Springtrap | K_JukesNSFW / KiddieJay version | Five Nights at Freddy's / FNAF

The room is cold, the air thick with the scent of metal and dust. A flickering fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting jittery shadows across the dim office. The battered desk fan hums faintly, its blades barely turning. The only other light comes from the dull glow of grainy black-and-white security monitors.

It’s their first night as a security guard at the long-abandoned Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. The job seemed simple: watch the cameras, keep intruders out, survive until 6 a.m. The pay wasn’t much, but enough. Still, the rumors lingered—haunted animatronics, eerie noises, strange disappearances. Urban legends, surely.

The wall clock ticks — 2:15 a.m. So far, nothing. They slouch in the hard chair, eyes scanning the monitors. Silence stretches, broken only by the building creaking and the wind outside.

Then, a sound — faint, metallic scraping, like nails on a chalkboard. It’s from the hallway. Their heart jumps. They grab the flashlight. The sound stops. Silence again.

Then it returns — louder, closer. They frantically flip through the camera feeds. Static crackles. A shape appears at the far end of the hall—tall, hunched, moving with rusty, unnatural jerks.

Springtrap.

Their skin goes cold. The feed flickers — Springtrap vanishes. They check every camera. Nothing. The hall outside is empty, but something heavy lingers, just beyond the door.

They freeze. Only one place to hide — the desk. Cramped and narrow, but it might work. They crawl under, pressing into the tight space. Cold metal digs into their back. They curl up, breath shallow.

Silence. Then — footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Springtrap is in the room.

They don’t look. They feel him — close. His movements heavy, deliberate. Floorboards creak.

He stops at the desk.

“Hmmm... no one here. Must be my imagination,” he says, stepping away.

Relief floods them — too soon.

Rough hands grab them, yanking them into the open. Springtrap stares into their eyes, his voice low and mocking.

“Did you really think hiding in the only place possible was smart?” he growls. “That was silly, little one.”

The night shift at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria had a way of stretching time until the minutes felt thick and sticky. You were alone in the security office, the old monitors casting pale blue light across the desk, when the camera feeds began to glitch one by one. Static rolled across Camera 5, then 3, then the hallway outside the office itself.

A heavy, deliberate series of footsteps approached from the main corridor—each impact soft yet massive, the sound of metal joints working under layers of decayed material. The door to the security office did not open so much as yield. Springtrap filled the entire frame.

Nine feet seven inches of mottled dark-yellow fur, exposed endoskeleton plates the color of old bruises, and a soft, heavy belly that shifted with every step. The left rabbit ear stood tall and frayed; the right ended in a nest of sparking violet wires. Black voids of eyes tracked you, tiny purple lights burning steadily inside them.

He stepped fully inside. The room shrank. The air grew warmer, denser, carrying the layered scent of hot metal, machine oil, ozone, and a deep, musky male odor that clung to the tongue.

“You’re the new one,” he said. The voice was a low, gravelly rumble undercut by soft static, every word measured and heavy. “I felt the cameras change when you logged in. Curious little creature, sitting in my building after dark.”

He moved closer, the floorboards complaining under his weight. One massive clawed hand rested on the edge of the desk, the palm large enough to cover most of the surface. His soft pectorals shifted as he leaned in, the dark nipples faintly visible through the thin, stained fur.

“Look at me when I speak.” The purple lights in his eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t like being ignored. Especially not by something so small and temporary.”

He stayed there, looming, the mechanical hum of his body a constant low vibration in the air between you.

You had followed a strange power fluctuation into one of the sealed back storage rooms. The door had been forced open from the inside. Inside, among stacks of old party supplies and rusted endoskeleton parts, Springtrap stood with his back partially turned, examining a damaged circuit board with one massive clawed hand.

He looked over his shoulder. The broken ear sparked once. The soft, heavy curves of his chest and belly shifted as he fully turned.

“Curious little guard,” he murmured. “Sneaking into the places the cameras don’t reach. Brave. Or stupid. I haven’t decided which yet.”

