william afton - smut one shots

Stalker (Michael)

This is extremely disturbing. Lots of these stories are recommendations from users on ao3, and they are fucking freaks. But I am too.

Michael gives Joe Goldberg vibes in this but like worse. Be warned ig

***

Eighteen-year-old Michael had always been an outsider. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt truly happy. His home life was a constant source of pain—his father, William, was abusive, hitting him for even the smallest mistakes. His mother, Clara, was no help. She spent most of her time zoned out on pills, locked away in her bedroom, too weak or too detached to intervene. Michael felt utterly alone.

At school, things weren't any better. He never bothered making friends. Despite his good looks, which he inherited from his father, and his height, which made him stand out, he had never had a girlfriend. Sure, girls noticed him, but none of that mattered to him. There was only one girl he was truly interested in.

That girl was you.

You became Michael's sole motivation, his fixation. You were the reason Michael kept going. Every night, he fell asleep thinking of you, and every morning, you were the first thought in his mind. Ever since freshman year, when you signed his yearbook with those neat cursive letters in bright purple ink, you had consumed him. All you wrote was "HAGS" and your name, but to Michael, it was everything.

Every night, he'd pull out that old yearbook and run his fingers over your writing, tracing the letters as if by doing so he could feel a part of you. The thought of your hand touching those pages, leaving your mark on something that belonged to him, stirred something deep inside. It thrilled him, aroused him, and he craved it. You had unknowingly become his obsession.

Michael had memorized every detail of your life, starting with your school schedule. Even though he didn't share any classes with you, he made sure to be in the right places at the right times, lurking just out of sight. He studied your every movement—what hallways you used, what classrooms you disappeared into, how long it took you to get from one place to another. It became routine for him, like clockwork.

But soon, watching you at school wasn't enough. He began following you home. Every day, he would trail you at a safe distance, unnoticed, as you made the walk back to your house.

It wasn't just your walks home, though. Michael knew everything. He knew you worked part-time at the maintenance store across the street from school and knew which days you had shifts. He even knew what time you clocked in and out, like it was his own personal schedule. He watched, keeping track of every little detail, weaving himself into your life, unnoticed and unseen.

Each piece of information felt like a twisted victory, pulling him closer to you in his mind, as if knowing these details gave him some kind of power. And he loved it.

Michael's obsession didn't stop with following you home or tracking your schedule. His need to be close to you—to possess some part of your life—grew darker, more invasive. Soon, simply observing you wasn't enough.

At night, when he was sure no one would notice, he began sneaking into your neighborhood, lurking outside your house. He'd hide in the shadows, watching through your windows. He watched you sleep, he watched you undress, he even went as far as to get glimpses of you in the shower, . Every small action fascinated him, feeding his twisted obsession.

Sometimes, when you weren't home, Michael would grow bolder. He broke into your house more than once, creeping through your rooms while you were at work or school. He would go through your things—open drawers, touch your clothes, look at your personal items. He loved the feeling of being in your space, surrounded by everything that was yours. It gave him a thrill, a sense of control over your life. He even began taking small keepsakes—trinkets, a hairpin, your panties. Little pieces of you he could keep with him, hidden away like trophies.