than anyone else. Henry would never do anything to hurt or harm Michael, he knows that, so even if he was confused by the abrupt way the two were leaving the establishment, he would wait for the right moment to get the answers he wanted.

The two of them practically threw the items they were carrying into the back seat, as Michael began to hear the loud noise of sirens arriving near the establishment. Henry hears it too, quickly starting the vehicle and rushing Michael into the passenger seat. The gray-haired man drives out of the parking lot at a speed so fast that it must be illegal for a street as quiet and abandoned as this one. Through the dark lenses of his glasses, Michael turns back to find the scene of several police cars and an ambulance arriving at the establishment through the rear window of Henry's car. The distance between the vehicles and the pair was enough to calm the nerves of the older man, who let out a loud sigh, letting his grip on the steering wheel relax. Henry had managed to get Michael out of the establishment before the police arrived, leaving without suspicion or trouble.

Michael looked at the man next to him when he heard his sigh, quickly analyzing Henry's body language. He was a little pale, sweat had accumulated on his forehead and shirt, his eyes were wide and his face bore fear. No, not again. Michael immediately thought, knowing what it meant to see Henry afraid. The pair had witnessed the horrors and traumatizing scenes that made any horror film or story seem like a fairy tale. Seeing Henry afraid was alarming, and it could only mean something. Or someone.

"Where's Y/n?" Michael asks, voice hoarse and low, his bandaged hand rubbing lightly against the inside door handle of the car, knowing that, depending on the answer, he was ready to throw himself out of the moving car to get to you. Henry takes a deep breath, and looks at the man he regarded as his son, smiling slightly, "She's fine, don't worry," he replies, quickly returning his gaze to the street.

"What happened?" Michael knows that Henry wouldn't lie in a situation like this, so if he said you were fine, it was the truth. But where were you? Where was Noah? Why were there police cars and an ambulance at the establishment? Michael wanted to know what had happened, why Henry had brought Michael out of hiding and if it somehow involved you.[

"Noah's dead," Henry replied dryly, "He was murdered." Honestly, anyone would have screamed or burst into tears at hearing about someone's violent death, but, sadly, Michael and Henry had heard this same phrase so many times that Michael was expecting to hear news similar to this. It was selfish, but the fact that your name wasn't on the phrase that haunted Michael calmed the man's nerves. "The police called the company, reporting that one of our employees had seen a dead body in this facility," Henry continued, "I came running to get you before the police arrived on the scene."

Michael's eyes widen, and he clenches his fists, "Who found the body?" He already knew the answer, but it was a reality he didn't want to accept. Henry took a deep breath, clenching his hands on the steering wheel again in frustration, not directed at Michael, but frustrated with the eternal heartbreak and disappointments that their life seemed to have become. "Y/n, Mike," the nickname came softly from the older man's lips, knowing it was a difficult reality for Michael to accept. Henry knew that the younger man had found comfort in you, always recounting the little interactions the two of you had or revealing traits of your personality that seemed to charm Michael more and more. It was heartbreaking to see the sparkle return to Michael's dark eyes, eyes that had become dead and black because of the various situations that Henry had no control over. The older man had already lost his only daughter to this nightmare in the form of an entertainment franchise, he had found a family and support in Michael, and he wanted nothing more than to see the son he had raised be happy. But that's what usually happens, that's what Henry knew would happen when he saw the smile on the younger man's face again: you would get involved. You'd be lost and caught in the spider's web that was both of their lives, and it would kill Michael all over again.

"Fuck," is what comes out of Michael's lips when he hears your name, even though he already knew it was the most likely thing to happen. But damn it, he couldn't help getting angry, clenching his fists and closing his eyes. Why did it have to be you? A woman who looked so beautiful with a smile on her face, who matched it so well with a soft, happy complexion that seemed to become even more charming when you laughed. You had finally faced a bit of the hell that Michael lived in and he could only imagine your features full of despair, your delicate figure trembling in fear and agony, your beautiful smile turning into a loud, tormented cry.

"She's fine, the police have taken care of her," Henry tried to comfort the man next to him, seeing Michael's closed fists, recognizing the all-too-familiar anger that had stalked Michael's body language since he was a teenager. "Y/n should be in the ambulance being cared for by the professionals," he continues, knowing that if Michael knew you weren't alone and receiving proper support, it might calm the man's nerves.

But no, Michael wasn't with you. Michael wasn't comforting you, he wasn't holding your trembling figure, holding your head as you cried. Michael wanted to whisper in your ear how protected you would be in his arms, how far he would go to ensure your safety. He knew that you should be receiving professional support and would probably be escorted home, where you would cry in the arms of the sister you love so much. Michael didn't answer Henry, knowing that the thoughts he was having wouldn't be understood by the man. Michael just wanted to see you, he knew what it was like to see a corpse for the first time, having experienced this scene all too soon.

"Look, I'm going to check on her later," Henry says after a moment's silence. Michael looks at him, finally a softer look when he hears that Henry is going to check on you. "I need to talk to her anyway, to understand what happened... I can take a message from you to her."

Michael nods, grateful for Henry's help. He knows it won't be enough, just a note or a caring message, Michael wanted to be by your side, healing all your fears just like you did for him.

"Okay, thanks Henry," Michael says and goes back to staring at the view from the window. He had so many thoughts running through his head that he didn't even stop to realize that he was finally out of the establishment. Michael understands that it won't be forever, and that eventually he'll have to go back into hiding, but just being able to see the sunlight again, feeling the warmth illuminate the purple skin of his fingers and the sound of cars interupting the silence.

The day he was left in an alleyway by Ennard, dumped to decompose, it was night, dimly lit and there was little movement on the streets. The establishment wasn't the best in terms of lighting either, so it was the first time he was seeing, really observing, the state of his body. The purple tone covering his skin was dark, some black spots were forming due to necrosis of the muscles and skin, the bands covering his hand were already old, but he knew that if he took them off now, his fingers would probably fall off. Michael opens his jacket a little to see the scar that expands from the beginning of his chest to the top of his pelvic area, bringing back memories of Henry stitching up his empty torso, his bloody hands pulling out any form of wire he could find inside Michael.

It didn't hurt, at least not at the time, the reality of the situation he was in being too absurd for him to focus on anything other than the fact that he wasn't dead*.*** Now, seeing that scar, it was a bit nostalgic, the changes in his body signifying this new phase of his days, and well, the days he met you.

You were still in shock, your hands hugging your two legs while your head was up, watching the policemen enter and leave the establishment. Your body had used up all the adrenaline, leaving you in this state of waking unconsciousness, just letting the stimulus be noticed but not responded to. You didn't have the strength to answer any more questions or listen to the various words of kindness from the health professionals. From what you had understood, you were not a suspect, but they had to keep you close to answer any more questions, given that you were the only one to interact with Noah on his last day. Alice had already been notified, rushing into the establishment, throwing herself on the concrete and crying loudly to see her insufferable boss at least one last time before his body was taken away. Well, he was unbearable, and probably very lonely, given that no one could bear to live with a man like that, but Alice came and mourned his death, over the fact that he would never disturb the little assistant again.

You couldn't feel sad, just going over the terrible image you'd found today, you'd never seen organs or the deformation of a face. It was so bizarre to see a capable, living human being turned into a transfigured image. You didn't want to go home, afraid of seeing the same image on your sister's face or in the dark corners of your room. You were feeling afraid, and it was a bit selfish, you believe, rather than mourning the death of a work colleague, you were afraid of being next. Certainly, dying like that must have hurt, and it must have been a torturous pain. You don't want to die in pain or screaming for help, but Noah probably didn't want to die like that either.

"Y/n?" a male voice calls out to you, but you don't turn your face to see who it is. Honestly, your eyes couldn't leave the doors of the establishment, ready to see the killer running after you or Noah's ghost waving at you. "Y/n?", the voice calls out again, which irritates you, making your face turn automatically to look for whoever was disturbing your silence.

"Oh, hi," you let out when you see the man who interviewed you in front of you. You had forgotten that a body was found inside the establishment where you were employed, so it was obvious that someone would be sent from the main office to come and talk to you.

"I don't know if you remember me, my name is Henry, I'm the one who interviewed you in the selection process," Henry comments, a soft smile forming on the man's face. He seemed nice, you remember, despite the lie he told in the interview, you seemed to like him. You don't smile back. "Look, I came to talk to you about what happened, but from what I've been told you're here all day, so we can talk another time if you prefer," Henry says, giving you the freedom to impose whatever limits your trauma allows.

You put your hands to your face, tired of having to recount the same sequence of events to every person who came to talk to you. It was only fair that they wanted to know, in fact, they needed to know, but the last thing you wanted was to be constantly reliving the scene where you found a dead body in the Funtime auditorium. "We can talk now, I don't want to keep doing this later," you sigh, letting your hands fall into your lap.

Henry nods, understanding your reasoning. "Well, before that, one of the workers found me and asked me to give you this," Henry holds out his hand, carrying a neatly folded, wrinkle-free piece of paper, "I had to send him away, but he insisted that I give you this."

You immediately take the note, already guessing who the writer was. You'd been thinking about Michael all day, waiting for the man to arrive for work only to see you in tears and police cars. You waited for him to come running towards your figure, taking you into a strong embrace, and letting your senses flood with the man's presence. You wanted to feel cared for by him, just as he made you feel every day at work. He always carried the heavy items for you, maybe he could carry the weight of your heart now too, letting you only feel lighter things again. But he didn't come, and it was understandable, probably the cops or the ambulance wouldn't have allowed him to go beyond the perimeter or get in touch with the only person who had information about the case, namely you.

Henry's eyes widened at the speed at which you grabbed the small piece of paper out of his hand, as if you were going to heal all your pain with just Michael's poorly written words. Perhaps they were, yours certainly cured some of Michael's pain. He watches you open and read the paper, the first smile in hours appearing on your face. Henry had seen that smile before, Michael having that same look every time he spoke of you. He didn't know what the younger man had written, letting you two have the privacy you deserve, but after seeing your face light up again, well, he was a little curious.

You smile and hold the paper in your hands, bringing it to your chest, as if Michael's words of comfort could be absorbed into your skin and act as a remedy for the emptiness your heart was feeling. As if your memory could be deleted, restarting a new story at the moment you read that note. But well, reality was never as sweet as Michael.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could give you the peace you now offer me every day. Everything must be a mess, but I promise you, my strength may come from my physique, but your strength had always come from your soul. I'll help you carry that weight too.

Love,

Michael"

[ynisreal]

wires (5) - michael afton x reader

author’s note: 2 chapters in a row???????? hehe

summary: You and Michael spend the day together. You receive an unexpected guest.

Chapter Five

You and Michael decided to start your workday by inspecting all the rooms of the old animatronics. They were spacious rooms, with empty stages and stored tables. The polite man who had interviewed you told you that the establishment had been intended to be a restaurant, but for security reasons it had been decided to turn it into an animatronics rental facility. That's why it was so spacious, making you feel a little sad. After all, what was supposed to be the start of a reference in fun and entertainment had turned into dark, empty and dusty rooms. You still couldn't understand the lack of animatronics, Henry's lie had been that they had been transferred, you couldn't understand why he would lie about the real reason for the lack of robots. Perhaps it was company confidentiality?

"Did you ever meet them?" You ask Michael, who is opening the door to the circuit breaker room. The man immediately stops in his tracks, a little surprised by your question. With your task of counting how many boxes and what materials were in them, you weren't looking at the man's silhouette, not noticing Michael's fearful posture.

Michael couldn't lie, after all, he has no reason to lie. He had already told you that he had worked in the establishment before you arrived, and indeed, he worked here before he died, in fact, his working here is what killed him.

"Yes," Michael tries to hide his own discomfort in his voice, which hasn't worked very well, but with your lack of attention, you don't notice it again.

"What were they like?" you ask, with a totally different tone from Michael, your voice full of curiosity and excitement. You had seen several posters and images of the establishment's stars in the corridors and in the elevator, they looked colorful and modern, which caught your attention.

"Hm", Michael tries to think of a sincere answer that isn't odd or frightening, "Big?", he replies insecurely, sounding more like a question than a definite answer.

"Big?!" you snap, dropping the pen you were writing on the report for Noah. You look at Michael with wide eyes, your curiosity only growing about the characters you faced every day in the elevator.

"Yes, bigger than any grown-up," Michael smiles at your surprise, finding your naivety at the whole situation cute. "It was a little scary," Little? Michael thinks, remembering the fear his younger brother felt when he met the original animatronics. They were big, noisy and had mechanical voices. Sister Location's animatronics were modern, metallic and with more refined gestures.

"They must have been incredible," you smile back, a little impressed by the fact that they were so big. You had seen the remains of replaceable or broken parts at Parts & Service with Michael, and indeed, they were heavy and complex, but the size of these robots was something you hadn't thought about.

"Yeah, they could have been incredible," Michael replied with the same dry tone as before, not wanting to get too deep into the topic. The idea on paper was revolutionary, animatronics made for the purpose of caring for and entertaining children, but Michael knew that wasn't how it worked out in practice. The man could still remember the emptiness he felt in his chest when he met Circus Baby, frustrated at only being able to touch and see metal parts, not Elizabeth's smile or beautiful hair.

"Cass would have liked it," you wonder, "Well, not now, at her current age, maybe when she was a bit younger."

"Yeah, maybe," Michael can't help the discomfort in his voice as he imagines your sister around any of these robots, after all, it hadn't gone well for either of his siblings.

You go back to writing down the items in the last box, leaving the weekly delivery report ready for Noah to analyze. The architect had asked for some special requests, requiring certain items or boxes to be in specific rooms to facilitate the team's creative process. You finish writing them down and start walking to the circuit breaker room, which is where Michael was.

"Watch out for the wires," Michael says with his back to you, knowing that it was in your nature not to look at the floor and end up tripping over the thousands of wires exposed in this small room. Michael tries not to look too far into the dark corners, still afraid of seeing Funtime Freddy peering through the darkness. Nowadays, it was Michael peering into the darkness to avoid being seen, *how the roles had changed.*

You proceed with caution, Michael's warning serving to draw your attention. "I don't usually go in here much," you reveal, "It's a bit scary." Michael lets out a small laugh, because frankly, you were right, Michael also found this whole establishment scary. The circuit breaker room was very dark, so the man didn't back away when you came closer to look at the buttons he was analyzing.

"It has some features - well, different features, is the phrase," Michael says, smiling as he presses the player so memorable to the man. The room floods with the robotic voice of the "Mascot Response Audio", which startles you with its abrupt loud noise.

"What the fuck is that?" you ask, hand placed over your racing heart. Michael laughs at your fright, used to the screeching sound of the audio that was used to ward off Funtime Freddy's attacks.

"It's pre-recorded audio to be used for the old Funtime Freddy," Michael explains without much detail, not knowing how to tell you that it was used to distract the animatronic from ripping his head off.

You nod, seeming not to have understood much, but you were still running on adrenaline from the scare, frightened by the noise and the darkness of the place. "It's creepy, I think that's the word," you say in reference to the one Michael had commented on, which brings another smile to the man's face.

"Good point," he replies, making his way to the exit door. The two of you make your way to the control room, with the intention of leaving your report in the room. Michael, motivated by your questions, was deep in thought about the first time he arrived at the facility, a man with a beating heart and driven to find his sister and the other souls trapped in this franchise.

"It used to be quite different," he says, interrupting the silence that was forming between the two of you. You leave your pen on the table and turn back to look at the man with a mask and hood. "What do you mean?" you ask, confused by what he's saying.

Michael smiles at your look of confusion, "Here, I meant, there were no corridors," he explains, leaning on the wall opposite you. "This control room was quite different too," the man adds.

"It didn't have corridors?" you ask, not understanding how an establishment like this wouldn't have corridors, "How did you get from one room to another?".

"There were ventilation ducts," Michael replies sincerely, not realizing the absurdity of his answer. Michael only notices the ridiculousness of his answer when he hears you laugh a little.

"What do you mean?" you laugh, not believing what you're hearing. Michael smiles back, loving hearing your laugh so early in the day, the decision to have spent the day with you seeming more delicious now. He had the privilege of seeing your eyes still a little puffy from sleep, hearing your voice and laughter, as well as seeing you concentrating on the tasks of the day, it was cute. Seeing you so early like this only made him more greedy and ambitious.