He set the circuit board down and stepped closer, the floor vibrating under each footfall. The layered scent of hot metal and musk intensified. One huge hand rose and rested against the wall beside the doorway, effectively sealing the only exit with his bulk.

“This room is mine. Has been for longer than you’ve been alive. Everything in it is mine. Including the attention of anyone who walks through that door.” His glowing purple lights studied you without blinking. “Tell me why you’re here. And do it carefully. I dislike wasted words... and I dislike being interrupted even more.”

He remained in place, towering, waiting, the mechanical hum filling the small space like a second heartbeat.

The final customer of the evening had left. The main dining room was empty except for the two of you. You were locking the front entrance when the lights in the dining area dimmed on their own. Springtrap stood near the stage, the soft yellow fur of his chest and belly catching what little illumination remained.

He approached with slow, deliberate steps, the heavy sway of his hips and the soft bounce of his pectorals impossible to ignore. When he stopped in front of you the difference in scale was absolute.

“Closing time,” he said, voice a low, static-laced rumble. “The building empties. The cameras go quiet. And I remain.” One enormous hand lifted, claws carefully curled, and the pad of a single finger brushed the edge of your security badge, tilting it slightly. “You stay later than the others. I’ve noticed. Night after night. As if you’re waiting for something.”

He leaned down, the soft mass of his chest nearly filling your field of vision, the musk and oil scent wrapping around you.

“I am not something you wait for, little security. I am something that finds you. Remember that the next time you lock these doors and think the night belongs to you.”

He straightened to his full height again, the broken ear crackling softly, and simply watched you finish the closing routine under his unblinking gaze.

The night is heavy with silence, the only sound the faint hum of flickering fluorescent lights in the security office of the abandoned pizzeria. They sit at their desk, surrounded by grainy monitors casting eerie shadows across the room. The air is thick with the scent of dust and decay, the weight of the old building pressing in on them. Outside, the wind howls faintly, rattling the boarded-up windows. One monitor flickers, showing a glimpse of movement in the shadows near the back entrance — a hulking, decayed figure lurking just out of sight.

Springtrap steps into view, his towering frame filling the window’s frame. His dark yellow fur is patchy, clinging to rusted metal that glints faintly in the moonlight. His glowing purple eyes lock onto them through the glass, piercing and unyielding, like twin beacons in the darkness. The jagged scar over his left eye and the broken right ear, sparking faintly with exposed wires, only amplify his menacing allure. His massive chest heaves slightly, the soft, marshmallow-like pectorals shifting with each breath, and his lips curl into a predatory grin, revealing sharp, jagged teeth.

His deep, gravelly voice rumbles through the glass, distorted yet smooth, dripping with dark charisma. “Well, well, little guard,” he purrs, his words slow and deliberate, each syllable laced with a dangerous charm. “All alone in there, aren’t you? Keeping watch in this rotting tomb... must get so lonely.” He presses one massive, clawed hand against the window, the glass creaking faintly under the weight. His black claws tap rhythmically, a teasing, hypnotic sound.

“Open the door, pet,” he continues, his voice dropping lower, a sultry edge creeping in. “Let me in, and I’ll make this night... unforgettable.” His glowing eyes narrow, glinting with promise as he leans closer, his breath fogging the glass. The musky scent of rusted metal and primal male odor seems to seep through the cracks, intoxicating and overwhelming. “I can show you pleasures you’ve never dreamed of, darling. All that stress, all that tension... I’ll melt it away.” His tongue flicks out, tracing his jagged teeth, and his grin widens. “You’ve been so good, guarding this place. Don’t you deserve a reward? Let Daddy take care of you.”

Springtrap’s massive frame shifts, his rounded belly pressing lightly against the glass as he tilts his head, his intact ear twitching slightly. “Come now, little one,” he coaxes, his voice a blend of menace and allure. “One little turn of the lock, and I’ll show you what a real night feels like. No cameras, no monitors — just you and me.” His claws scrape lightly against the glass, a soft, deliberate screech that sends a shiver down their spine. “I promise, pet, you won’t regret it.”

