Ｍｏｒｉｂｕｎｄ|| w. afton x reader

♔the fnaf movie will be my joker♔

please excuse how long this is and for how long its taken me. these days i've only been able to write super long chapters or else it's nothing.

requested by: hanksbruhmoment :] you're like one of my og readers and I appreciate you so much for that man

warnings: blood, smut, mutilation(?)

"Alakazam, bitch!" Fingers wriggled as the owner of the voice yelled.

"Fuck, that's really stupid," Y/N scoffed, staring around the dimly lit shed.

He knew that it was stupid, a result of his nervousness. He just couldn't bring himself to read the actual chant.

Because what if? What if the summoning spell he had found online in the murky waters of some obscure forum actually worked?

The thought excited yet worried him.

The spell itself wasn't so demanding, for it only asked for some of his blood, paper, and candles. He had researched and found out that using blood in spells was something that wasn't really recommended, especially for people who had no prior experience with these sorts of things.

Yet here Y/N was. He was just that desperate.

The male paced around the shed in his childhood home. There wasn't much pacing to be done since it was a tight space but when people are nervous, a lot can happen.

So many possiblities and outcomes streamed throughout Y/N's brain. If he were a Playstation, he would sound like a jet engine with how hard he was thinking.

Finally he took a deep breath.

"I'm not scared of a fucking demon. This demon will be my bitch either way!" He chuckled nervously, the last statement more of a reassurance for himself.

With sweat decorating his brow and his heart beating furiously, the male knelt before a sheet of paper. He scribbled some symbols, tore those same symbols and sprinkled them unto the black candles he was already burning.

He started his incantation, voice wobbling at first but then filling with the confidence of his intention.

As he chanted, he brought a pocket knife to his arm and drew blood. He collected what he could with a shot glass from his kitchen and drizzled it on the candles.

It hurt, but he pushed through the pain. He would get what he wanted, he was so sure of it. It had to work.

When the shot glass was half-way full again, the man dipped a pointer in it.
He switched his incantation to one word now; moardner. As he repeated the word over and over again, he drew a symbol with the pointer that was red.

When the last line was crossed, everything felt stale and frozen. The sounds of cars driving by, the buzzing of flies and a lantern that was in the corner weren't heard. Y/N opened his mouth to speak, but no sound would come out.

The air felt so heavy, so wrong. It was as if Y/N was ensnared in aspic or some Jell-O.
He felt like one of those little frogs or lizards that were entombed in formalin jars in science classrooms.