"I'm serious," he says with the least serious face possible, smiling and bringing his hands to his chest, as if pointing to his dead heart would bring credibility. "It was a nuisance having to crawl to work every day," Michael adds, making an uncomfortable face.

"I can imagine," you reply, still not quite believing him. After all, it was a bit strange to imagine any employee crawling through ventilation ducts to get to work.

"I'd like to see you crawl over to me," Michael adds, a confident smile on his face. Even if you couldn't see his smile, you could hear the teasing tone in his voice.

"In ventilation ducts?" your voice comes out a little slurred due to your embarrassment, but the image is too bizarre for you to pass up.

Michael shakes his head in denial as he laughs, after all, your surprise at the whole situation was admiring, he thought. Your reactions to the information Michael was telling you were cute, and it was impossible for the man not to laugh, overwhelmed by happiness for being with you. Thinking about the time spent with you was a foreign feeling for Michael, after all, until a few weeks ago he thought he would be stuck in the establishment, living out the remains of his unhappy life in the shadows, paying for the sins he didn't commit. Michael didn't like hiding, he didn't like the situation life had forced him into, putting him in the shadows while his father was still out there. However, as much as his situation hadn't changed much, still being trapped in the establishment and in the shadows, Michael couldn't bring himself to think of him as unhappy. Michael was happy in your company, he had abandoned any future predictions or thinking about the million impossibilities of your relationship working out, because he wanted to enjoy what he had now. What he had now was: you in the establishment during working hours. Michael had to be grateful for this, since this was what brought life to the long **dead** days of the man.

You put the report away in one of the drawers, taking your eyes off the man hidden in the shadows of the corridor, his silhouette slightly illuminated by the yellow light of the control room. You smile at the man, happy to be able to spend more time with him. As much as you'd like to spend that time trapped in the control room lost in the pleasure of his lap, you have bills to pay and a sister to look after. "We have to clean the Funtime Auditorium, given that Noah is scheduled to come tomorrow," you comment crossing your arms, "I believe he's going to measure the room."

"Hm, is he critical of cleanliness?", Michael asks, even though he knows the answer, constantly hearing the man's complaints seep through the walls of his hidden room.

"He is, and as much as the establishment is in good condition thanks to you and me," you smile, remembering the late afternoons you spent cleaning every inch of the place, "I don't want to risk it, to avoid the headache it would be to hear him criticizing my work," you flinch in irritation, already imagining the authority and rudeness in Noah's voice.

Michael is immediately irritated too, it's already unbearable to hear the way the architect treated his coworker, Alice, but if he spoke to you like that, Michael wouldn't be able to stop himself from leaving the establishment and smashing Noah's entire car. The masked man almost smiles as he remembers the many times he did just that in his teenage years, perhaps being a teenager with unaddressed anger issues had come in handy. "Okay, come on then, let me get the cleaning materials," Michael stops to stand in the archway at the entrance to the control room, "I don't want you accidentally dropping bleach on your skin."

"Like you're going to be able to carry all the materials in just two hands all the way to the auditorium," you complain, even though you know he could. Michael was strong, hiding his muscles under so much fabric to conceal his skin. But you can't help being frustrated that he takes all the heavy lifting upon himself, which makes you feel a little helpless and guilty about your lack of participation. "After all, the bleach can also get on your skin," you point out, starting to walk behind the man, respecting the distance he wishes.

Michael grins again, even though he knows that all smiles are invisible to you. "My skin wouldn't be affected," the man says with a confident tone, teasing you. You let out a small chuckle, unimpressed by the man's words. However, you feel a feeling you've never felt before take over your entire body. Your body or your mind, you can't pinpoint it to this day, has always reacted in a standard way when people are lying to you, whether it's intuition or heightened lucidity, you can easily spot lies. But for the first time in your life, you felt the truth. Your mind telling you that what Michael had said was true. It was a sensation so different from anything you'd ever experienced before that it stopped you in your tracks. You began to silence the world around you to try to hear and understand what your body had to say. But it wasn't a feeling that lasted, being present for a few seconds and then disappearing completely, as if it had never been sensed. Did you imagine it? Or did you misinterpret it? Maybe the feeling was just lack of sleep or hunger.

Michael noticed the silence of your footsteps, turning his head towards you to understand what had made you stop in the middle of the corridor. Your eyes were focused on the floor, a confused look on your face. Michael flinches when he sees that you seem frustrated about something. "Y/n? Is everything all right?" he asks, immediately causing you to raise your gaze to him. You nod a little frantically, not wanting to worry the man. In all honesty, you didn't take into consideration what you had just felt, as it was too new for you to assume or draw conclusions. Michael noticed your somewhat distracted and nervous posture, but decided not to press you to explain yourself or tell him what had happened, knowing that he had no right to ask for clear answers from you. If you were letting him live with his secrets, he would try not to be bothered with yours either.

"I just remembered how much I want to pour bleach into Noah's mouth," you reply, jokingly trying to distract Michael from the increasing heartbeats hammering in your chest, almost becoming detectable in the silence of the corridor. Michael smiles, laughing at the aggressive lie in your speech.

"Don't count me in as an accomplice," Michael says, walking ahead of you in search of the cleaning products. "It seems like a lot of work," he continues, finally reaching the shelves that hold the materials. Michael may be joking, but he knows that at this point, by how happy you made him and how much you brightened up the man's dull days, he would be an accomplice. All so he wouldn't have to stay away from you.

You stretch out your arms to Michael, hoping he'll give you some materials to help him carry. Michael stares at you, considering your offer to help for a few seconds before handing you the washcloths. Just the washcloths. You roll your eyes and let out a sound of frustration, something Michael seemed used to hearing every time he refused to make you carry heavy things or do manual labor. Perhaps Michael has become addicted to hearing those sounds and that look coming from you.

The two of you make your way to the auditorium, Michael by your side carrying the products and you with the cloths in one hand. The Funtime Auditorium was the same size as the Ballora Gallery, the only room for the animatronics being relatively smaller than both was the Circus Baby Gallery. Neither you nor Michael entered that room very often, because of the mess that had accumulated. Michael had lived every day after his death in the establishment, he cleaned and organized the whole place, knowing that having a routine or something to be responsible for would soothe the voices in his head. However, he didn't have the courage to go in there, so the mess had piled up, and there were probably still pieces of animatronics and some electronics scattered around the gallery. You didn't like going in there, frustrated by the extreme mess, always being reminded to set aside a day to tidy up all the objects that had gathered in the small room.

"Hm, Michael," you say, as you bend down to clean the tiles on the floor with the brush, taking care to only do so on the tiles that Michael had already swept clean with the broom, "Since Noah isn't coming today, we can clean up the Circus Baby Gallery together". You suggest, knowing that the job of cleaning the entire room would be much quicker with the man's help.

Michael froze, not knowing what to say. He didn't want to go in there, not out of fear or anything, because he knew that the animatronics, or rather Ennard, were no longer here. Michael had felt them all come out of his mouth as they left him to decompose in a dark, damp alley. The animatronics had fled somewhere, leaving the establishment empty for Michael's return. But the Circus Baby Gallery was an emotional place for the man, being the place where his sister had died and where they had been reunited. It was a reminder of the hope Michael had felt when he heard his little sister's voice, metallic and robotic yet soft, for it to be completely lost and destroyed in the scooping room.

"Can we do that another day?" Michael replied softly, letting his mind take control of his mouth. Michael didn't have the strength to lie when it came to his siblings, he felt his weakness and vulnerabilities coming to the surface, "Not today", it comes out almost in a sigh, voice hoarse and full of emotions that take you by surprise.

"Of course, we don't have to do it today," you say, trying to maintain a neutral posture, not wanting to make the man any sadder, "We can do it another day, we can set up a time," you continue, a smile on your face. Michael felt relaxed by your affection, happy to know that you had respected the limits that his heart and mind could handle today.

You return to your repetitive tasks, Michael sweeping the tiles while you carefully wipe them down with a cloth full of product. A silence fell, and Michael knows why, you were curious, you wanted to ask why he had never cleaned the Circus Baby Gallery, even though he had worked here before you. Ever since you arrived, the room has been disgusting in contrast to the other rooms, which were always shiny and fresh because of Michael's hard work. The man notices the gears turning in your mind, your puzzled face being a little too cute, showing your frustration at not getting the answers you wanted. You want to ask, but you both know how this conversation ended last time. Yeah, maybe Michael wants you to ask again, just so he can blindfold you and leave you without any answers whatsoever.

"Do you know about the rumors?" Michael decides to put an end to your stress and take mercy on your curious mind. You stop your movements, already knowing where this conversation was going. Your sister had told you, a little too excited to be sharing scary conspiracy theories she'd heard from her friends at school. You weren't frightened, you really weren't, but this story made you double-check the dark corners of the establishment just to make sure there was no one there.

"I heard about it, it's famous among kids my sister's age", you replied in a neutral voice, not wanting to show your obvious fear, given that you and Michael were in a closed room and didn't have a completely accurate view of all the dark corners of the auditorium. Michael notices your stiffness, being used to seeing people afraid, it was a sensation he had to learn to cope with for many years. He didn't like to see such a recognizable feeling stamped on your posture.

"This establishment proceeds the franchise's shady reputation," Michael sighed, as if he was tired of reliving the same story over and over again. He had relived this story many times during his life, after all, the little conspiracy theories that children told their friends in order to scare them was Michael's reality, it was the documented history of his life and those around him. "A few years ago, this establishment was a restaurant," you nod, knowing this information from your interview with the older man and a little internet research, "However, there were some reports of a gas leak, which caused the restaurant to close, becoming a place to rent animatronics," Michael continues, voice a little quieter than usual, having to take a few breaks to calm his mind from memories of his childhood and the effects of the gases, how they could make any sane child into a small form trembling in fear and paranoia.

You didn't know this information, and frankly, you had no interest in knowing why the restaurant had closed, assuming it had been due to some accident or lack of funds. Well, now your curiosity has been piqued, curiosity and fear as a matter of fact. "Soon after, the animatronics started having some maintenance problems, which caused in one," Michael paused in his sentence, waiting for the right word to come to mind. The word that wouldn't cause a more emotional reaction from Michael, "Well, let's just say a small accident, which is why the animatronics are no longer in the establishment". He finishes the story, waiting to hear your response, given that, he hadn't lied, he told you what happened, he just hid the fact that the little accident involved him dying and the animatronics taking over his body to roam the streets. They were small omissions, Michael told himself.

"And you don't enter the Circus Baby Gallery out of fear?" you ask, sincerely curious and interested in the story. Michael is surprised by your reaction, thinking that you would laugh in his face or mock him for believing in children's stories, but your reaction is genuine. Of all the information he told you, you were worried about why he didn't want to enter the gallery. You were worried about him.

"It may be fear, but I think it's something else," Michael tells you, not even realizing that he was responding truthfully. He was so used to lying to you, but he had no one but Henry to talk to about the events that had traumatized him forever, the events that had taken his sister away from him and taken his life. Michael couldn't hold back the urge to share the darkest parts of him with the light you brought into his life, it was as if by getting too close or knowing a little more, you could burn those memories away, erasing them with your light. "It could be the memories I have of that room," Michael sighs, feeling the discomfort of oversharing.

"Hm," you vocalize, confusion evident in your voice, but you won't pressure him, knowing he'll open up when he's ready, "I see." That feeling takes over your body again, Michael was telling the truth. Well, you're now able to confirm it, not being taken aback by a new sensation, he was being honest with you, and as much as you don't know what that means or what memories he might have with this establishment, you were glad to see him being honest with you.

Michael doesn't look at you, he just goes back to sweeping the floor, which he hadn't even realized he had paused on. Michael is grateful that your reaction was neutral, that you didn't want to delve any further into the box of memories and traumas that is Michael's mind. You were letting him take his time to open up to you, being careful with your words and your actions, not wanting to stress him out like you did last night.

"It's sad," you comment, breaking the silence once again. Michael looks at you in surprise, not knowing what had made you say that. "Well, the rumors are sad, I can understand why people are scared," you continue, a little unsure of your statement now that Michael's non-visible face is pointed at you, a bit of his all-black eyes becoming apparent. "I am too, but I'm sad as well, it's unfortunate to think that children are the victims of all this, souls so full of light and innocence," you continue, staring into Michael's dark eyes, accustomed to the total darkness that fills them. "It's a good thing they're just rumors, I wouldn't be able to work here if they were true," your train of thought comes to an end, and you go back to cleaning the tiles that were forgotten during your conversation with the man in front of you.

Wow, that's new.

Michael knew you'd have a sense of what had happened, or what the children seemed to gossip about the locations. But you told him in a voice so full of sadness and comfort that it almost made Michael fall into your arms, longing to be consoled too. He hadn't even noticed that his eyes were a little too apparent, letting you find them during the conversation, the dark, totally black eyes you had sketched. You oozed softness, no matter how clumsy you were and how many swear words would occasionally come out of your lips, you brought solace to his life.

"Can you close your eyes again?" Michael asks, a little too excited to notice how his voice had come out a little desperately. You immediately blush, remembering the events of last night, and how a simple request from Michael had turned into you begging on the man's thighs as he kissed your neck.

"Michael, I'm still on the clock," you reply, your cheeks red and your eyes shining with arousal. Michael smiles as he watches the scene, after all, you're down on your hands and knees, your face showing all the reactions Michael can make you feel.

"I'm not going to do anything extra," Michael continues, moving a little closer to you, breaking the safe distance he promised himself to keep every day, but seemed to be breaking several times. "Trust me," he continues, voice soft and sweet, so sweet that you could feel his kiss on your mouth again.

You nod, a little too responsively for the situation, but you couldn't help it, especially when it was Michael asking you so lovingly. A sigh leaves your lips, and you close your eyes, feeling the darkness that took you in its arms last night return. You felt the vulnerability return, the feeling of helplessness and your walls of protection come crashing down, leaving you once again at the mercy of the man in front of you, the one you couldn't see the face of. The conversation earlier left you a little frightened, and now, with your sight taken from you once again, you can't help but reach for Michael with your arms, wanting to feel his presence bringing you safety.

"Sh, sh, I'm here," Michael replies, his voice so close to you, one of the things you missed about yesterday. Feeling him close was nice, it made you forget the thousands of secrets and barriers Michael kept between the two of you. He takes your hands and guides them into his arms, the two of you sitting on the freshly cleaned floor of the auditorium. You feel a sense of security invade your body, knowing that Michael is close to you, putting a solid wall between the two of you and your childish fears.

You grip the fabric of Michael's sweater, letting your fingers feel the muscles in his biceps in conjunction with the small pieces that felt like wires, which, at first, you had found odd, but now, they seemed to fit Michael, your desperation for his touch making you get used to the new sensation. You feel Michael's cold palm meet your skin, placing his bandaged hand over your eyes to make sure you don't open them again. The man feels himself smile as he feels your warm skin for the second time, happy to feel the life and warmth in your body, which creates a delicious contrast to his cold, dead body. Seeing that you had calmed down and let Michael have the freedom to do as he pleased, he moves closer, feeling your soft breath against his face.

Michael brings his hand up to his mask, revealing the man's purple lips, and moves closer to your face. With a calm unaccustomed to Michael, he kisses you, softly and romantically, a new experience compared to the kiss you two shared yesterday. It was a soft touch of Michael's lips on yours, a kiss of comfort, you know that the previous conversation had made the man reactive and nervous, so he was seeking solace in your touch. You weren't the only one who seemed to seek safety in it.

It was a short kiss, purely for you to put your anxieties and fears aside, a touch that calmed Michael's nerves, so when he took his hand away from your eyes, he didn't realize he was still too close, letting the mask return to where it was before he lowered it, covering his lips. When you open your eyes, letting your vision slowly return, you could see Michael's eyes, without any shadows to cover them or obscure your visibility.

And no, you weren't confused or tired that day. Michael's eyes were undeniably dark. Completely black.

When Michael went back to drop off the cleaning materials near the main hall, you tried to calm your heart by the scene that was installed in your mind. Michael's eyes were completely black, just like in the drawing you made of him, it wasn't the shadows of the hood he wore, he really did have black eyes. Did he wear contacts? Or did he have some rare condition? You let the questions flood into your head, even though you know you won't ask the man any of them. You weren't supposed to see it, opening your eyes too quickly and not letting the safe distance between the two of you return. You don't know how Michael would react if he knew that you had managed to see the eyes he was hiding so much.

