Wolf Teeth - William Afton x Reader

Chapter One

(y/n)’s POV:

The drive from the airport was short, but the overall travel was taxing. It’s officially been just over three days since I left the comfort of my flat back at Uni in Lincoln, and I am regretting my decision to join the foreign exchange program. Now, I have to go to Southern Utah University in Cedar City. Well, I have the summer to get situated in my new house and settle into the American way. But, I digress. Currently, I sat at a quaint mahogany desk in the foyer of my new house. It was a gorgeous five bedroom, two and a half bath, house of somewhat modern construction on 22 acres. Lucky for me, it’s all fenced in so my dogs will have the room to roam and there’s no neighbours for almost a mile. The interior glowed with polished oak and granite with inlaid stone accents. It was better than a flat with a snobbish flatmate. 

My first priority was getting a job. While my Uni fees were covered, or non-existent, in Lincoln, the states are quite greedy with their costs. Even though my adoptive parents are generous enough to provide me a wealthy enough allowance each month, I didn’t need to solely rely on them from across the ocean. Therefore, job hunting it is. So far, I’ve had little to no luck. Mercedes, a creme and white borzoi, nosed my leg with his rope, a muffled groan sounding. “What is it, boy?” I asked while looking down at his pleading chocolate eyes. He sat and nosed my hand with the toy again, “Alright, alright, I’ll bite.” Quickly, I snatched the braided rope from his long snoot and threw it into the living room. He immediately shot after it with the grey brindle German Shorthair Pointer, (d/n), chasing after him. The sound of playful growling and sneezing quickly ensued. I returned to my search, absently tapping the butt end of a pen onto a pad of paper which sat empty and awaiting any possible job openings. From what I was seeing, there was nothing within reasonable distance of Cedar City so I could easily drive to work from classes. 

Then, I found one. It was a stretch and not the most ideal place of employment, but it would work. A cheery looking, grey photo of a pizzeria sat above a subtle little Ad offering a night guard position in Hurricane, Utah. Checking the location, I deemed it workable if I got the job. The phone rang monotonously while the rotary clicked as I dialled the number on the Ad. After a few moments, a kind, male voice answered, “Henry Emily speaking.”

“Hello, this is (y/n) Vigouroux inquiring about a night guard position,” I responded politely, yet maybe a little too sternly.

“Ah, yes! I would love to have you come in for an interview, Mr. Vigouroux. When would you be available?” Henry asked, keeping a joyful air about his voice.

“How about tomorrow morning at 10?” I asked, knowing that any later in the day would be too busy to make it there on time. Considering I still needed to pick up the rest of my clothes and belongings from the post office where my father sent them.

“Hm… yes, that works just fine. Thank you for your interest in the position, (y/n)! I look forward to meeting you,” the man’s smile was evident even over the phone.

“Likewise,” I responded before setting the phone back on its cradle. Thank you, father, for taking me to so many business meetings. It seems that all of those lessons on manners and etiquette were working in my favour. Too often are others intimidated by me… well, maybe it’s for the best.

2nd POV:

Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza; 9:40 AM
You sternly repressed the growing distaste for the shrill sounds of children emitting from the large dining room as you entered the cool building. Vibrant lights and childish propaganda decorated the walls of the foyer. Passing the front counter, you made your way further into the building. Before leaving, you’d dressed as neat as possible with your limited wardrobe, gods forbid your possible manager thinks you’re untidy and disorganised. A simple, yet classy, choice of a lavender button-down left open at the throat tucked into pressed black slacks that gently hugged your hips with polished black oxfords. For light accessories, you’d chosen a white gold chain that rested against your collarbones, a longer necklace which held an ouroboros circled around a black pearl pendant, and a simple band on your right middle finger. The silver adornments reflected the variously coloured lights in the room. Your eyes raked over the moderately large room looking for anyone in uniform who might direct you to Henry’s office. A movement to your left pulled your attention towards the tall man making his way to you. 

He certainly was tall, your head barely cresting above his jaw. He was lean with pale skin and unruly brunette hair. His tired grey eyes took in your appearance with mild interest as he stopped beside you, “You must be here for Henry, yes?”

“Yes, we were supposed to meet for an interview. You are?” the taller male’s expression showed a hint of surprise at the similar accent. You yourself were intrigued to have encountered another British man so quickly after moving to the states. 

“William Afton, the Co-Founder of the establishment,” his eyes showed a mild challenge to your formal tone, “And who are you?”

“(y/n) Vigouroux,” you’d turned to face him, though kept your face stoic. Even as William’s brows slightly furrowed at learning of your last name.

“A Vigouroux so far from England? What is this, you’re on a mission to fuel your daddy’s research?” tension grew between the two of you as he mocked your father’s name. Although a bile grew at the back of your throat, you suppressed the anger and kept a cool resolve.

“No. I’m looking for a job. Now, are you going to be a gent and show me to Mr. Emily or are you going to continue to degrade a possible new hire? In your position, you’re in no mind to run off a new employee considering a lack there-of. Mr. Afton,” you’ve done well to keep your formal attitude on professional grounds throughout a gentle reprimanding of the Co-Founder standing before you. 

“Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me, darling,” William huffed through his nose in aggravation, “So let’s get this interview done with in my office, shall we?” He turned on his heel and led the way to the dimly lit hall leading back to the offices, you following behind him. In your peripheral, a few other employees watched on. Some looked curious while others looked annoyed. William’s office was dimly lit with a single standing lamp in the corner. The richly coloured desk sat with a desktop computer on one side facing the chair and a rotary phone parallel facing the same chair. In the middle of the two sat a loose mess of papers. To the left, across from the desk, sat a plush black loveseat. A midnight purple rug lay on the floor in the middle. Across from the door was an armchair which matched the loveseat and the one behind the desk. “Take a seat and we’ll get started,” William stated as he took his place sitting behind the desk and rifling through the papers to get them in some semblance of order, “Henry had to call out this morning to take his daughter to school, he asked me to handle the interview.”

You sat directly across from him on the loveseat with a straight posture, the file you’d brought with you held in your lap, “Thank you for letting me know, it’s a shame he couldn’t make it. He sounded quite chuffed over the phone.”

“Yes, well, he usually is a very cheerful man, fortunately for you,” William responded, his tone subtly indicating his expectation for another stern spew from your end, not expecting you to return to being civil.

“Here is my resume and transcript,” you stood and pulled the papers from the file, offering it towards Afton. He reached forward and grabbed them, taking a moment to scan them over.

“You look good for 32… a bachelor’s degree in business management, and a bachelor’s degree in Digital Arts. Master’s in business and photography in progress. Hm, quite the talented one, aren’t you?” William mused while reading over your transcript before flipping to the resume. You watched him from the loveseat as he scanned over your past employment. 

“It seems you’re more qualified to be an assistant than a night guard. Are you sure you still want to pursue the night guard position?” He asked you after putting down the papers, looking at you with one brow arched in question.

“Yes, the night shift fits best into my schedule,” you responded.

“Even with college classes?” you could tell he let his resolve loosen, he seemed a hint concerned for your mentality.

“Yes, it should be no trouble,” you repeated.

“Alright then,” William pulled a thin pack of stapled papers from a drawer of the desk and clipped them to a clipboard. He stood and circled around the desk, now towering over you as he offered you the papers, “Read through these and sign where needed, then return them to me. You can stay in here while you do so, just leave it on my desk when you leave.”

“Yes, sir,” you took the clipboard and began skimming over the terms and conditions for working for the Freddy Fazbear’s enterprise. William left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.