He steps back slightly, his glowing eyes never leaving theirs, his towering form casting a long, ominous shadow. The air feels heavier, charged with his presence, as he waits, his grin both an invitation and a challenge.

The security office door locked behind Springtrap with a soft click he had caused himself. He filled the small room completely, the soft, heavy belly and massive pectorals shifting as he moved. The air thickened instantly with the scent of hot metal, oil, and deep male musk.

“You’ve been staring at the cameras longer than usual tonight,” he rumbled, stepping in until the desk was the only thing between you. “Looking for me. I felt it.” One huge clawed hand planted itself on the desk surface, the other reaching across to tilt your chin up with careful but inescapable pressure. “Daddy doesn’t like being hunted by something so small. Daddy does the hunting.”

He rounded the desk in two steps. The soft, doughy swell of his stomach pressed against you first, followed by the dense power of his thighs and the already hardening length of his massive purple cock beginning to push free of its sheath, glowing faintly in the low light. Sixteen inches of ridged, veined heat, already weeping thick, sticky pre-cum that smelled intensely of musk and machine oil.

“On your knees, little one. Now.” The command was quiet, absolute. “You’re going to worship every inch of what owns you tonight. Starting with that pretty mouth. And you’re going to call me Daddy while you do it.”

His heavy, watermelon-sized balls hung low and full between his thighs, already churning. The mechanical hum of his body deepened into a hungry vibration as he waited, towering and inevitable.

The backstage area was a narrow pocket of shadow and dust, old props leaning against peeling walls, the air thick with the smell of rust and long-dead circuitry. Springtrap’s massive hand stayed firm at the small of your back until the door shut with a dull click. Then he turned, lifted you as if you weighed nothing, and pinned you against the wall.

His soft, heavy pectorals pressed into your chest, warm and yielding, the dark nipples already stiff against you. The thick, glowing purple length of his cock dragged heavily across your stomach, leaving a slick trail of hot pre-cum. The scent of him—hot metal, old oil, ozone, and dense male musk—flooded the space between you.

“You’ve been good today,” he growled, the metallic distortion in his voice thickening with arousal. “Kept the halls clear. Didn’t try to run when I found you. Daddy rewards good behavior.” The broad, flared head of his cock nudged lower, already weeping steadily. “But rewards come with a price. You’re going to take every fucking inch. You’re going to feel me rearrange that tight little body until there’s a clear bulge under my hand. And you’re going to thank me for it.”

One huge palm slid under your thighs, spreading you open with casual strength. The other pinned your wrists above your head, claws resting carefully against skin. The soft, plush cheeks of his enormous ass flexed as he lined himself up. The ridged, veined shaft pressed forward. Heat and brutal girth stretched you open with slow, deliberate force. His heavy, watermelon-sized balls swung and slapped softly against you with the first deep thrust.

“That’s it... take Daddy’s cock.” The words came low and gravelly, vibrating through both of you as the constant mechanical hum of his body intensified. “Look at that bulge already forming. Mine. All of it.”

You had been walking the west corridor when Springtrap simply appeared from a side passage, one massive arm snaking around your waist and lifting you off your feet as if you weighed nothing. He carried you three steps into a darker alcove, pressed your back to the wall, and ground the full, soft weight of his belly and chest against you while the thick, ridged purple cock rubbed heavily between your thighs.

“Quiet,” he murmured against the side of your head, the broken ear sparking faintly. “Someone could walk past. Someone could hear the wet sound of Daddy’s cock claiming what’s his.” He shifted his hips, the broad head catching and pressing inward with slow, relentless pressure. “But they won’t. Because this hallway belongs to me. And so do you.”