Before you can think of anything else, you hear a loud noise coming from a door inside the Funtime Auditorium. You get up from the floor, staring at the door that has been locked for your entire time working here. You never found the key to that room, and you tried to enter it several times to check what it was or so that Noah could analyze the small room. But it was always locked. As it didn't seem to be anything important, you never asked Michael what it was that was kept there or why the room was locked. However, with the loud noise that has just been revealed from inside, fear returns to your veins.

"Is anyone there?" you ask, your voice loud enough for anyone in that room to hear.

Suddenly, the door opens, creaking from the lack of movement for what seems like months. The door opened slowly, extending the high-pitched creaking noise, almost making your ears hurt. You begin to take cautious steps, making your way into the mysterious room. When you reach the archway of the newly opened door, you find something you never thought you'd find here. A scooping room? You think, given that neither your interviewer nor Michael had ever mentioned this room to you. The light was off and the air was damp, making you sniffle. It was a heavy, almost gloomy air.

You entered the room carefully, looking for the source of the sound that had startled you a few moments ago. The huge windows brought a little light into the room, given that you had tried the switch and it didn't seem to be working, since no light was present. The windows seemed to lead into the control area of the mechanical arm in the middle of the room, which was quite scary to have something so big and dangerous in the midst of such an establishment. That must be why the door was kept locked, you imagine.

"Is anyone here?" you repeat, wanting to find out who made the sound. Or what made the sound. Your brain betrays you with such a dark thought, making you break out in a cold sweat. You start to hear Michael's footsteps echoing through the empty corridors, so you decide to go back through the door you came in, but as you turn, your heart stops beating for the first time in your life.

There was an animatronic. Was it an animatronic? You didn't know, you'd never seen one up close. It had a metallic body, full of apparent wires and pipes, unlike the photos and posters that were scattered around the elevator. Its face contained white metal plates that seemed to open and close, highlighting the other pipes and wires that completed the mechanics of its face. Its eyes glowed in the dark like two flashlights, exposing the small hat on top of its face.

You raised your hand to your pounding heart, which had apparently started beating again a few seconds ago. You had to hold back your giggles to stop yourself from bursting into laughter at your fright. It was just an animatronic, perhaps one they had tried to disassemble or it was out of use and they had left it here, forgetting about it. The thought almost makes you feel sympathy for the large piece of what looked like metal junk in front of you.

"Damn, they must have left you here," you whisper quietly as you approach the wrecked robot in front of you. It was on the side of the door, almost completely hidden in the dark corner if it weren't for the eyes that illuminated fractions of the room you were in. "I'll have to call headquarters tomorrow, so they can come get you," you tell the robot, making a mental note of what you'll have to do tomorrow.

When you hear Michael's footsteps entering the auditorium, you walk out the door, closing it, leaving the animatronic alone again. You can see Michael walking past the entrance door to the Funtime Auditorium, and when he sees you with your hands on the handle of *that* room, he starts to run. Running like your life depended on it.

"Y/n!", Michael shouts, startling you, immediately backing away from the door. Michael runs towards you, bumping into the various chairs or tables that were stacked up inside the auditorium, but he didn't seem to care, his goal being to reach you.

When his body collides with yours, he wraps his arms around you from behind, lifting you into the air. "Michael! What the fuck?" you ask, flapping your legs in the air, stunned by the man's strength. Michael doesn't answer, just carries you to the middle of the auditorium, where he had left you. "Michael! Put me down!" you scream once again, your arms immobilized by the man's grip.

Michael puts you down gently, quickly positioning himself in front of you, and before you can calm down and look at him clearly, he lifts his hand to cover your eyes. "Michael! What's gotten into you?" you ask in frustration, grabbing his arms and trying to pull them away from your eyes, still surprised by the man's abrupt reaction.

"Easy, calm down," he whispers repeatedly, waiting for you to stop trying to pull his arms away, not that you could, the man in front of you being so much stronger than you.

"Michael, what happened?" you asked, your voice still a little frantic, but your demeanor calmer, your hands relaxing on the man's arms that still covered your eyes. Michael was close to you again, you could feel his knees brushing against yours.

"Don't ever go near that room again," Michael replied dryly, a hoarse, authoritative voice filling your ears. But that voice didn't fool you, Michael was afraid, he was worried, there were even hints of sadness in the man's voice. It made you calm down immediately, aware of the mental state of the man in front of you. "Please, Y/n, not there," he continued, the farce of an authoritative, dry voice escaping from the man's voice, sounding as if he were begging. What the fuck, what was in there?

You can't bring yourself to question the man, letting your instincts to console and comfort Michael take over as you reply: "Okay".

But Michael, unlike you, can't tell when others are lying to him.

[ynisreal]

wires (4) - michael afton x reader

author´s note: helloooo! college is frying my neurons so I got confused and ended up thinking I had written smut in the other chapter…. but it's in this one lmao sorry guys :P tw: this chapter contains smut (now is fr sorry for the confusion!!)

summary: You and Michael share an intimate moment.

Chapter Four

His hands immediately go to your waist, pulling you closer to him. Before your brain can process what was happening, you let your body react on its own and wrap your arms around his neck, making him pull you impossibly closer. Michael squeezes your waist, wanting to feel your whole body in the palms of his hands. You shouldn't be doing this, you should be asking more questions and trying to understand what it was that caused his feelings to explode, but you can't think of anything else. Blindfolded, you've been deprived of reality, with Michael trapping you in whatever reality he wants to create. You were going to follow his lips into whatever fantasy he wanted to create in your head, ready to stop facing the world and your responsibilities for a few minutes.

His tongue was dominating every possible place in your mouth, preventing you from thinking about anything other than his touch on your body. You clutched the fabric of his jacket, seeking stability in the ferocity of the kiss. You weren't expecting this, the blindfold on your eyes making your whole body more sensitive to the man's hands, and, oh man, was he going to take advantage of it.

Without breaking the kiss, he takes a few steps back, tightly gripping your waist so as not to let you separate from him. Not like you were, too lost in matching the fervor of his lips and tongue. When Michael senses that he has come close to a table when he feels it brush against the back of his leg, he separates his lips from yours. Before you can protest the abrupt stop, you feel his hands go under your thigh, lifting you up to sit on one of the tables. The movement startles you, given that you have no sight, allowing a small yelp to escape your lips.

You feel, shit, you feel Michael laugh, the vibrations of his torso against yours, his hands coming up to rest on your thighs, squeezing them lightly.

"Relax, doll, I just wanted to make you more comfortable," he says, his mood totally changed by the kiss you two shared. That was the effect you had on him, easily erasing any frustration or anxiety he felt. And he wanted more, he wanted you to erase his memory completely.

So Michael doesn't even wait for you to respond, bringing your lips into contact again, feeling you open your mouth wider to let his tongue explore. You were so vulnerable, so responsive in Michael's hands, trusting his every action, knowing that you had nothing to do or how to react, the lack of your sight leaving you defenseless and taking away all your will to protest his lies. You were totally at the mercy of the man.

Michael seemed to take advantage of this, so you let his hands explore your thigh, squeezing them lightly. He wasn't going to miss this opportunity, to touch the body he had admired for so long, which he made a point of memorizing while you weren't looking, to the point of being able to draw it by memory. You were breathtaking, and having his hands on you, being able to squeeze and explore any part of your body, would drive Michael as crazy as his father had.

You feel his hands on your thighs, allowing your hands to explore his arms, letting them follow the trail from the nape of his neck to his biceps, holding the muscle in your small hands. Being so focused on the kiss, you decide not to question when you feel bits of something metallic under the stretched fabric of his jacket, suggesting that the moment wasn't one of questioning, only of acceptance. They felt like wires.

Without realizing it, you must have squeezed a little too hard, because Michael lets out a suppressed sigh that is totally swallowed up by your eagerness about kissing him. Sensing your growing courage to touch him, Michael brings his hands to your hips, letting his fingers find your ass, squeezing and savoring when the fat and muscle spill between his fingers. Your cheeks flush, still embarrassed by Michael's hands yearning for your body. Your little moan is heard by the man, in which it sounded like you were more than approving of his actions. But he can't hold back any longer when he finally has you all to himself, blindfolded so as not to risk seeing him, while making noises like the one you've just made. Michael was a strong and resilient man, but, come on, not so much. How do you expect him to react when fate hands you and your body over to Michael in this way for him to do with as he pleases? He'll go wild.

"Is your sister waiting for you at home?" Michael breaks away from you, the question sounding a little rushed due to the man's shortness of breath. The question takes you by surprise, being thrown into your reality so quickly that it takes you a few seconds to answer: "She's with a neighbor until I arrive," you say, slowly recovering, not wanting to talk, only focused on the way Michael squeezed your ass a little harder after your answer.

"Perfect," you hear him reply and you understood the reason for his questioning the moment Michael lowered his hands to the inside of your thigh again, lifting you off the cold surface you were on. You immediately grab his shoulders, not wanting to fall to the ground or, worse, let the moment you were having end. Michael's footsteps make your body sway in his arms, too eager for what this night promised as soon as you felt his half-hard cock forming through his pants. You couldn't care less that the two of you were going to do this in the place where you worked, in fact, it seems only right for your growing relationship. You met here, flirted here, argued here, and well, you'd have sex here too.

Michael didn't put you back down, just took a seat in the control room chair, positioning you on top of his thighs. The man needed to feel you, his cock starting to throb to be inside you, more than prepared to listen to your little whimpers, watching your body tremble and yearn for more as he fucked you on the same table you were sleeping on the first day you saw each other. Michael had wanted to do this since that day. To squeeze your ass, mouth glued to your perfect pair of tits, while he assaulted your pussy only to hear you make more of those delicious whimpers he heard today. The thought makes the blood rush completely out of the man's head, down to the growing pulse inside his pants.

You reach for the man's face, letting your hands run up from his shoulders to his chin, pulling him close to your lips again. Michael lets you, understanding more than anyone your eagerness to have him close to you again, catching the fierce nature of your kiss quickly. He can feel the heat of your pussy on his thigh, showing that you were just as turned on as he was, imagining all the different possibilities you could do in this room. His hands on your ass begin to guide your hips to grind against his thigh, pressing the muscle of his leg under your clit, your body twitching a little between Michael's arms. You moan between kisses, even though the stimulation is small and slow, your body was aching for more, deprived of anything other than the friction on your clit and Michael's lips. He grinned, loving seeing you all vulnerable and moaning between his arms and thigh, increasing the force a little as he guided your hips against his thigh, the sounds you were making increasingly maddening his head.

"Michael, please- Let me see you," you beg between breaths, not caring how you sound to him, desperate and aroused, wanting to see the man who was pleasuring you.

"Sorry doll," Michael cooed, "You're into villains, and I'm into seeing pretty girls blindfolded," he teased, bringing his mouth close to your ear, the air that came out from his words brushing against your ear, raising the hairs on the back of your head. Michael starts kissing your neck, biting and sucking the skin as you roll your hips onto his thigh. You don't respond, squeezing his shoulders in search of stability, almost moaning again as you feel the smile forming on Michael's lips against your neck, amused that he's the only one who gets to see you like this.

"Let's get this off," Michael's fingers left your hips and began searching for the buttons to your uniform pants, letting you stand up to remove the material. You can't see anything, which is why you felt so nervous about being in your underwear in front of Michael and your nervousness only increased when his fingers traveled to the buttons of your shirt. You let him remove your blouse, leaving you in just your underwear and bra, exposed to the man who took your sight away. You blush as you feel his hands on your legs, tracing the path slowly from touching your thighs to your waist.

"Fuck, you're perfect," Michael was mesmerized by your body, mind being infiltrated by the images of the perfect pair of tits in front of him. He felt like a teenager again, unable to contain all the horniness running through his veins, pulling you to sit on his thigh again. You felt like a rag doll, being pulled and carried everywhere Michael wanted to take you, caring for you and giving you as much pleasure as you wanted. The fabric of his jeans brushed against your cunt again, and Michael immediately returned to guiding your hips to stimulate your little clit again. You resumed your mewling as you felt his fingers bring your bra down, positioning his mouth on your nipple, licking and nibbling lightly.

"Michael, please-", you put your hand on his belt, tugging it lightly, showing that you wanted to remove the piece of fabric that prevented you from feeling the man's hard dick. Michael smiles between your breasts, finding your longing cute, you were so desperate in his arms, moaning and begging while blindfolded. You didn't know what you were asking for or doing, you just wanted anything Michael was going to give you.

"Not now, doll," he replies, the vibrations being felt between your tits, "Let me have fun with you today," his mouth begins to suck small marks into the fatty skin of your chest. "I've wanted you for so long, so let me do all the things I thought about whenever I saw you in that tight uniform," Michael adds, his lust almost dripping from his voice.

You know that he'd been wanting you for a long time, the confirmation you had was his fully hard sex under your hand, being contained by Michael's pants. And, fuck, he was big, making your mouth water, dying to feel him inside you so he could put you in an incoherent state, willing you to concentrate only on the way he was going to stretch you apart.

Michael had already committed a few sins in his life, but the sight of his hands, purple and dead, touching your skin so alive and warm, was the first time he had seen sin. Your body was so full of life, it was warm and trembled vaguely as he sucked on your nipples. You whimpered with pleasure as you pressed yourself against his thigh, trying to relieve the throbbing between your legs. Michael can't go to heaven, but honestly, he didn't even want to go anymore, he just wanted to die again between your legs, drowning in your sweet pussy.

Michael's hands enter your underwear, making you stop your movement, leaning back a little, letting his hand explore the warm wetness of your pussy. "Let me help you," he says, his fingers making small circles on your clit, slowly, analyzing any reaction from your body.

"Please- Michael, I want to feel you too," you continue to moan, begging him to take his pants off once more. Honestly, you were fucking desperate, the thought of feeling him fucking you in that chair made you forget all rationality.

"But you look so cute like this, begging and squirming on my thigh," Michael replied, in the same provocative tone as before. Yes, Michael wanted to see you collapsing as he pounded his cock into your tight walls, but, it was true, you looked incredible right now. Michael's fingers circling your clitoris, your breathing faltering a few times, making your breasts sway in front of the man's eyes. He could see your face contorting, a few strands of hair sticking to your forehead from sweat, the tie covering your beautiful eyes.

Michael began to move his fingers a little faster, realizing that he had found the perfect rhythm when he heard a long, soft moan come from your lips. You began to move your hips, seeking more friction, as you felt the pleasure take over your mind. "Easy doll, I want to catch all your reactions as you cum," he said, holding your hips in place, not wanting to rush your orgasm, he wanted to see you crumble in front of him. He turned ambitious, he wanted to grasp the moment, he wanted to watch your whole body squirm at his touch, he didn't want to rush it, even though his cock was almost tearing through the fabric of his pants, he wanted to take it slow.

His fingers entered your pussy, Michael almost moaned as he felt how wet you were, all for him, your body reacting so perfectly to his dead body. You were warm and soft inside, which made Michael lose all the sanity he was keeping, focusing his movements on making you cum, wanting to feel your spasms squeeze his fingers even tighter.

"Fuck- Michael," you moan his name as you feel his fingers move in and out of you, the bandages making a delicious friction on your pussy.

"That's it, pretty girl, you can cum for me, right? I want to watch," Michael says, dropping his mouth to abuse your neck and breasts again, delighting in the taste of your body. He could feel you twitching, your legs closing between Michael's thighs with the stimulation he was giving your body.

You nod, wanting to please the man who was pleasuring you, his husky voice almost making you climax. He continues to finger you, holding your hips tightly, not wanting you to escape his hands, he didn't want to miss seeing your body surrender to having an orgasm on his fingers. He increased the pace, searching for your clit with his thumb as he fingered you, curling the fingers that were inside your pussy to find that spongy, delicious spot inside you.

"Michael, please - don't fucking stop..." you whimper, your body betraying you by spasming when you feel his fingers curling. Looks like he's found it.

"That's it, that's it, cum for me," Michael whispers in your ear, stopping his abuse on the skin of your nipple as he feels you tighten around his fingers. "Come on, Y/n, you look so fucking beautiful like this."

