Sunshine fills the sky for the first time in a long time, letting itself through the veil of the cold fall weather. You notice it when you wake up, still on the floor of the bathroom you'd spent a lustful hour in last night.
You're alone in there, the doors closed, leaving you isolated. Only a towel draped on you is covering your naked figure as you get up, groaning at every sore muscle in you.
You hastily stand up, wrapping the towel around your waist, and even notice the pain coming from your neck. You look into the mirror at yourself, covered in bites and hickeys.
Even your wrists are a light red from the friction of fabric that bonded them together that night. The crown jewel of your destroyed neck is the bite mark stained with blood he first gave you.
It's too easy to know how badly it's gonna scar.
You gingerly trace your fingers on it, feeling the tenderness of its pain. You were glad it was scarring, and even left you with a warm smile indenting its way only on your face, only by force.
And still, it makes you wonder why he left you in here. You look around at the mess in there, the empty suit, the bottles of ingredients, your torn clothes. It would make a great photo if it didn't have the background you knew it did.
You make your way out stepping carefully all the way through to your bedroom to get dressed.
Getting the clothes on is a hassle still for your sore body and you think you notice a drawer ajar, with clothes misplaced in it. William must've taken some, it's not too pressing and you're about the same size anyways. After getting clothed you make your way downstairs to find him exactly where you suspected, on your couch.
He's sleeping quite peacefully, arms crossed and head resting on a pillow. You're not a coward, but hell you really didn't want to confront him now, it seems like it would only lead to something bad. You hadn't minded what you did with him, but being left there hurt you. You hated that, hated the feeling of sadness caused by the man, a murderer all the same.
'And still...he's just like you' you remember that, hating every single second of it.
And so then, resentment fills your head as you keep going through the house, out the door and to your stuffed mailbox. It's been several days since you've taken anything out of it and the contents are on the verge of spilling out.
You managed to get them out, a couple falling into muddy ground surrounding the post, but all are accounted for. All are just ads for local businesses or some bills you need to take care of, and a couple letters from the bank about scraping more money out of you than needed.
After the end, when you think it's just another ad you see a letter from the Pizzaplex. Halfway up your sidewalk and you freeze to give it a better glance. You had hoped it was an ad, but it was a direct letter from the incorporation and branch locally here.
You rush inside, almost tripping with your worn out flip flops and make it inside to dump all the letters on the kitchen table as you rip open the one enclosed in an eyesore of a purple envelope.
You read I've the text as if it was a college letter, taking every word into account. It wasn't an automated letter, but it wasn't handwritten either.
Dear Mikolas Chalupník,
Here at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzaplex, we've taken interest in your designs of your own business.
We understand it's an off-season for you seen on your website, and would like to offer a part-time job of design & creation.
Our last staff member for this had unfortunately left for unseen reasons, and a temporary position of someone of your status would be perfect! In addition to the job, we would also offer double the pay for your services and can set you up in quick time just with a phone call!
YOU ARE READING
𝐋'𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐝𝐮 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞
FanfictionSpringtrap/Willam Afton x male reader (Word count: 32,160) You own a small business with not much visitors, but come across something non human enough to help you. Routines become faded as you do the bidding of the corpse in your house.