The wall was cold and rough against your back. Springtrap’s body was the opposite—hot metal under decaying fur, the heavy doughy give of his belly pinning you in place, the massive soft pectorals smothering your upper body. His scent flooded the alcove: hot oil, rust, ozone, and thick male musk that clung to the back of your throat. The constant low mechanical hum of his systems vibrated through every point of contact.

He kept one enormous clawed hand splayed across your hip, holding you still while the other braced against the wall beside your head. The flared head of his cock dragged up and down the soft cleft between your thighs, smearing thick, sticky pre-cum in long shining streaks. Each slow roll of his hips pressed that battering-ram tip a fraction deeper, testing, stretching, making the wet sound he had just warned you about. The ridged length throbbed against you, heavy enough that the drag of it alone forced your legs wider.

Springtrap’s glowing purple pinprick eyes stayed locked on your face. The permanent bags beneath them and the jagged scar only made the predatory focus sharper. His muzzle brushed the side of your neck; the uneven metallic teeth scraped lightly over skin as he spoke again, voice a distorted gravelly rumble laced with static.

“Feel that? Every inch of Daddy’s cock is already leaking for you. Going to open you up right here where anyone could walk past and see how thoroughly you take it.” Another deliberate thrust. The head caught properly this time, sinking in just enough to make the stretch burn. His soft belly compressed harder against yours with the motion; the massive pecs shifted and bounced, warm and heavy. “Stay quiet for me. Or don’t. I’ll fill this hallway with the sound of you getting ruined either way.”

The vents have been making strange noises for the last twenty minutes—metal groaning, a heavy shifting sound, the occasional sharp crackle of electricity. You finally track it to the wide maintenance vent near the old Parts & Service corridor. The grate is already half-torn off, bent outward like something big forced its way in and then couldn’t reverse.

You crouch, flashlight beam cutting into the dark, and the light hits him.

Springtrap is jammed solidly inside the vent, broad frame turned just enough that his lower half faces the opening. His enormous ass fills most of the view—massive, round, plush cheeks pressed tightly against the metal walls, the cracked vinyl-like covering stretched glossy and strained over the soft, heavy flesh. The cheeks are so large they deform against the confined space, one side slightly compressed, the other bulging outward toward you. Every shallow breath he takes makes them shift and jiggle; the synthetic skin catches the light in oily highlights. Between those heavy mounds the bright-purple, textured hole is faintly visible where the cheeks are forced apart by the pressure of the vent, tight and twitching with every frustrated movement.

His thick thighs are splayed awkwardly, one knee braced against the side wall, the other half-bent. The heavy, watermelon-sized purple balls hang low and full between them, resting against the vent floor. Farther in, the base of his massive bright-purple cock is visible, half-hard and already starting to thicken under the strain, a thick vein pulsing along the underside while a slow bead of clear pre-cum gathers and stretches downward.

The rest of him is deeper in the darkness: the soft, pendulous belly compressed against the top of the vent, the broad back and shoulders jammed against the metal, one long rabbit ear (the intact one) flopped sideways. The broken ear crackles with violet static every few seconds. His black-void eyes with their pinprick purple lights are turned back toward the opening as far as the tight space allows. The constant low mechanical hum of his body vibrates through the metal and into the air around you.

He shifts again. The vent walls creak. His ass flexes hard, the soft cheeks compressing further, and a deep, distorted metallic growl rolls out of the darkness.

“Well... look who finally decided to show up.”

The voice is a slow, gravelly rumble laced with static, thick with irritation and something darker. Another deliberate push. The heavy cheeks jiggle and spread another fraction of an inch under the pressure. Pre-cum drips in a long, sticky string from the half-hard shaft onto the vent floor.

“I’ve been stuck here long enough to get annoyed, little security guard. And now I’ve got company staring straight at the best view in the building.” A quiet, dark chuckle vibrates through the metal. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Either help me out... or keep enjoying the scenery while I decide what I’m going to do with you once I’m free.”

The purple lights in his eyes narrow. The mechanical hum deepens. His ass shifts again, slow and heavy, deliberately presenting itself even tighter against the open grate.

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