You feel it before you can comprehend it, your legs closing abruptly around the man's thigh, your hands gripping the man's shoulders firmly, bringing your face close to kiss him. But you can't find his face. "No, doll, I want to hear the delicious sounds that are coming out of your mouth," he says, pulling his face away from yours, letting your cheek fall between his neck and shoulder. You cum, feeling the spiral inside your body stretch and burst, making your legs quiver and your hands search for the man's arms to hold on to.

Michael doesn't stop abusing your clit even after your orgasm, making you repeatedly moan his name while your head rests on his shoulder. When you realize he hasn't stopped, you quickly raise your head, holding his hands trying to stop the overstimulation.

"Shh, doll, you can handle a bit more, hm?", Michael coos, continuing the movements on your pussy, ignoring your grip on his arms due to the pleasure overwhelming your body. "Come on, I want to see more," Michael smiles, kissing the top of your head that has fallen onto his shoulder.

You had barely recovered from your orgasm and Michael's stimulation on your throbbing cunt was setting you on the path to another. Your walls tightened around his fingers, inviting and warm, as if your body wanted to trap the man's fingers inside you. It was all-consuming, you couldn't see him, but you could hear the little sighs he let out, you could feel his hands and his dick completely hard under your hand that was still holding his belt. It was too much, it was a tsunami of sensations, and you let Michael flood you.

The spiral inside you starts to form faster than the other, due to the high sensitivity of your body, so you grab Michael's sweater and start to wonder about the mess you must have made in his pants. He didn't care, in fact, he was more than happy to see the puddle that was forming on his thigh, knowing that this was all his fault that you were like this, tired, shivering and satisfied because of him. Michael couldn't care less about the filthy pants.

"Mi-, hm, Michael, I'm going to cum again," you whine loudly, knowing that there's no one to hear but the two of you, and man, Michael was loving it all.

" That's it, you look so gorgeous while you're cumming," he replies, grabbing your chin with his other hand, leaving your face exposed to him. "Go on, love, cum for me," you hear him say, too tired to try and hide your face because of the shame, Michael holding your chin in place, squeezing your flushed cheeks and your mouth falling open as you moan repeatedly. Michael wanted to draw the face you were making now, red and sweaty, totally lacking in any emotion other than pleasure, the tie hiding your eyes, but your overstimulated expression was clearly recognizable. It was beautiful. You are beautiful.

You cum for the second time on Michael's fingers, a small cry escaping your lips, your mouth wide open as he squeezed your cheeks, pulling your face into another kiss. He swallows your cries and moans, waiting for you to stop shaking, letting his lips guide you back from the abyss your orgasm had thrown you into. Your head falls back on his shoulder, completely unaccustomed to cumming twice just from someone's fingers. Michael made you feel sensations and emotions that were lacking in your life, you forgot all the responsibilities you'd taken on since you were young for a few hours, being able to just be a little woman in the big arms of the man in front of you, letting him take care of you and your pleasure.

"That was a lot, wasn't it, doll?" Michael smiles, laughing softly as he sees the tired state of your body, which has been working all day, getting little sleep and the activities you've been doing. You smile back, your hand still on the man's belt, feeling his cock still completely hard. "And you?" you ask, referring to his pleasure. "I want to give you pleasure too," you point out, lightly squeezing the hard silhouette that was formed in the man's pants.

"Do you really think that watching a pretty girl cum on my fingers doesn't give me pleasure? I couldn't ask for more," Michael replies quickly, finding your hand, pulling it away from the throbbing bulge under his belt, "You're tired, your sister will be worried if you come back any later than this. I don't want to rush with you, we have all the time in the world."

Michael didn't know if this was true, but just from the moment he saw your body, heard you whimper as you climaxed on his fingers, squeezing them in a delicious way, his kisses swallowing up all your moans, he knew that this moment was worth it. He didn't care for how long he was going to have you in his arms, but the memory of this night would surely burn into his mind for all eternity. Michael died and didn't go to heaven, but he got to see a glimpse of it today. He was going to wait so that he could enjoy that glimpse again calmly, not in a hurry manner, worrying that someone would show up to see why you hadn't come home yet.

You couldn't leave his arms, letting your mind and head rest on his shoulder, your arms circling the back of his neck, knowing that you hadn't been able to see his face or figure out why he was hiding from you, but you couldn't care now, lost in the closeness you two were in, so comfortable and quiet after the overstimulation and pleasure your body had gone through. Michael was like that, he was able to still your mind.

"You need to go home," Michael says, after a few seconds in silence. He was hugging your waist and stroking your hair, he didn't want this moment to end, having you in his arms like this was so good, but he knew that your sister needed you too. Michael had reached his share of selfishness today, making the impulsive decision to blindfold you and kiss you, even though he didn't know how the lack of answers to your questions could affect your relationship. But they were questions he couldn't answer in that way, emotions running high and with you frustrated, it would have to be through a lot of talking at a calmer time. He hated lying to you, but he knew that lying was the only way to keep you close, the only way to have you like this again, so Michael would lie until he couldn't anymore.

You nod tiredly, your lack of sleep finally weighing down your shoulders. "When I take the blindfold off, will you still be here?" you ask, squeezing the fabric of his jacket. You didn't want him to go back into the shadows, keeping that distance between your bodies, even more so after today, after feeling him so close, the coolness of his skin against your warm skin, the pieces of what felt like metal objects under the fabric of his sweater, his lips on your neck and on your own. You wanted this closeness forever.

"No, sweet girl," he replies, a sad tone in his voice, "But tomorrow when you arrive, I'll be here, I'll always be here," he adds, the sadness making his voice huskier in your ears, letting out what seemed to be a secret he didn't want to share. You ignore it, overwhelmed by happiness and gratitude for tonight, not wanting to ruin the moment the two of you shared.

"Okay," you get up from his lap, Michael helping you to your feet and picking up your clothes that were scattered on the floor. He dresses you calmly, cautious of your body, wanting to record every curve or piece of exposed skin he can find. With a small kiss on your lips, he signaled that it was over, you were fully dressed. "See you tomorrow, Y/n," he whispers between your lips, and after that, you don't hear anything else.

You stretch out your hands, looking for the same body you had met this evening, but you find nothing. Your hands reach the tie over your eyes and you slowly remove it, letting the light flood in to your eyes that have been in the dark for so long. You sigh, disappointed even though he had warned you that he would return to the shadows that were already so familiar to the man. Your heart seems to slow down knowing that this is how close you would be, you completely blind to his world, devoid of his face and the truth. As much as you wanted more, you had to respect Michael's time, if this was how you were going to have him, you accepted it. Honestly, you'd take anything Michael gave you, desperately longing for his touch again.

You went home, the memories completely swamping your mind, from the moment you served dinner on the table to putting your sister to sleep, the sensations you felt and the words Michael made you hear replayed in your head, like a song, a melody so sweet and warm. He enchanted you, you were totally drawn to him, the way he kissed you today, the way he touched you, held you and whispered in your ear only sank you further into the hole Michael created in your mind. You may not know his face, but fuck it, if you had more opportunities to get to know this and other sides of him, you wouldn't care, after all, you started feeling these feelings even without being able to see his face.

It wasn't rational, it was impulsive, but you decided to ignore it, he doesn't want to show his face or speak the truth, fine, it doesn't matter anymore. You'd wait for him.

When Michael heard the doors of the establishment close, he knew you were gone. The smile on the man's face would not drop, making his cheeks ache from being so happily stretched. He'd had you all to himself today, you'd trusted him to blindfold you and trusted him to touch your body, you were going to ask him out on a fucking date. Michael no longer had serotonin in his dead brain, but his soul was alive, his mind was alive, and he, after such a moment with you, couldn't have been more grateful. His soul experienced the peace that everyone used to talk about after death with you today.

Michael, for the first time after dying, felt his soul find peace. He went back to hiding in the secret room, and tonight, he didn't need to turn on the television to distract himself, entertained and relaxed with only the replay of today's events in his head.

A new day knocked on your door. Your morning was calm, your sister noticed the eternal smile on your lips last night, but decided not to comment or question the reason for your sudden contentment. You had woken up even happier, wanting to see Michael again, even if it was in the distance that haunts you, you wanted to see him no matter what. Even if you were only seeing Michael behind the shadows.

You opened the door for your neighbor, thanking her again for waiting for you to arrive late last night, and she smiled, saying "No problem", taking a few seconds to analyze your face, "You look happier, which is good for your age". You nod, thanking her for the compliment, and it's exactly what she said, you're happier, finally having more motivation to get out of bed other than paying the bills or looking after your sister. You had your own motivation, your own happiness to pursue, which had been difficult for you for a long time, focused on living for others. Now, you could think about your feelings for Michael, being selfish for the first time in your life. Selfish and even a little bit irrational.

You go up the elevator of the establishment, your stomach turning in anticipation. It would be a few hours before you could see Michael again, you'd have to wait for your shift to end and his to begin before meeting the man. Well, that's what you thought. You opened the door of the establishment and were startled again by the sound of the door, but what did surprise you was the male voice that noticed your startlement:

"You get startled very easily," Michael says accompanied by a small laugh. You widen your eyes at the sight of the man at the start of your shift, he wasn't supposed to be here for a few hours.

"What are you doing here at this time in the morning?" you ask, stopping in your tracks, since yesterday's proximity had left you feeling a bit unaccustomed. You couldn't be that close while you still had perfect eyesight, Michael wouldn't let you.

"Well, I always leave just before you arrive," another lie, you realize, "But since I wanted to spend more time with you, I decided to stay and spend the workday with you," Michael smiles.

"You're going to work for free?" you flinch, the thought surprising you.

"If it means being with you, yes," Michael shrugs, as if it were obvious. Yeah, this man drives you crazy, piercing all possible rationality.

"Don't you need to sleep? Your shift takes up the whole night," you ask, finally leaving your position by the entrance and starting to walk towards the control room. Michael follows in your footsteps.

"Do you really think I can close my eyes and not have the images of you between my thighs yesterday?" Michael says, with a smug smile on his face, "And, I don't need to sleep, I can spend your shift with you," he finishes speaking and you don't have the heart to look at him. Your cheeks blush completely as you hear him talk about last night so casually in front of you.

Your lack of reaction was amusing to Michael, happy to know that he had that effect on you even at this time in the morning. He spent the night thinking about when he could have you again, not wanting to wait the hours of your shift away from you or watching you in the shadows of the hallways. As said before, Michael was getting more and more ambitious and courageous when it came to you, and after last night? It's crazy to think that he would have to have you in the same place as him and not interact with you. So he decided to spend your office hours with you, and okay, he knew how strange this must sound to you, after all, who in their right mind would work for free. Michael would, for you. It's not as if he had much to do in the hiding room in which he spent your office hours in.

"Okay," you reply, finally looking at him. You notice that he isn´t in the same uniform and the same coat as yesterday, he had changed his clothes and the bandages. The mask that covered Michael's mouth was also not the same as yesterday. "Did you bring your entire closet to work yesterday?” you ask, wanting to understand how the man had changed all the pieces of clothing and fabric on his body even though he stayed at work.

“A smart individual is always prepared to spend the afternoon with a beautiful girl", he has a delicious smile stuck in his features when he says this. You really need to start using foundation on your face to hide how easily he can make you blush.

"Okay, Michael", you manage to pull yourself together, trying to hide the crack in your voice, ”let's get to work."

[ynisreal]

wires (3) - michael afton x reader

summary: Michael and Henry argue. You and Michael argue. But, everything works out in the end. Even too much. (~8k)

Chapter 3

Michael Afton, after many years, could finally say that he woke up looking forward to what the next day held. He was perhaps shutting his own head in the loop that the moments he had shared with you had created in the man's memory; Henry himself had already noticed the airheaded behavior that Michael was displaying. In the few late-night hours that Henry came to visit, all Michael could do was talk about you. Henry knew it was good for Michael to distract himself a little and smile at life's simple gifts, but he was increasingly afraid that the younger man's blindness would fail to realize the absurdity of the situation. Michael was dead, not completely, but he didn't have a heart, or blood, or even the freedom to walk around freely.

"You think I don't know these things?" Michael replied, a little annoyed at the truth being thrown in his face like a bucket of cold water. Henry hadn't even realized that he had vocalized his own thoughts, always letting his body react in protection mode for the man he saw as his own son.

"I hate to be the one to take the smile off your face, Mike, but we have to be realistic," Henry continues, voice laden with affection for the man he watched grow up, "It's all too risky, she could find out about your lies, how will we handle it if she reacts negatively? How will you handle it?"

Michael wasn't stupid, as stupid as some of his actions were, he wasn't stupid himself. He knew that the closeness he desired with you and was actively seeking to find was absurd, a dream reserved only for his sleep. After your conversation at Parts & Service, you and the night security guard had struck up a friendship. Michael now made a point of always showing up for you 40 minutes before your shift ended with the excuse of helping you clean up and organize the mess that the architects were starting to leave behind. It was no lie he enjoyed helping you, doing the manual labor while you watched and entertained him with stories about your sister and your past jobs. If you were too inattentive to notice the time (which was most days), Michael had the opportunity to talk to you for a while longer, your workday over and his beginning. The conversations you had were the best, Michael found you amusing and interesting, never failing to draw a small laugh from his lips or to immerse him in the subject you were telling him.

He was careful, though, always wearing the mask that covered the lower half of his face, the hood covering his brunette hair that was a little too long for Michael's liking, bandages covering his hands and the fabric of the pants and sweater he wore always hiding his purple skin. Of course, there were times when Michael felt his already stopped heart stop again when you got too close, offered to change the bandages on his hands or even asked about his deceased siblings.

"She wouldn't react negatively," Michael says, a little too quickly, almost interrupting Henry before he's even finished speaking. Okay, maybe Michael was saying it more to comfort himself than to convince Henry, because, in truth, he had no fucking idea how you would react. You were empathetic and caring towards Michael, and he had already noticed how your eyes lingered on the figure of him carrying the heavy materials for a relatively long time. You were attracted to him, just as he was to you, but you were also human, with a sister to look after at home and bills to pay, you probably wanted a partner who would help with these problems, a partner who could pick your sister up from school and look after her until you got home, someone to take you out for dinners and then make you forget all your worries in one night, letting your little body turn practically to mush, drunk on the pleasure this person could give you. Michael could certainly make you forget the world for a few hours, but now, the rest of the items on the list? How could he provide a comfortable life for you without even being able to leave the establishment, besides, he doesn't even know if you would still be attracted to him if you knew the true form he was hiding.

"Okay, she reacts happily, you kiss and get married the next day, now what? Are you going to let her and her sister live in constant fear of some other animatronic deciding to use their bodies for cover?" Henry was angry with Michael for being so naïve, "-No, or even better, how are they going to protect themselves when fucking William Afton shows up at their perfect house to cut off both their heads in fulfillment of his mission to torment you for the rest of your days by putting their lifeless bodies into a fucking animatronic?"

"Oh shit, Henry, I forgot that I can't move on with my life, that I can't have a fucking happy ending, I'm sentenced to live in hiding because of the shit my father did," Michael returned the sarcasm, the anger, as always, leaving his mind blank, "Did you ever stop to think that this shitty situation can't get any worse? I died, Henry, I have no goddamn life and yet, I couldn't escape this constant nightmare that is living behind monitors watching the same pizzerias to make up for my father's mistakes!" the younger man was on his feet now, his tone loud and pissed off. He had always felt a lot of anger, ever since he was a teenager, knowing that the people closest to him would always fall victim to his aggression, even as an adult.

"Yes, Michael, you're trapped in this nightmare, just like me! Like it or not, we're not the only ones who have lost lives or family members to your crazy father, but, unfortunately, we're the ONLY ones who can really do something about it!" Henry was shouting back, aware that this subject was sensitive for both of them in every way. Honestly, they didn't know who their anger was directed at, they were just taking it out on each other because it was the only option at hand. Henry and Michael never seemed to stop suffering from the mistakes they didn't make.

"Get out," Michael says, his voice dangerously quiet and calm. Henry hears the heavy breaths escaping the younger man's lips. "What?" Henry asks, unable to think because of the explosion of emotions he was experiencing.

