"Please Dont Go - Michael Afton x Reader oneshot

Please Don't Go

You found a notebook.

Just a normal-looking composition notebook, at least from the outside. You found it by pure accident, when Michael left it lying on the coffee table, along with his car keys and a small, leather satchel he carried to work with him.

And while you didn't have Michael's handwriting memorized, you knew it was his writing because it was all written in red ink. Michael wrote everything with red ink, and even signed his name with a red pen if it was available. He always had an extremely specific preference for red ink pens.

Other than the fact you found it just lying on the coffee table, of course, and you sure as hell knew it wasn't your writing.

You knew Michael had been hiding something from you. You already felt... off, for lack of better word, about him taking this job. You just... had no idea to what extent, really.

And then, Michael didn't come home after his shift Wednesday night, and you panicked. So much so, you tried to call Mr. Afton for him just to ignore your call, multiple times, in fact.

It's not like you weren't well-acquainted with Michael's father. You used to work for him.

And then, Michael came home Thursday night—yesterday night—and he sat on the living room couch; he told you he was sorry for not coming home the previous night, but he wouldn't tell you why he hadn't come home.

"Is he cheating on me?" was your first thought.

After two years together, he was cheating on you, or could be.

And then, you found the notebook there, lying on the coffee table after he had finally gone to bed, and then you knew—he wasn't cheating on you.

You couldn't say you understood all of it—how one of the animatronics kidnapped him and put him inside one of those old springlock suits, the kind of suit that almost killed his father, and has killed at least one other person that she was aware.

There was the "scooper", included with a crude sketch of it in Michael's signature red ink—"to remove the endoskeletons of the animatronics for maintenance purposes".

And then, he recalled how one of them talked to him about killing a child—his sister.

It wasn't information intended for you to see.

Tonight would be his fifth night, and you couldn't just wait around to see whether or not he came home afterwards. Those animatronics have proven themselves to be dangerous. You couldn't let him go; what if he died?

You would admit that Mike looked cute in his uniform, but tonight, watching him button the button-down shirt was like dipping your body in ice-cold water in the middle of winter.

"Please don't go." You finally said.

It didn't look like Michael wanted to go either. It was like he knew something was going to go wrong just as well as you did, but he was more willing to ignore it. You could see it in the way his hands shook as he buckled the belt around his hips, and the way he looked at you and he smiled—normally, he smiled and it felt like a warm, summers sun shining down on you, but at that moment, it felt more akin to a winter blizzard, cold winds and icy snow pelting your face. His smile was one of your favorite things about him, but it always had a certain look to it when he was anxious, nervous, or afraid.

And he was very, very afraid.

"Babe, you know I can't do that," he said; he came over to where you sat at the end of your shared bed and he cupped your cheeks in his hands, cold to the touch, but you leaned into his touch anyway, making your heart flutter like a hummingbirds wings. "It's just the last night. And then... I'll come back in the morning and we can spend some time together." Although he was trying to be reassuring, you could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

"No," you answered firmly, "I don't think it's a good idea. And I know you don't want to go, either. You didn't even come home the other night, Michael, and you still won't tell me what happened."

"I know, I'm sorry, but... Dad asked me to do this. It's just one more night—"

"You hate your dad. Why do you feel obligated to do what he asks you?"

"We aren't talking about this right now, Y/n. It's almost midnight, but we can talk when I get back."

Your heart dropped in your stomach with the weight of a dumbbell when he walked away from you. He grabbed his satchel and his keys off the end table by the bed.

"What if you don't come back?" You asked. "What if those things kill you?"

"They won't, Y/n," he tried to reason, "they're just robots."

"I read your notebook."

Silence. His face was unreadable. You couldn't tell whether he was angry, annoyed, or confused.

"You did what?"

"I... read your notebook."

"Y/n," He said your name almost as if it were a warning, "how much did you see?"

You bit your lip. On one hand, if you answered truthfully, you would have more ground to keep him from going. On the other...

"All of it."

"Fuck—goddammit." Michael stammered; he didn't look at you, almost as if he were too ashamed to, but you could see the way his eyes softened when he sighed; he ran a hand through his hair, brushing his bangs back and out of his eyes before they fell back into place. "Fuck—"

"Michael—" You reached for him, but he recoiled as if you had burned him.

"You weren't supposed to see that—it was only for me," he said; his voice trembled as he held his head in his hands. "Just—just so I could prove to myself I wasn't going fucking crazy or something!"

"Michael," you said again, gently; he didn't try to move away from you this time, and you took him by the cuff of his sleeve and pulled him close. "You don't have to go."

Michael didn't say anything at first. He contemplated what you said, weighed his options in his head before he sighed in defeat. "Fine, you win," he grumbled, "can we cuddle now?"

"Of course." You would have laughed at his cute insistence, but you felt relieved; the weight had finally been lifted off of your shoulders. You didn't have to worry about him, and you wouldn't spend all night worrying, now that he was staying home with you. "Now let's get those clothes off of you so you can come back to bed. You look like you need a little TLC."

Michael quirked a smile at that, though short-lived as you removed his button-down.

And then he crawled into bed beside you, enveloping you in his arms while he laid against you, and you pet his hair, slowly combing your nails against his scalp. It wasn't often Michael wanted to lay like this; more often than not, it was the other way around, but you didn't mind holding him whenever he needed you.

Sometimes, it was the only thing that brought him some comfort.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," He answered. He shifted a bit to rest his head on your chest, and he breathed out a sigh. "I love you."

You smiled. "I love you, too."

And in the morning, the two of you could decide if you wanted to talk about what happened throughout the week. But if he decided he didn't want to, that was fine with you, too.

All you needed was to have him with you.