฿Ⱡł₦Đ ⱠØVɆ | William Afton x Reader

₵Ⱨ₳₱₮ɆⱤ 12

     A sigh escaped your lips as you watched the scenery move swiftly by your car. You were still thinking of what had happened with Vincent. 

     You had lots of questions, of course. Why was he being so annoyingly playful? Why did it seem like he was always leading you on in the most asshole kind of way? 

     Or, maybe more important questions, like... How did he survive that springlock accident? Why does he risk his life to use the suits in the first place? 

     You didn't know. He was a hard man to read; like he was some sort of puppeteer mastermind who knew the outcome of all his actions. And yours, for that matter. 

     You hated his complex, and yet you felt like you needed more. 

     It was only now that you realized you might like him. It had occurred to you that your friendship was never completely normal. Vincent had been flirting with you since day one. 

     I always just assumed that's how he is. But... has he ever talked like that to Nicole? Not that I've seen. Shit, what if he actually likes me? How have I not even thought about this yet? 

     You were a little shocked. Vincent, in your mind, had always been such a well-put-together man. But you? You were a mess of a girl; you had met him in the first place by being dragged to a kids' restaurant by your little brother. You felt pathetic, in a way. 

     Suddenly, you jerked your car to the left. 

     "Shit!" You gasped. "I almost missed my turn!" 

     You groaned and swore in your head. 

     I can't think about this bullshit anymore! Not if it's gonna distract me from driving! 

     You calmed yourself down and tried to clear your mind. 

     Thoughts of your newfound "crush" (assuming you could call it a crush; not that you wanted to) tried to battle their way back into your mind but you tried your hardest to push them out.

     Eventually, doing so, you pulled into your neighborhood. Thank God... You thought, happy to return to your home. 

     But as you approached the small building, you saw something you had been secretly dreading all week. There was a lanky man hammering a bright red "FOR SALE" sign into your front lawn.

     "SHITCAKES!" You gasped. 

     This was it. This was your last chance. If you couldn't talk him out of this one, your house was as good as gone. You knew you had to stop him. 

     You pulled into your driveway and tumbled out the door, which you didn't close behind you. You ran up to the man, who, you could tell had noticed your presence, but was choosing not to react to it. 

     You didn't know how to open. In your short time knowing your landlord - whose name was Oliver Cratt - you had noticed that he was a hard man to negotiate with. Well, today it would be even harder. 

     "Uh... Mr. Cratt?" The man continued to hammer the sign into your soil and grunted a reply. "I have taken notice of the fact that... well, you seem to be selling my house." 

     Mr. Cratt groaned and straightened up. He stretched, and you could hear his joints pop as he did so. 

     You stood there waiting for him to say something. 

     "Yep." 

     You were dumbfounded. Was that it? 

     "Well, uh... could you maybe... stop... selling... my house?" You asked quietly. "I kind of need it."

     "Look, kid, you really need to find a better way to haggle." His Brooklyn accent had never sounded so tired of you. 

     "Haggle? Ok, but this time I have actual things to offer! I'm not just begging, I promise." Mr. Cratt dropped his hammer on the ground with reckless abandon.

     "Well, that's surprising," He sighed. "What do ya got?" 

     Your eyes lit up. Usually, he would have told you that nothing you had to offer would change his mind. Maybe you could actually get out of this one. 

     But you decided not to get your hopes up. Cratt's voice stayed exhausted; nothing changed about his tone. You assumed he was humoring you. Not that he'd do that. 

     Whatever. You thought. 

     "Well, I got a job around a week ago, and I've, uh, been getting paid. So I might be able to slowly pay off my debt - you know, if..." Your landlord's eyes were cold and dark. "...If that's possible..." You muttered. 

     For a second, it was silent, and you had no way of telling if either of you were about to speak.

     But soon, Cratt sighed. And, it wasn't a good sigh. You could tell. You couldn't hear any relief, or slight regret as if he was about to let you off. No, it was the kind of sigh you hear before the opener: "Look, as much as I want to..." And other things along those lines. 

     You bit your lip and looked nervously up at him. 

     "Look, kid, here's the thing." He started. 

     Ah, fuck. Welp, it was nice knowing you, house. Time for homelessness! Goodbye! Peace out! You thought, your expression never changing. 

     "You haven't paid a shred of bills since the beginning, despite all the jobs you've gotten. I mean, remember when you were a Subway worker?" 

     Your heart sank. 

     "I saw on the news a week later that someone caused a kitchen fire by burning a BLT! You expect me to think that wasn't you? You never paid those bills, and you still haven't! Now, I'm not gonna call you a failure, but - here, okay, tell me what job ya got now." 

     You hesitated. 

     "Mm?" Mr. Cratt grunted.

     "I'm an assistant at Freddy F-"

     "Freddy Fazbear's!" He laughed out loud. "Of course, of course! Here I am thinkin' you might actually pull through, meanwhile, you're gettin' a job at a place where kids go missing! Imagine that!" 

     You held back tears.

     "You're not exactly putting any of this lightly." Your voice was on the verge of breaking.

     "Honestly, it's because I don't got the motivation to be nice anymore! My life is shit, kid; my husband does drugs, for Christ's sake!"

     Your expression changed to that of confusion. You furrowed your eyebrows as you stared at him.

     "Your husband does... what?" 

     He glared daggers at you, and you threw up your hands in defense. 

     "Well, uh- l- look, dude, I'm sorry your husband's a... I'm sorry your husband does drugs, but can't you spare me just this once?" 

     Please please please please please please please please please- 

     "I'm sorry, but no. You've had your chance, kid. You get the weekend to pack your things." 

     And with that, he walked away.