"Get out now before either you or I do or say something that we'll both regret," his completely black eyes met those of the older man. It was true that Michael felt a lot of anger, but he had learned from his own mistakes what acting without thinking can bring into one's life, and frankly, he couldn't bear the pain of losing Henry.

Henry nods, understanding the reasons Michael brought up. They were both very overwhelmed and vulnerable, with Michael's violent nature and Henry's eternal grief, this conversation could escalate to a bad ending very quickly. Henry would never leave Michael's side, no matter what gigantic shit he does, it's always been like that, ever since the man in front of him was a tiny teenager with a Foxy mask stuck on his head. Henry will always fight for Michael, and no argument could ever change that.

The older man got up from the chair he was sitting on at the control room and began to make his way towards the main entrance, leaving Michael alone with his thoughts frantically hammering his own mind. His head was so heavy that he let it fall into his palms, feeling his breath hitch with the anger growing in his empty body. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting the images of his childhood flood his sight. He remembers it almost perfectly, he has drawn the scene almost down to reality, Freddy's animatronic seemed so much taller than him at the time, the heavy, golden mouth with drops of blood almost painting the robotic bear in red and Evan's body completely still. He could hear the laughter and swearing of his friends fall silent almost immediately, traumatized by the image they were witnessing. Michael didn't cry, at least not immediately, finding the whole situation too absurd to be real. He had never wished so much for him to be impaired by the alcohol his friends had stolen from Henry, perhaps it was a hallucination or his altered vision. But it wasn't, he had killed his brother by accident. Truth be told, Michael Afton had killed his brother.

Mike can't even remember what happened afterwards, only how he was badly beaten by his own father and how his family was never the same again, William Afton was never the same again. The rest being an eternal extension of Michael's traumas, damned by the fact that if he hadn't let his anger build up over the years at his father's favoritism, he would never have turned into the combative, aggressive teenager he became, nor would he have bullied his younger brother or placed Evan's head in Freddy's mouth. There's no point in lamenting the life he would have had if everything had been different, he knows he has to find peace in the present, otherwise he would really go mad tonight, the same way he felt every night he spent in the same place where he had lost his life. Michael doesn't even notice, unconsciously letting his hands search his pocket, finding the note you gave him yesterday.

~

"I kept my promise," you said, your voice sounding like a melody in Michael's memory. You looked so beautiful yesterday, cheeks flushed due to all the material Noah had sent to the office, Michael helping you bring in the boxes and organize the materials, a small layer of sweat on your face that made your face shine when it faced the light, making your beautiful features even more apparent to Michael. He still had his hood and mask covering his face, so he allowed himself to smile every time he looked at you, knowing that you wouldn't be able to see how happy he was to be spending more and more time with you.

"What promise?" Michael replied, focused on the manual labor of opening the boxes and taking out the various tools that the company's employees were going to use for the redesign process regarding the next attraction. You were responsible for telling Michael where to put the items he found, a little frustrated again by the man's order to leave all the heavy lifting to him, making you sit in one of the many chairs in the main hall.

"I drew you - well, I tried to draw you to be honest," he recalled your reply, a little embarrassment tinged in your voice. Michael hadn't forgotten the promise, he was just concentrating too hard on organizing the materials in a way that would be accessible to you, preventing you from tripping over them (which, frankly, Michael thought was quite likely) or getting in the way of the clean-up that the two of you always did at the end of your workday.

"Great, let me see your masterpiece," the man replied, getting up from the floor where he was opening the boxes to turn his body towards you, his hand outstretched, waiting for you to hand him the small piece of paper.

"You have to promise not to laugh at me," you say, eyes staring at Michael's faceless figure. "I know you asked me in a joking tone, but I really took it seriously and tried my best," a half-hearted smile forms on your face, showing that you've accepted defeat even before exposing your drawing to Michael.

"Well, if you really made an hour out of your busy schedule to draw a mere mortal like me, how could I laugh?", the sarcastic tone of the man in front of you didn't pass by unnoticed, causing you to let out a small chuckle cursing the night security guard for not being able to take your efforts seriously, in which Michael heard and emitted a small gasp pretending to be offended.

"Yes, asshole, here's your drawing - at least try to not judge me so much," you give up on making him take your struggle seriously, dropping the small piece of paper into his bandaged hands. The paper looked even smaller when Michael took hold of it.

Well, the drawing really was a mess. But Michael didn't have the heart to tell you that, seeing as you'd even tried to draw a more humanoid body than the lanky stick figure you'd drawn previously, horribly imitating the shadowing he'd done on your drawing. However, his hair still looked like black spaghetti stuck to a human head. You had drawn his hood over the spaghetti, a mask that looked like a brick explained the lack of mouth or nose in the drawing. Michael was surprised by just one detail: his eyes in the drawings were black.

"Why are my eyes completely black?" he asked, nervous to hear your answer. In all honesty, he was already mentally preparing himself for your screams, calling him a monster and all sorts of worse things that would make his heart die all over again. He didn't raise his head to look at you, even though he knew the hood would hide any glimpse you might have of Michael's completely dead skin; in fact, he was afraid of recording your face as you shouted at him, forever trapped in the memory of your hateful face, and not the thousands of smiles that he already replays in his mind before going to rest.

"Ah- the shadow of your hood always makes your eyes look completely black, and since I thought it looked super cool, I decided to draw it," you babble, a little nervous that he'll think you're a complete weirdo. "I don't know, it makes you look like a super-powerful movie villain, sorry if that came out weird-"

"No, no, I liked it," Michael interrupted before you could sink into the insecurity of possibly making him uncomfortable, another smile invisible to you forming on his face. He never thought he'd be grateful for not having any more blood circulating in his body, otherwise he'd be completely red in your eyes. Michael pulls himself together quickly, not wanting to show how your comment affected him, messing up any thought other than you complimenting his lifeless eyes.

You seem to happily accept Michael's comment, positively surprised that he expressed that he liked it, expecting him to either laugh out loud or simply mock your hard-working attempt. Satisfied with the result of your drawing, you leave the paper in Michael's possession and return to your chair, ready to get back to your job of admiring the strength of the man in front of you and telling him where he should place the item. Michael also returns to his old place, sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes to open, but he can't pass up the opportunity to ask you:

"So you're attracted to villains and bad guys?", his question meets your ears after the blood has rushed to your cheeks, painting your face red and your eyes wide in surprise. Michael was trying to provoke you, and when he saw that he had succeeded, he let out a laugh at your expense. He seemed to enjoy seeing you blush, completely embarrassed and vulnerable, it was a side of you that was completely adorable to Michael. You were easily flustered by the tall man, showing him the effect he was having on you, how little phrases or actions could make your body and mind stop working.

"Fuck you, Michael," you let out, frustrated at his success in making you blush and embarrass yourself once again. This seems to make him laugh louder, which frankly, you couldn't care less that it was at your expense.

~

The small drawing was in Michael's hands, and the memory seemed to quieten the violent and traumatic thoughts that had invaded the man's mind because of the disagreement with Henry. In fact, the memory didn't quieten the thoughts, it frighteningly silenced Michael's mind. The only images running through his head at that moment were you, your inattentive manner, your humor, your flushed face, your words of comfort and your rosy lips. You, you, you.

Michael quickly put the drawing back in his pocket, startled by the effect you had on him. It had been a long time since his mind had been this quiet, it was almost a glimpse of the peace he could have had. You were messing with him in a dangerous way, Michael couldn't afford to fall in love with you, shit, how was that going to work?

Not wanting to enter another state of panic, he got up and started walking to the hidden room that belonged to him. The new movies that Henry had brought seemed like a good distraction to pass the time. Time passing quickly meant that he could see you again more quickly too. He would be able to feel that silence again.

Michael ended up spending the next few hours of his workday watching the movies Henry had brought for the young man, but no matter how many scenes of action or romance were stimulating his vision, his mind seemed to be in a constant zig-zag: remembering the fight he had with Henry, bringing all his traumas back to life, or thinking of you, flooding his head with memories he had spent with you.

The younger man seemed a little frustrated at his inability to calm down. Before, you seemed to have been a remedy for his anxiety, but now, thinking of you meant thinking of the impossibility of your future together, images of you in danger, the disgust on your face as you learned the truth about him or of his involvement in the madness of his father, blinded by his grief for Evan. Michael felt that he had gone just as crazy, foolish enough to get close to you. Henry was right, it was unfair and dangerous for you, after all, how was Michael going to protect you when William came knocking on your door, intent on ruining all the happiness his eldest son had ever felt? Michael had already tried to kill his father and free the poor souls from the constant suffering of being trapped inside animatronics, it hadn't been easy, how could he keep trying when he had to worry about your safety or the safety of your sister? He couldn't even protect his own sister from their father's evil deeds.

Michael could hear the doors to the main hall opening, your little squeal of surprise announcing your arrival, as always. Michael wasn't going to come after you today, he wasn't going to hide in the shadows of the rooms or the corridors to watch you, or talk to you when your workday was over. It will be unbearable, given that you were the only source of happiness and entertainment in Michael's life recently, but he can't be selfish. Not with you, anyway.

You arrived at the building, the noise of the doors not failing to startle you, but it irritated you more than usual. You were tired, your evening had been anything but peaceful due to Cassie's homework, a difficult model of the solar system, in which the two of you had to turn the house upside down looking for materials to build the planets and stars. Cassie seemed to like the result, but you were too tired to judge whether Jupiter was in the right place or not.

You and the night security guard seem to have grown quite close, and, given your immense attraction to him, it has had an effect on your behavior. You may not have noticed it, but you were more giggly, smiling at little things, more optimistic and in a good mood. It had been a few months since you last went on a date or took a deep interest in someone, always preferring to spend all your energy on paying the bills and looking after your sister. Your old partners were always hesitant when they heard you mention that you were responsible for your little sister, perhaps afraid of the idea of taking on such a responsibility so soon. However, that didn't stop you from looking, the idea of building a solid family for Cassie being very important to you, she needed a reliable figure besides you.

"Are you taking someone to the Halloween party?" Cassie answered your question with another. You had asked your sister if you could bring a companion to her school's Halloween party. The institute always threw parties for the children and their families, and this year, you thought you'd ask someone to go with you and Cassie. That someone was called Michael.

"I'm thinking about it," you replied, shrugging your shoulders and smiling at the little girl as you glued the little planets to toothpicks. Cassie became even more curious, grabbing your arms as she asked:

"Are you dating someone?" Your sister almost screams, advertising to all the neighbors about your love life. You flinch at the noise.

"No!" You reply almost immediately, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. "I just met someone interesting, that's all," you add, trying to get your sister to drop the subject, otherwise you would become a source of gossip between her and her friends.

"So you're in love?" Cassie asks the right question, the same question that's been on your mind. Were you? You hadn't even seen his face, despite spending hours talking to him, you felt you didn't really know him the way he knew you.

"I don't know, Cas," you answer sincerely, aware that it's a subject your sister has no maturity to advise you on. "I think he's funny, caring and I like the way he carries heavy things," you tell her, smiling when she makes a disgusted face.

"Ew, adults are such weirdos, I thought you were supposed to say he's handsome," Cassie looks away from you, confused by your statement, going back to painting the wooden board black.

"You'll understand when you're older," you conclude, smiling when she denies it, disbelieving that you would compliment the way someone carries heavy things.

The memory makes you smile, finding your sister's reaction comical but sincere. You had little information about the man you were interested in, but you had more qualities to list than defects. Even though you hadn't seen his face, you already found him extremely attractive. He looked after you, made you laugh and seemed to be interested in what you were saying. He was funny without being insulting and made you feel comfortable, as well as all the physical qualities you could list.

His height was enviable for any man, his arms clashed with the thin fabric of his jacket to make themselves noticed, his husky voice made you wince and his bandaged hands infiltrated your dreams. Perhaps you were acting on impulse, but you wanted to get to know him better, after all, no red flags had been raised by now, with the opportunity to learn more about the man, you could accurately assess the situation. So you arrived at the establishment with a firm decision in your head: you were going to ask him out.

Tiredness is still bearing down on your shoulders, but the memory of your motivation for having applied a little more make-up today quickly cheers you up. You wanted to surprise the night security guard in a positive way, hoping that he would accept your request even if he felt sorry for your efforts.

Your workday went smoothly, Alice and Noah arrived in the main hall to check the boxes, you cleaned the corridors and watched the monitors. Everything was going well, even if your stomach was twisting with nervousness at being the first to take action. He seems to be interested in you too, you notice that some of your comments get an almost instant reaction from the man. Perhaps this is a good sign, an indication that he'll accept. But, shit, you were fucking nervous.

With just one hour remaining, you make your way to the main hall. Michael has been arriving at work early to spend more time with you, using the excuse that he wanted to help you organize the boxes and materials brought in by the company's employees. Cute, how eager he is to help you. But a few minutes pass and no Michael. You start to tell yourself that maybe he's decided to be on time today, but when the clock on your wrist shows the end of your workday and the beginning of his, Michael still hasn't come through the door.

Your motivation and stubbornness were something to behold, because even though the night security guard was late, you decided to wait. The courage you'd built up during the day wouldn't last until tomorrow, you had today and only today to ask him to go out with you. Obviously you were nervous or afraid of his response, but if you procrastinated or kept putting it off, you might never find the right moment to do it.

You were fearless, but Michael was confused and nervous about you waiting for him. He knew that you would find his lateness or his absence from your office strange, but the promise he had made to himself was not to look for you again. But when your workday ended and he didn't hear the sound of the doors opening and closing, he thought you might be busy or had missed the time. Well, Michael thought wrong, because 30 minutes had passed and you didn't leave.

Okay, Michael was definitely nervous. You were totally committed in your decision to ask him out, but Michael was losing any motivation whatsoever in the promise he'd made to himself to leave you alone. With every minute that passed, more questions popped into his head: Well, she seems to be waiting for me, it would be awful of me not to answer. Or I don't need to expand any deeper into our interactions, maybe just being by her side during work is enough.

Michael knew the last one was a lie, but the idea that maybe he was exaggerating by ignoring you completely started to make total sense to his heart. After all, he didn't want to hurt you, did he? Honestly, he knew the moment he opened the door to the hideout that no decision he made when searching for you was with you in mind, only him. He was attracted to you, he wanted to feel you, he wanted you around, he wanted to talk to you and he wanted to see you now.

When you start to hear someone's footsteps coming from the hallway, you immediately rise to your feet. You hadn't heard the door open or anyone announce their arrival to you, so your first theory was formed: it was an intruder. The footsteps were getting louder and louder, showing that they were approaching you, which made you shout:

"Who's there?!" Your nervous voice disguised in a hoarse, confident tone reaches Michael's ear, who responds with a laugh as he makes himself seen at the end of the corridor.

"The boogeyman, Y/n," he says, as he leans on the arch that merges the end of the corridor with the main hall. Michael crosses his arms and stares at you, who are clearly still nervous about the fright he gave you.

"Fuck- Michael, I didn't hear you enter the establishment, I thought you were an intruder," you say, putting your hand over your pounding heart. Your pulse was a little elevated due to the possibility of an intruder.

"Don't worry, I would have known if there was someone else here," Michael says confidently, which makes you roll your eyes at how lightly he took the subject. He notices your slight irritation, once again impressed by how he manages to have an effect on you.

"I see, Batman, I forgot you have eyes everywhere," you recompose yourself, sitting back down on the chair where you've spent the last few minutes waiting for the man.

"I thought you liked villains?" Michael asks with the intention of teasing, which he succeeds in doing, making you roll your eyes again, drawing a small laugh from the night security guard. Man, how he wanted to make you roll your eyes in a different way.

"Why are you late?" You ignore Michael's last line, wondering where he was, given that you were waiting for him to come through the front door.

"I'm not late," Michael replies, " I was actually a bit early and got some things organized at Ballora's Gallery," he lies. You notice, but you don't say anything. Maybe he was embarrassed that he was late for work?

"Hm, I see," you reply, not wanting to dwell on the subject. "I was waiting for you", you say, a little quieter now, exploring the territory before you drop the bomb. Perhaps, during the conversation, he'll give you some indication that he wasn't interested.

"Thanks, you didn't have to do that," the night security guard says, coming a little closer to you and leaning on the table in front of you, making a point of keeping a safe distance so that you couldn't see his face.

"I know, but I wanted to," you almost whisper, the nervousness that had once been overpowered by your motivation and stubbornness now making itself present in your body, burning the palms of your hands and making your stomach turn in every direction of your body. Has it always been this hot in the main hall?

"Cute. Do you want to distract me from my work?" Michael replies, far too confidently for someone who was freaking out back at the hideout at the thought of even seeing you today. You really had a major effect on him.

You don't even realize that you're not answering, your restless mind making you more and more nervous and insecure. Unconsciously, you start rubbing your sweaty palms on your pants, looking down at the floor, away from Michael. The blood rushes to your cheeks as you realize that you need to ask the question before your body simply stops working and you fall hard into the floor in front of the man who was the target of all your thoughts today.

Michael winces when he hears you let out a sigh and count from 3 to 1 in a quiet voice. Before he could even think about asking if you were all right, he hears:

"Why are you hiding your face from me?" It comes out of your mouth instead of the question you wanted to ask, and Michael notices, because you place your hand over your mouth as if your body had acted without your consent. Your wide eyes also prove that.

"What?" Michael asks, his mind going too fast to understand your questioning. No, actually, he didn't want to believe that's what he'd heard.

"Well, um, why do you hide your face?" The question didn't come out as coherently as you wanted, your nervousness getting the better of your voice, making you stutter a little. You couldn't face him, your body taking you by surprise. As much it was a question that had been on your mind, you didin´t plan on bring it up today, even more so abruptly.

"Yes, I heard," Michael said dryly, not caring how it sounded to you. His head was being invaded by a thousand worries or lies that he could tell you. He wasn't expecting this, well, not for now at least, but Michael knew that it was inevitable that you would start to suspect on why he always lived in the shadows and hid.

But, fuck Y/n*,*** did it have to be today? He wanted more time with you, Michael wanted enough memories with you to live out the rest of his days in peace, he didn't have an exact number and maybe it didn't even exist, but in his traumatic logic, one day he could live away from you just replaying the happy moments that he had with you. Michael thought he could delude his own mind with memories of you, pretending that you would still be there, in the establishment where you work, sitting in the chair that Michael pointed to, letting him hear all the subjects that came into your head. He wanted to memorize your personality and your appearance so that he could leave you alone.

Michael was panicking. Henry was right. He didn't have that privilege, Michael couldn't be distracted, being one of the only ones who knows the truth behind this whole shitty franchise, and maybe getting too close to you would only hurt you and hurt him.

You start to worry when the man in front of you is unresponsive, frozen in place. The establishment was so quiet that you couldn't even hear his heart beating. Maybe he got so nervous that he had a heart attack.

"Michael, look, I only asked because I was curious, you're always hiding, and anyway, I thought I could ask why, since we've been getting closer in the last few days -“ you begin to explain yourself, something you never had to do when you were with Michael. There is a first time for everything, you guess. You get up from where you were sitting, to gently get closer to Michael, still worried about the man's complete stillness.

Michael hesitates as he hears you come closer, his eyes glued to his own feet. He was nervous, did not know what to tell you, did not know what to answer in general, how would he get out of this situation without disappointing you? Michael was never good at explaining himself, or rather, Michael was never good at reacting on emotional situations, like the ones right now. So his body reacts as it always has, almost as a ready-made defense mechanism. He gets angry.

"Yes, I understood the question, I'm not stupid,” the voice full of poison comes out of Michael's lips, and makes you immediately stop in your tracks. What? You can't believe the roughness of his voice when responding to your explanation.

You take a deep breath, not wanting to further stress the man who already seemed to be angry. "Yes, Michael, I know you're not stupid, but I thought I'd better explain myself to not make you more uncomfortable-", again, you try to rationalize with the night security guard, since he was clearly annoyed by your question. The evening was not going at all as you wanted.

Even Michael didn't want that. That's why he got angry, angry at you for not keeping it quiet, angry at you for popping the question and angry at himself for being naive and having these expectations about you. Anger at himself for being angry at you.

”It´s none of your business, Y/n", Michael hesitates with his own tone of voice, anger and irritation filling the small distance you two had. He didn't want to be treating you like that, but that was all he knew how to do. Getting angry was the feeling he knew best.

"Yes, I get it-“ you were going to apologize for apparently overstepping an inner boundary for him, but he interrupts you before you can.

”Don't ever ask me anything like that again", Michael's thick, dry reply comes in your ears, and you start to feel a little frustrated at the way he was treating you. You didn't mean to upset him, and even if you did, it was unintentional, he genuinely didn't need to be treating you like that.

“Why are you talking to me like that?" You ask, frustration evident in your voice. Michael lifts his eyes as soon as he hears your stress, allowing his gaze to meet yours behind the hood and the shadows. If he wasn't sure it was impossible, he'd think you were staring at all of his sins.

”You were being noisy, I reacted as anyone would react", Michael shrugs, once again not taking the situation you were in seriously. You didn't know he was actually masking his own fear.

"Noisy? Michael, I asked you a question, you didn't like it, you could just had told me, you didn't have to be rude”, you cross your arms in irritation, upset with the way the man had reacted.

Michael knows that if he doesn't change the course of the conversation, he would end up arguing with you the same way he fought with Henry in the morning. He didn't have the guts to argue with you.

The night security guard in front of you takes a deep breath, and says, “Look, Y/n, I know we're getting closer, but I have - erm, skin problems that I don't like to comment on,” Michael lies, and lies badly by the way, not having prepared or rehearsed any of this lie with Henry.

You noticed, just like you noticed all of his lies before this one. This seems to add fuel to your pending frustration.

“Why do you always lie?”, your voice coming out louder than intended, filling the main hall with your words and your feelings. Michael feels his heart stop for the second time in his life.

“You always lie! Michael, I think I'm mature enough to hear that you don't want to tell me or that you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to lie - damn, it frustrates me!" You unwittingly explode in front of Michael, feelings and suspicions accumulated since the first time he lied to you.

Michael doesn't respond, just brings his hands to his face in, what? Frustration? Irritation? Appeal? He no longer knows what he is feeling, nervous about the direction this conversation was taking. You wanted to know, and honestly, Michael knows that if he keeps getting close to you, you deserved to know. But he didn't have the courage to tell, he didn't want to have to face the possibility that you wouldn't accept him or not look at him the same way. You had such beautiful eyes, how he would live the rest of the his days after seeing the same eyes fill with disgust at the sight of Michael's true form.

“I was going to ask you out on a date today,” you say softly, your outburst seemingly easing some of the nerves you were feeling. You weren't even angry anymore, just sad, sad at the illusion of the man you created in your head.

If Michael had a functional heart, it would have stopped beating for the third time at that moment. You were going to ask him out on a date? He almost found himself feeling excited about the possibility, however, the reality hits him in the face so hard that he remembers: he can't leave the establishment. Michael was not alive, he was an anomaly in biology and science, a zombie from comics and horror stories. How would he go on a date with you?

"You don't have to answer", you lower your head, averting your gaze from Michael's eyes, returning to face the floor tiles of the main hall.

Think of something. Think of some answer. Do something. Michael was frozen in place, a roller coaster of feelings built in his mind. You were interested in him, he realized, you wanted the same thing he wanted, you wanted him on a date with you. Damn, the idea seems so delicious that he can almost taste it.

You turn your back to him, ready to leave the man alone and return home, consequently giving up the possibility of you and Michael having anything but the long conversations and tickets exchanged. Before your heart can break any further, you hear:

“If I ask for you to do something, do you promise to trust me?", the man's voice fills your ears with hope again. He didn't sound as confident as he always sounded, in fact, fear was, for the first time, apparent in his voice.

You stop in your tracks and looked at him, assessing whatever kind of body language he had. Honestly, you couldn't identify anything, but your heart was so hopeful that you didn't even evaluate the proposal when you answered, “Yes.”

”Let me blindfold you, then I will tell you everything", Michael says, approaching you, with cautious and unsure steps. Insecurity does not match with Michael.

It was a lie, you notice almost immediately, but before you can ask or get frustrated with another lie from him, you are startled by how close you two were. Because of Michael's height, your head was on his torso, meaning you could smell the fabric of his coat and the men's perfume. This closeness with Michael seemed illegal, so much so that you couldn't even make yourself look up, as if it was forbidden to look into his face with such a distance.

Your excitement only got worse when you felt his big hands meet the tie on your security uniform. The touch was delicate and cautious, as if at any moment you were going to push him or pull away. You didn't have the courage to do that, not when, in so long, you wished for that small distance between you and him. You wanted his touch, you wanted to smell him, you wanted to see up close the height difference between you two. And damn, how huge he was made all the functioning of your brain fail.

You only became conscious again when you felt the small tissue touch your eyes. You decided to surrender, accepting Michael's conditions, not moving at all in fear of scaring him or that he would decide that this distance was too close. The smell of him flooded your nose, the perfume making you lose any kind of sanity present in your body.

When Michael managed to bind the tie behind your head, he breathed a sigh of relief. You were totally blind, there was no possibility that you would end up seeing him or any glimpse of his dead skin. You trusted him, that said a lot to the man, and honestly, he was thanking any entity he knew for allowing that, because now Michael could do what he really wanted from the moment you confessed.

You were nervous, uneasy at the sudden silence of the man who blindfolded you. Your hands glued to your body due to lack of vision. Michael's body was still close to yours, you could feel it, his gaze burning into your figure, making you blush. You were embarrassed, not knowing what to do.

“Hm, Michael?" You call to him, but he wasn't going to answer you, having another idea in mind. His lips meet yours. Michael Afton had finally kissed you.

[ynisreal]

wires (2) - michael afton x reader

author´s note: helloo! i updated this on ao3 and forgot to post here :/ so here it is :D summary: You and Michael have the opportunity to get to know each other better. Michael couldn't be happier. (~6k words)

Chapter Two

It was during the night of that same day that you realized you'd forgotten your company radio in the control room, the result of being jolted awake. You flinch as you remember the shame you felt, after all, it was your first day and you had been caught sleeping by the night security guard. In fact, because of your startlement, you weren't yet conscious enough to question why he was hiding in the shadows; it was only when you left the establishment that you thought:

Why was he in the shadows?

It scared you, still afraid of your sister's stories, everything was very strange: your interviewer's lies and this faceless night security guard. Anyway, he had the opportunity to take you by surprise in a vulnerable state, when you were asleep, yet he did nothing. Michael did nothing. That was his name. Shit, you really wanted to see his face. His intimidating presence still wandering through your mind, leaving you with slightly flushed skin and wobbly legs.

You arrived home to find your sister recently home from school. You quickly start making dinner for the two of you, listening to her enthusiastically recount the day she had at school, and answering all the curious questions she was asking about the "haunted place" you currently worked at. You allow a chuckle to escape your lips, still amused by the idea of your sister gossiping with her friends about horror stories involving you. "It was fine," you reply, "Fine in the sense that there were no ghosts or any robots trying to steal my soul," you continue, smiling at her as you serve her plate alongside your own.

And it really was all right as far as it was possible, nothing you wouldn't expect, after all, it's a tedious job. Apart from the man in the shadows and Noah, nothing really struck you. That was good, you weren't working there for fun or looking for adventures, you need the money and you need stability for once in your life. You and your sister need that. Especially her, it's hard to live like this, that's the reason you were working so you could pay for her college. She deserved a happy ending.

With these thoughts in mind, you watch your little sister help clear the table and wash the dishes, smiling a little at how eager she is to help you all the time. You carry her in your arms to her bed, giving her several affectionate kisses on her chubby cheeks, laughing fondly when she lets out little giggles happy with the affection. You sing softly, holding her in your arms, lulling her to sleep on your lap, feeling the little sighs and groans she lets out in her deep sleep. You don't move from your position, wanting the moment to last a little longer, the feeling of peace was flooding your head, knowing that tomorrow you'll have food on the table, she'll have a school to go to and you'll have a job to attend to. Things were finding their footing again. You both deserved that. Because of this feeling and today's tiredness, you didn't even realize that your eyes were closed, letting your head fall on your sister's forehead, the two of you sleeping cuddled up in her baby bed, a little too tight for your comfort.

Your bedroom alarm goes off so loudly that it wakes you up even though you're in another room. You quickly get ready, taking the shower you had failed to take yesterday, hurriedly putting on your clothes, then opening the door to the neighbor who has come to take care of your sister. You thank her again, smiling in gratitude at the elderly woman who had generously offered her help in your new job, looking after your sister while you were away. She had lost her husband a few years ago, so having the company of a child nearby helped her through her grief, by distracting it with childish games and conversations. Children really can help give you purpose.

When you get to the elevator at Fazbear Sister Location, you manage to fix your hair in the wide mirror on the wall, feeling a little uneasy at the many posters staring back at you. It's like being watched. You hold the keys in your hand, ready to open the doors when you get out of the elevator. The loud sound of the doors once again startles you, making you angry at yourself for being so easily impressed. But, really, the sound was quite loud for this time in the morning. You scan the main hall, finding it completely clean again, meaning that the night security guard must have cleaned up once more last night. Caring, you remark. You know that cleaning wasn't in your contract, and probably not in his, and yet he took the initiative to organize the surroundings. That caught your eye in a positive way.

A note lying on one of the many tables in the large hall caught your eye. Your forgotten radio was there with a note on the side. You carefully picked it up and smiled at the shaky, careless handwriting as you read:

You forgot this.

-Mike

You smiled at the nickname. Michael. Mike. You truly must have given the other worker a bad impression, sleeping on the job and forgetting an essential part of your work here. The thought made you hesitate, guilt showing on your face. Seeking to make amends with your coworker, you reach for the pen in your pocket and begin writing on the same piece of paper, underneath the note the younger man left.

Sorry again. I'll be more careful today. Good work tonight :)

-Y/n

What you didn't expect was that these notes would become a regular occurrence between the two of you. That was a bit surprising, because on the very day you said you were going to be more careful, you ended up forgetting your security badge. So, the next day, you arrived in the main hall with another ticket on the same table, next to your forgotten credential. You flinch in embarrassment.

"I'll be more careful," Y/n said.

-Mike

In the other corner of the paper was a (very accurate) drawing of you leaving the establishment and dropping your badge on the floor. The strokes were well done, which you couldn't believe, given the poor quality of his writing. The words were all in sticks and shaky, while the drawing was delicate and shaded, as if he had spent more than a few minutes doing it. He must have been bored at work, wanting to make fun of your carelessness in forgetting various items at the office, even though you said you'd pay more attention. The thought made you laugh, you couldn't have made a worse impression, but you were glad that he seemed to have taken the situation into a comedic range. You didn't have a long interaction the night you met him in the shadows of the corridor, but you could see from the papers you were exchanging that he had a sense of humor and from the cleanliness of the place, he was very attentive.

You take another piece of paper from the control room and start drawing. Okay, your drawing wasn't as good as Michael's. In fact, it was nowhere near as good as Michael's drawing. You drew a lanky stick figure, with what was supposed to be a security guard's hat on its head and its hair, but it turned out to be a loaf of bread on a head with strands of black spaghetti. You hope he understands that it was a drawing of you with a smile and your thumb up making an "okay" with your hand.

Sorry again.

-Y/n

You write, topping off your hideous drawing. Michael couldn't hold back the loud laughter that rang through the corridors and the main hall when he saw your attempt at a drawing on the other note you left. You were fun and a bit clumsy, constantly forgetting important items for your work in the establishment. He could hear the conversations you had with Alice, always being polite and considerate to the poor woman. Michael found himself coming out of hiding more and more to watch you work, it was a bit dangerous and not at all clever, but he couldn't ignore the desire that was growing to know you better. You spent a few hours of your working day, when there was no company employee for you to look after, cleaning the floors and polishing the tables. You had brought some cleaning materials from home, making it your job to help him keep the place clean and smelling good. Michael appreciated that about you, the way you paid attention to his care and decided not to get in the way, but to actually help. You didn't have that obligation, nor did he in fact, but it was the place he spent every hour of every day, so the least he could do to make that gloomy place seem a little more comfortable was to clean it up. And you decided to do something about it.

You didn't notice his presence, he assumed it was because of the thousands of responsibilities in your head. You had a sister to look after, and Michael understood what it was like to feel responsible for another life, flooding your own head with someone else's needs. You start to live not for yourself, but for the other person. That's why Michael didn't judge you or think negatively of you for always forgetting items or not noticing his presence lurking in the shadows. He thought it was great, in fact, managing to communicate with you through notes, picking up on your little giggles when you saw his drawings or your concentration when you mopped the floor and watched the monitors. You were clumsy but hard-working, wanting to do your job to the best of your ability, and that didn't go unnoticed by Michael.

At the end of the day, Michael was still watching you. Your day at work had gone smoothly, favorably, with no company employees coming in to disturb your peace. Alice might be a nice girl and help you pass the time with casual conversations, but her boss was unbearable and stressful, instantly making you rigid with hatred and irritation. Without the presence of the two of them, you can better focus on organizing the establishment, not that it needed much arranging, but you could finish organizing the dozens of metal parts in the Parts & Service room. Strangely enough, walking past the Funtime Auditorium made you feel a little down, sad to find yet another empty stage, where once there were concerts and children having a wild time, today it's just an empty stage to dust off and tables to organize.

The stories your sister had told you involved these same animatronics killing children or kidnapping them, which was really scary. But there were no confirmed deaths or bodies found in the establishments, and hey, you spend all your days here, looking at the same monitors and the same rooms, if there was a secret room or hidden bodies, you'd know. Would you? With that thought, you hesitate, almost dropping the product in your hand. The tables in the Funtime Auditorium were almost all shiny, and with 30 minutes left of your workday, you didn't know if you'd have time to finish polishing all the tables. You sigh in exhaustion, the weakness in your arms becoming noticeable from all the manual labor you've done today, but that doesn't stop you from continuing your activity.

Michael is back in the shadows, his purplish skin merging with the darkness in such a way that he's almost impossible to see - not that you'd look for him, so lost in concentration on your own activities. He was in the auditorium with you, a safe distance between the two, but to already be in the same room with you was an audacity. Mike was getting more and more bold when it came to you, gradually reducing the distance between the two of you, surely observing the limits of your inattention, hiding in the corridors when you were in the control room or choosing the back of the rooms when you were spending your time organizing the animatronics' chambers. However, there was only one place he didn't follow you. The Circus Gallery. Michael can still remember all the feelings that went through his body when he saw Elizabeth for the first time in a long time. In fact, not Elizabeth, but Circus Baby.

They talked, the animatronic would speak to him and he would respond, something that was unimaginable to him nor Henry at the time when he was still alive and working in the same position as you. Hope flooded his body back then at knowing he could get in touch with his sister, but as Michael now knows, his life is submerged in injustice. That's why, today, he finds himself the way he is. With a hood hiding his face, a mask covering his mouth and only leaving the eye area visible, hoodie and pants over his entire body, hiding and watching you from afar. Michael sometimes allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if you had arrived at the establishment a little earlier, perhaps he could have had a coherent conversation with you, not exchanging notes full of drawings and short sentences, or he could even have taken you out to dinner after work, where you would certainly have told him all about your family and your sister, making him forget a little about the dysfunctionality of his own family.

A loud noise wakes him from his trance, the sound of something metallic hitting the floor. His eyes immediately went to the stage, ready for the possible reality that the horde of animatronics that had attacked him was back. For the next few seconds, he closed his fist in defense, knowing that, due to the lack of weapons in his possession, if Ennard had returned, Michael would have to protect you with just his own bare hands. And call him crazy, sometimes he missed fighting, it would be a splash of normality in the mess his life had become. But fortunately, no animatronic or threat appeared in the room, only your whine was heard. Michael returned his eyes to your figure, and you held open the door of Parts & Service with a frustrated look on your face.

"I don't fucking believe it!" You blurt out, irritation present in your voice. In your lack of attention when clearing the tables, you ended up opening the door with an unnecessary amount of force, which caused the wood to collide with one of the shelves, knocking it down as well as all the pieces you had organized. You had 15 minutes to go, but you didn't want to leave this mess for Michael to find. If you left this mess here, he would have to clean it up in the middle of the night. Night shifts are naturally tiring, and would you force him to clean up the mess you've made? No.

Michael's eyes follow your figure as you enter Parts & Service, he knows you'll try to sort out the mess as quickly as possible before his shift starts. He thinks it's sweet of you to care about his comfort, but he knows how heavy these shelves are for you, the metal being strong enough to hold the remaining parts of the animatronics. With your lack of strength and assuming that you will rush the process to get everything done before your workday is over, Michael comes to the conclusion: you will definitely hurt yourself. Not that he doubts your ability, but he knows how heavy these shelves are and, given your carelessness during your work shift, combined with your hurry, something is bound to go wrong. He doesn't want to see you get hurt, knowing that he couldn't take you to a hospital or call for help, so he would have to listen to your grunts of pain and see your body on the floor helpless until Henry arrived. That thought alone makes Michael's body respond negatively, the image messing up all the thinking he was doing. Apart from that, a selfish part of Michael doesn't want you not to be here for the next few days, assuming you'd have to miss a couple of days of work to recover. Or worse, you would come to work and stress your body even more.

With these ideas running through his head, he unconsciously begins to take the steps to reach the room where you were. The scene he finds proves all the theories that were forming in his head: you, holding the shelf with both hands, fighting against the force of gravity so that it doesn't fall on you. Michael immediately joins you, helping you put the rack upright again, which, frankly, wasn't that hard, given that he was the one who put them up and fixed the whole place up before you even worked here. He ignores the sound that escapes your lips in surprise, concentrating on getting the shelf upright and away from your body, to avoid you being harmed.

With Michael's help, surprising you with how quickly he had arrived, you manage to get the stand on its feet very easily. Too effortlessly, which fascinated you. You wipe the dust off your hands and watch the security guard in front of you do the same. Without saying a word, you roll up your sleeve, looking at your wristwatch indicating the end of your shift and the beginning of his. He had arrived quickly at the building, and frankly, it's a good thing he did; you didn't realize how much strength it took to lift that rack until it was too late.

"Thank you," you say, a little breathless from the effort you were making. Now you can see him more clearly, without the darkness of the corridor he was in when you first met. Michael was indeed pretty tall, wearing the same hoodie and jacket he wore that day, but you still couldn't see the man's face properly, his mouth and nose covered by a mask, leaving only the areas of his eyes visible. You didn't know if it was tiredness blurring your vision or the lack of illumination in the room, but his skin had a purple tone and his eyes were practically black. Were you that tired?

"You didn't have to fix that, I could have done it in my shift," he replied, turning his back to you and starting to pick up the pieces that had fallen. This gives you an almost perfect view of his back, broad and attractive, the movements of his arms making the muscles shape the stretched fabric of his jacket. You blush a little, still surprised by the man's abrupt arrival and his proximity.

"No, I made the mess, I'll clean it up," you say, "First rule you teach any child in kindergarten," the joking tone clear in your voice. He laughs, and gosh, he laughs, a little chuckle so attractive it makes you want to hear it forever. You bend down to start picking up the seemingly animatronic Ballora's arms, wanting to put them back where they were before. Michael continues to wrap the threads that have fallen off before seeing you bend down to pick up the heavy arms of the old animatronic.

"No, no, let me get that," he says quickly, setting aside the wires, and bending down beside you to grab the pieces from your arms, knowing that they would be too heavy for you to put on the shelf. You catch a glimpse of the man's hands, which are bandaged, leaving only his fingers, which also have a visible purple tinge. You must be seeing things.

"What about me? What do I do?" You let your arms fall by your sides, a little embarrassed that you had made a mess and he was organizing all the things for you. The sight you had was wonderful though, letting the night security guard do all the manual labor on your behalf, seeing this extremely tall and fit man holding heavy pieces for you.

"Sit there and look pretty," you can't see his smile, but you can hear the mocking tone in his voice, already imagining the playful grin that must be on his face. Even with the lack of lighting in the room, you manage to decipher where he's pointing, a chair left next to the intact shelf, away from the pieces that had fallen. You huff a little loudly, wanting to make it obvious that you were frustrated with your lack of cooperation, sitting down and returning to your task of admiring the man in front of you working.

Michael continues to pick up the forgotten pieces of the old animatronics and put them back on the shelves they were on before. After being stuck in the same rooms for so long, his memory was able to retain even the smallest details of how things were organized. He genuinely thinks that one day he'll be able to draw the whole establishment down to the minutest of details. Michael's back seemed to burn under your stare, he had noticed that your eyes hadn't left his figure since he started helping you collect the pieces. Very smooth, Y/n.

"You can draw really well," you break the silence, taking him by surprise. The drawing he had left on the note really surprised you, despite seeing you once, he managed to trace your body in a very recognizable way on paper. Your failure to do the same comes to mind for both of you, in the form of a lanky stick figure with a loaf of bread on its head, which was actually supposed to be a hat.

"You too," Michael says in a serious and convincing tone, leaving what looked like a few pieces of the endo-skeletons on the last shelf. "The noodle hair was a creative touch under the bread," he continues, now with his arm resting on the shelf, leaning over to rest his body against it. His convincing tone being easily identified by you as sarcasm.

"It was supposed to be a hat on top of my head," you smile, accepting defeat at your lack of talent in the art field. Michael lets out another laugh, which takes you by surprise, causing small giggles to escape from your own lips, glad to have been able to hear him laugh once again. "At least I accepted defeat and tried to draw myself, if I had tried to draw you, it would have been much worse."

"That's something I would like to see," Michael continued, smile invisible to you. Man, how he had missed laughing or smiling, Henry was good company, but with the various events that still cursed his mind, humor or comedy were not a strong trait in the older man's personality. You were young like Michael, still full of life and concrete dreams in your mind, and as much as you had taken on a great responsibility, which was looking after your younger sister, Michael could see traces of youth in your face, fighting to make themselves apparent in the surroundings where life had forced you to become a mature woman prematurely.

"I'll try my best," you say, a smile still present on your tired face. Michael was fun to talk to, distracting you from the fatigue that still weighed on your shoulders. "Have you started working here recently? You seem to know the place pretty well," you ask, looking at how he had re-organized the pieces, quickly putting them back where they were before they fell.

"No, I worked here for a while before you started," Michael lies easily, given that he had already practiced this lie with Henry several times before you even dreamed of asking him that question. "I worked both shifts," which wasn't entirely a lie, he really was here for both shifts, but it's not as if he had much of a choice.

You flinch, once again feeling that sensation you always felt when someone lied to you. Many years of listening to your mother's lies must have strengthened your intuition, but you didn't know why Michael was lying or hiding. You wouldn't ask, nor would you have the luxury of judging what he was doing, you weren't naive to the world you both lived in, he must have his reasons. He wasn't dangerous, given that the acceptance process for this job involved a lot of questions and documents, so if he had anything suspicious to hide, he probably wouldn't be accepted for this job, even more so for working two shifts.

"It must have been boring," you reply, "but you had the privilege of not being able to meet Noah," you add, a defeated sigh escaping your lips as you remember the insufferable architect who constantly ruined your mood at work hours. Michael did indeed know him, but you had no idea, so you believed him when he asked you who he was.

"He's one of the architects who is redesigning the facility for a new attraction," you repeated what Henry had already told Michael, but he didn't care, listening to you talk was something he was discovering he loved doing. "He's extremely rude and clueless, treating Alice, who is the other architect, in a derogatory way, acting as if everyone should cater to his every need and not minding their welfare".

Michael senses the annoyance in your voice as you talk about Noah, and frankly, he understands your frustration, from what he hears from the corridors to his hideout, the man's voice is extremely obnoxious in every way. "Sounds like every human who has too much power in his hands," Michael replied, returning to his task of wrapping the wires.

"No, I've worked in several places that had considerate bosses and, well, had the minimum of human dignity," you respond, still frustrated by Noah's behavior. This architect managed to fail at all the social skills possible.

"Why did you come to work here then?" Michael asks carefully, not knowing if it was a sensitive topic for you, he didn't want to possibly overstep any boundaries and lose the chance to continue talking to you. It was the first time in ages that he had managed to have a sincere conversation with someone other than Henry, and once again, that milestone had been achieved by your company. And, yet one more time, he was extremely grateful that it had been you, a beautiful, charismatic and attentive woman, how could it be better?

"Well, I don't have one of the best resumes, so there was always someone who was better trained than me or better prepared. In addition to my age, in jobs that involve constant contact with other workers, sometimes they would try to take advantage of my - how did they say it? My youthful disposition," you wince as you remember how much you were overworked in other positions because you were younger than the other employees. Michael hesitates too, annoyed that you had to deal with these situations, he always got to work in the businesses built by his father and Henry, so he knew he had the privilege of avoiding the possible charges he would have on his criminal record for beating up some scumbag bosses.

"I need the job, I have a greedy little sister at home to feed," you continue, too tired to realize that perhaps you were sharing too much information about your personal life to your co-worker.

"Hm, what's her name? Michael asks, curious to know more about you and your family. He missed his siblings and the family they could have been, even if he never experienced that opportunity. If he had the chance, he would be in your shoes, running away with his two siblings in his arms and living an eternal life of manual labor in order to provide a better future for them. Elizabeth and Evan would have gone to college, had dinner every night with Michael, spent Christmases just the three of them, until they each found a partner and Christmases expanded to three families with other kids running around the house. Perhaps in this dream, Michael would have called you on a date, telling you about the dysfunctionality of caring for two children alone.

"Cassie," you smile, remembering your little sister, who is probably now talking to the neighbor until her ears drop. She was always chatty, expressing herself confidently and stubbornly. “I can't complain about her, she always helped me in whatever she could,” you complete, the sincere smile on your face being noticed by Michael. The dead man's heart warmed, he could see the adoration you carried for your sister, it was lovely to watch. You must be a great big sister, Cassie was really lucky to have you, Michael notes.

”You should be an inspiration to her then", Michael compliments you sincerely, finally putting the last piece of metal on the shelf, everything arranged as it was before. Your smile expands humbly, your insecure mind not accepting the compliment of the attractive man in front of you.

“I don't know, sometimes I feel like she takes care of me, instead of me taking care of her,” you reply, raising your eyes, which you hadn't even realized were on the floor, to face Michael. He returned to rest his body on the shelf, his figure inclined, and yet, his face was turned towards you. You couldn't see his features, but you could feel his smile in the sound of his voice.

“All the older siblings feel this way, don't worry, I'm sure you must be doing a great job,” Michael says, confident in his statement. You were caring, hardworking and polite, he was sure Cassie must notice all these qualities of yours, unlike him, who was violent and angry, and he was sure Evan noticed that. "I speak from experience, you are a good example for Cassie," he concludes, a sad tone in his speech. You notice the change of emotion in the man's voice, a heavy intonation that almost made the room where you were darker than it really was.

“I'm sure your siblings are very lucky to have a brother like you, " you try to comfort, although your speech was not as confident as his. You didn't want to hear his voice sound like that again, sounding like all of his life had been sucked out of him, words so quiet and charged with regret. ”After all, you are careful with your surroundings, eager to help me even if I haven't done anything for you, and to top that, your impeccable cleaning skills, " you try to joke, and fortunately, it seems to work, as a low laugh fills the room with life again. You feel so relieved that you don't fail to smile too.

You roll up your sleeve, oblivious to the several minutes you spent talking to Michael. The number 7 and two zeros scream on the screen of your wristwatch, realizing that you had already finished your shift and were disturbing the work of the night security guard in front of you. You get up quickly, which takes Michael by surprise, thinking you had seen something you shouldn´t. Before Michael could explain the millions of reasons created in his own head as to why his skin was purple and his eyes so black they could mask themselves in the shadows of the hood, you say:

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't know I was disturbing your work- fuck, I'm leaving now, don't worry about me,” the words getting mixed up as you talked, showing your nervousness at having spent the first hour of the night's shift with him. Michael finds your awkward and nervous manner comical as you left the room, practically running from him to grab your backpack and leave him alone for his office hours. He doesn't fail to follow you, walking the same dark corridors behind your hurried, clumsy figure, only stopping to lean against the entrance of the control room to watch you.

He keeps watching as you quickly grab all your materials and practically toss them into your open backpack, making the conscious decision not to tell you that you were once again forgetting your radio on the table in the main hall. You were such a cute sight for Michael, babbling various excuses as you frantically packed up your items. He did not regret the risk he took in approaching you today, knowing more and more of the pieces that completed you, and even then, the hunger for more did not seem to subside. He was totally attracted to you, the way you talk, how you comforted him today, how you also noticed his efforts and, not least, your appearance. The illumination at Parts & Service wasn't the best, but he managed to see your face more clearly today, your smile, your eyes that were lost in his working figure, your small hands and how the uniform did a good job of grabbing every curve of your body. Michael had always known injustice, but the feeling was stronger now. How fate managed to deliver someone so perfect into his hands and he just couldn't feel what it would really be like to have you as his.

You run past him, shouting a nervous goodbye, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible to let him work. Your footsteps could be heard through the corridors and into the main hall, opening and closing the main doors with rapidity. Michael smiles, pulling his bandaged hand up over his mask, feeling his cheeks tingle. If he still had blood running through his veins, he'd be blushing. He couldn't stop you from leaving so frantically like that, finding the whole situation too adorable to be stopped. His legs begin to make their way to the main hall, picking up the radio you forgot again on one of the tables. He reaches for the pen and paper in his pocket, writing another small note for you.

I'm starting to think it's on purpose.

-Mike

[ynisreal]

wires (1) - michael afton x reader

author´s note: i posted this on AO3 and thought, since i read a LOT of fanfiction in here as well, why not post here too? soooo here is my lil contribuition :D summary: A reader-insert in which you work as a security guard at Sister Location and you start to feel a little too drawn to the night security guard. Or Michael has already been scooped and can't get out of the establishment, becoming the night security guard. So the only entertainment he has is the cute daytime security guard who is a bit clumsy.

Chapter One

Since the incident that ended Michael's life, he hasn't been able to leave the same place where death found him. Fazbear Sister Location has become his home, not so comfortable, but it works for him. Michael knows that he won't be able to live a normal life in the state he's in, purple and ever-falling skin, exposed bones and black eyes. No longer alive. The animatronics who did this to him, including his sister, decided to let his body decompose in an alley, and he had no choice but to crawl to the place where he took his last breath.

He didn't blame his sister, far from it, he knew she was trying to protect herself and couldn't recognize her own brother's face. Imagine being so blinded by anger and fear that you can't recognize your sibling. Well, he knows he can blame the shitty father they both had for recent events. That was already a relief in his chest. Michael already carried a lot of guilt in his heart, he didn't need any more of it.

The days were monotonous. Henry came to visit one day or another, always with clothes in hand and a few items from Mike's place to comfort the undead. Michael was grateful for Henry, knowing that the poor man was still struggling with the grief of his own daughter, so he helped Michael in any way he could, welcoming him like the child he had lost. They talked, Henry hoping that he could build something to help Michael live normally again, which they both knew was unlikely. There was no going back, he had lost his life, now a ghost in his own rotting body.

Michael was now in charge of the establishment, forever a security guard who worked night and day shifts. Every hour of his day was spent walking the corridors, watching the same movies on the old television Henry had installed for him, cleaning the same toilets and reading any book or magazine he could find in the staff room.

"The other employees of the company are beginning to question why this establishment is still empty," Henry continues. Michael, who had been lost in his thoughts, returned to paying attention to what his father's former friend was saying. "Apparently, they want to start a bigger project on this site, and they need the place intact, so they're pressing to have a security guard here for when the construction company comes."

Oh yes, Michael wasn't officially the security guard. He was only officially dead.

"Create a false identity for me and I can take care of security," Michael shrugged, looking at the older man in front of him, "The establishment would be under observation all hours of the day, after all, I can't get out of here," he tried to make a joke, but neither he nor Henry seemed to find it funny.

"What about when the staff arrive to redesign the place during the day? Are you going to serve them little cups of coffee and cookies looking like that?" Henry says dryly. Ouch, that pained Michael. He knows what he was suggesting was a bit insane, the day shift would be impossible to avoid being spotted.

"Okay, so you're going to put a security guard on the day shift, and what about me? Am I going to beg him not to tell the others about me?" Michael replies in the same way, a little frustrated that the solution was so simple and yet so impossible at the same time: he just had to get out of here.

"No," Henry replies, "You stay hidden."

Michael doesn't answer the older man. He knows Henry is right, but it's so unfair to go through what he's been through and have to live in hiding. In the same shadows that those who killed him live in. His whole life was built on injustice, the death of his brother, the constant running away from his father, the terror the poor children suffered, his own death and what came after it. Injustice was no stranger to Michael, so he accepts what his reality will become in the coming days. Spending the day hiding in the small back room, locked up like an animal, until night comes and he is able to roam not so freely around the establishment where he died.

Great.

Henry gave Michael one last hug, saying he would be back in the next few days to bring the younger man some comfort items, promising to bring him some interesting new movies or books. Honestly, Henry knows that no movie or book would improve the situation of the man he considered his own son, but he had to play with the pieces he had.

The next two days passed in the same way as the others, Henry visiting, mopping the same floors, watching the same movies and reading the same magazines. On the third day, Henry had warned him that the new security guard would be arriving at 6 o'clock in the morning. She was apparently a woman a little younger than Mike, desperate to find a job to help support her younger sister. Henry described you as a sweet, quiet woman, who certainly won't bring any more problems into Michael's life. Mike sighed in relief.

The day began with Michael quickly locking the door to the room he was in. It was a spare back room used to store the remains of the animatronics that had escaped and other old things from other establishments, making it spacious enough for him to put a mattress on the floor and the small television that Henry had installed. Genuinely, it was the best Michael could ask for in this situation.

He hears you entering the main hall, the little-used doors making a loud noise down the corridors. He also hears that the sound of the doors startles you, causing you to let out a nervous yelp, which puts a small smile on Michael's face. If you are that easily frightened, perhaps it wasn't the best option to work in a place with a reputation as dirty and shady as Fazbear Entertainment's establishments.

You really had been startled by the loud noise from the doors, not expecting a noise assault at this time of the morning. It's 6 a.m. and you've barely slept, a little bit spooked by the rumors your little sister told you when you revealed where you were going to work. She was only 10, but she didn't seem to be afraid of anything, creating a hard shell after so many years of watching you deal with the difficulties of studying, working and looking after her at the same time. Your sister looked up to you, and wanted to help you in any way she could, so she didn't seem like a child at times. Some nights you were relieved that she was so mature, but soon you regretted it, feeling ignorant for not having been able to give her a normal childhood.

Your father threw your mother out of the house when he found out about her constant lovers, which led to you being thrown out too. You had nothing to do with what your mother did, you were just a child, which is why you loathe your father to this day. Your mother wasn't much help either, getting pregnant with your little sister a short time later, by a random man she met in the bar. She didn't make an effort to look after you or your sister, so it didn't surprise you to wake up one day and see her goodbye note with lunch money inside.

You walk through the main hall impressed by how clean it was. Oh well, the last security guard must have constantly cleaned everything. You think as you reach for the switch to turn on the lights, already reaching for the map you'd been given during your interview, explaining each room and what you had to do during your shift. It consisted of looking at the cameras to prevent intruders, keeping an eye on the employees who were going to redesign the establishment and locking the doors when either they or you leave, so that the night security guard could take over the next shift.

However, after looking at the clean and tidy state in which the last security guard left the corridors and rooms, you felt guilty for not keeping them clean too, wanting to maintain the hard work he had put in. As you sat down in the chair in the control room, you turned on the monitors to watch the cameras and wait for the architects who had said they would arrive today, placing a small napkin under your coffee cup to avoid staining the wood of the table. You´re welcome, last security.

The first few hours of your workday pass quietly, even a little tediously, as you stare at the screens in front of you, feeling your eyes burn at the image of empty corridors and stages just as blank. The sweet man who had interviewed you had told you about the transfer of the animatronics, but unfortunately for him, you had learned from a young age to spot when older people were lying to you. Whether it was intuition or pure coincidence, you had realized that he wasn't telling you the real reason why there were no animatronics on stage at the moment, and, combined with your sister's stories, you found yourself a little wary, not taking your eyes off the monitors.

"We're here, Y/n, open up here," you were startled by the sudden voice coming from the radio the company had given you, recognizing that it was the architects who had arrived on the scene. "Okay, I'll be right there," you reply almost immediately, getting up to walk to the main hall. The architects had already gone up the elevator and were standing behind the main door, waiting for you to unlock it.

"Wow, that door makes a loud fucking noise," the man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase said when you opened the doors, his voice sounding frantic. You flinched at the sound of such a rude voice ruining the silence you'd been in for hours. He was accompanied by a shorter woman, who was in more casual clothes and carrying too many materials for her small arms to hold. "You must be the new security guard," the architect in the suit looked at you, his tone not at all inviting.

"Yes, my name is-" you stop your sentence when you see that he hasn't waited for your answer, and instead started walking down the hall with a small notebook now in hand, leaving the briefcase at your feet.

You allow your mouth to drop into an expression of surprise, looking down at the briefcase at your foot, waiting to be picked up in your arms. "Sorry, Mr. Noah had a bad day," the woman in front of you says, a nervous smile on her face, trying to make up for what her boss was doing, "My name is Alice." She tries to extend her hand to greet you, but some of the materials she was holding fall to the floor.

You bend down to pick up what had fallen and the briefcase that was still on your feet. "My name is Y/n," you reply, still incredulous at the whole situation, helping Alice carry the materials and the briefcase, realizing how difficult it was to keep everything in just two hands. Wow, this woman has been carrying this around all day?. Alice starts to follow her boss, Noah, when she hears him call out, a little annoyed that his things had fallen. You had no choice but to follow her, going after the man who was so caught up in his own ego to notice his own actions.

You showed the map to both of them, taking them to the rooms they wanted to see. The two of them worked in a frustrating dynamic, with Noah constantly making observations and critiques of the establishment's architecture, coming up with ideas for the new attraction and who they should call in to help with the redesign, and Alice writing down every word that came out of the rude man's big mouth. You grew increasingly tired of the architect's voice, already exhausted from going back and forth to the hall where they had left the materials to bring some item he needed.

Noah seemed satisfied with his ideas when it started to get dark, as he finally shut up and, without warning, started walking towards the exit of Ballora's Gallery, calling Alice to follow him. Once again, you had no choice but to go after them both, the stress and tiredness already getting to you, but relieved that they seemed to be leaving. You open the doors for both of them, returning the small nod and smile that Alice gave you before disappearing into the elevator.

When you lock the door, you pull up the sleeves of your uniform to check the time. It was 5 o'clock in the afternoon, one hour before your workday ended and that of the night security guard would begin. A tired sigh escapes your lips as you quickly close your eyes, imagining your warm bed and the plate of food waiting for you at home. Man, I just want this first day to be over. You've been on your nerves all day, with Noah's absurdly annoying voice and your fear of the stories you've heard, your body going rigid every time you heard some strange noise.

Your legs practically carry you into the control room, dumping you into the chair, feeling the relief of letting your leg muscles rest from having stood too long watching Alice and Noah work. You adjusted your spine to rest against the back of the uncomfortable chair, prepared to spend the final hour letting the monitor screens burn your retina once again. But your body seemed to have another idea: as soon as you leaned your head against the palm of your hand, your eyes began to feel heavy, and with every second that passed, they felt heavier and heavier. At some point, you blinked and didn't open your eyes again, letting your head fall into your own arms and falling asleep on the control desk.

It's already 6 o'clock, why hasn't she left yet? Michael wondered when he didn't hear your footsteps or the doors closing. He had learned your name today, Y/n, several times hearing a female voice, which sounded like one of the employees who had visited today, call you by it. Alice and Noah were the employees. The constant "Yes, Mr. Noah" in a shy, nervous tone still burned his ears. It felt strange to hear so much commotion in the place he had lived quietly for a while, at least he liked your voice. Michael could hear your brief explanations of the features of each room, a really sweet voice like Henry had described. You spoke politely, even though your tone seemed irritated when you answered the arrogant man, you still expressed yourself calmly and with good manners.

Michael kept wondering how you managed to behave so calmly even though there was clear irritation in your voice. He was always the opposite, letting his emotions get the better of him, getting into unnecessary fights as a teenager, and not improving much as a young adult. His investigation with Henry helped him create a focus in his life after his brother's death and his father's crimes, centering his anger and violence on avenging those who had suffered at the hands of his father. So if it were him in your shoes today, Noah would probably have left the establishment with more than a black eye.

It was close to 6:30 and he still hadn't heard any sign of your departure. Michael immediately began to worry: Had the animatronics come back? Had you hurt yourself on an exposed wire? Had you gotten lost in a random room? As the minutes ticked by, Michael's worries grew louder and louder; he genuinely couldn't bear another death on his hands due to carelessness or negligence. With anxiety almost making him deaf, once again letting his emotions take over his consciousness, Michael tucks the "Security" vest into his hoodie, pulling the hood over his head, and opens the door of the room where he was hiding. He had to make sure you were all right, not wanting another person to die for this miserable franchise. You were almost his age and your sister was waiting for you at home, so you needed to be okay.

Michael walked quickly through the corridors that he had memorized in his mind, heading for the control room, knowing that the security guards were tasked with looking at the same monitors he already looked at. To his surprise, you weren't dead or lost, in fact, you were asleep. Little sighs escaped your lips, showing how tiring your first day had been, which made Michael smile slightly. How he missed being able to meet up with other people, only having Henry's company. And he was grateful that this lack of contact was broken by the sight of you lying on the control desk, a few strands of hair scattered over the controls, leaving your face visible to Michael's eyes. You were beautiful, Michael noticed, young and pretty, some features tired by the probable weight of looking after your sister alone. Perhaps in another life, he would have asked for your number in a bar or asked you out on a date. In another life, he wouldn't be cursed by his father's crimes and still alive. This last thought seemed to wake Michael from his daydream, and he quietly stepped away from the chair, going to hide behind the shadows that the corridors were creating, not wanting to be seen.

"Good night," he says in a loud, hoarse tone. This seems to surprise you, as you stand up wide-eyed and in a defensive position, letting a small yelp come out of your mouth. You rub your eyes, your tiredness immediately leaving your body to answer whoever was calling you. Your eyes scan the control room, finding no one, until your gaze meets the tall figure at the door. It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, his hood hid his face and his hands were in his pockets. You couldn't make out who he was or any trace of him, only the silhouette of a stranger in the shadows. From his voice and what the shadows let you see of his body, he seemed to be about your age, his shoulders broad and the sleeves of his jacket a little too tight around his biceps.

"Your shift is over," the man's shadow speaks again. You roll up the sleeves of your uniform to look at the time. Shit, it's almost 7 o'clock at night. Your eyes widen and your cheeks turn red, embarrassed at being caught sleeping on the job. Michael had to hold back the smile that wanted to grow, finding your reaction incredibly cute. You really were very beautiful, it was nice to see someone so beautiful after so long looking only at the floorboards and the cleaning products. If this was the last time he would have human contact, he was more than satisfied.

"Shit, I'm so sorry-" You quickly say, collecting your things from the table and tossing them rapidly into your backpack, which was leaning against the corner of the room. "I'm leaving, I'm really sorry," you repeated as you slipped the straps over your shoulders and walked towards the door. Michael sank a little further into the shadows, letting you pass him and start walking towards the front door. Although your steps were quick, you noticed as you passed him the difference in height that was made, the man had a remarkable presence, being much taller than you, with wide arms and a thick voice. You blushed a little more.

Michael wanted to follow you, take you to the door and extend the moment a little longer, not wanting the first human contact he had after such a long time to be so brief. He wanted more time to engrave your face. But he didn't follow you, he didn't want to risk being seen. He wasn't expecting you to suddenly stop in your tracks, turning your body towards him, with a shy smile on your face.

"Hm, good evening and good work..." You waited for the man in the shadows to respond with his name. Michael let his eyes wander down your body, the security uniform fitting your curves beautifully. Thank you for this last gift, whatever entity is up there listening to me.

"Michael," he replied, his voice a little less dry, a smile invisible to you taking over the man's features. You really wouldn't be any trouble for him, as Henry had said.

You crack a smile, raising your hand to wave goodbye to the night security guard.

"Y/n," you respond.

[ynisreal]

do not post any of my work anywhere without my permission pls! same username on AO3 - i crosspost here and there :D

Wires (michael afton x female reader)

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