Death Of Me (William Afton X Reader)

̷C̷̷h̷a̷̷p̷̷t̷̷e̷̷r̷ ̷T̷̷w̷̷o̷

You sit hunched over the textbook, one hand propping up your head, eyes skimming over the dry, technical jargon about animatronic creation. The boredom creeps in slowly, like a heavy fog settling in, making it nearly impossible to concentrate. Your back aches from being stuck in the same position for so long, and you shift on the hard stool, trying to get comfortable.

Through the walls, the distant hum of the restaurant comes to life-families chatting, kids laughing, and the muffled jingles of arcade machines. A part of you itches to take a look, to step out of this stifling workshop and stretch your legs. But then Afton's cold, scathing voice echoes in your mind, pinning you to your seat. You don't dare risk leaving, not with how he seems ready to criticize your every move.

Your thoughts drift, and that's when you realize another problem-the growing pressure in your bladder. You really need to pee. It feels like you've been stuck here for hours, and the discomfort is becoming impossible to ignore. You glance at the door, thinking about a quick dash to the employee bathroom down the hall. But then, what if Afton sees you? The thought of him sneering or accusing you of slacking off makes you hesitate.

You sigh, shifting again, trying to hold out a bit longer. As much as you're dreading another run-in with Afton, this isn't something you can ignore for much longer.

Your mind circles back to him, frustration bubbling inside you. Why does he seem to hate you? You've barely exchanged words, and yet from the moment you walked in, it felt like he decided you were a waste of time. It doesn't make sense. You just met him, and already, it's like he's looking for reasons to shut you down.

The thought barely lingers as your need to pee becomes impossible to ignore. You stand up abruptly, the discomfort urging you toward the bathroom. Without thinking, you make a move for the door, ready to slip out and handle things quickly.

But just as your hand reaches the doorknob, the dreaded man himself, Afton, steps through the door, blocking your path. His icy eyes lock onto you, and any sense of relief you were about to feel vanishes instantly. Your heart skips a beat, and you freeze in place, knowing he's not going to make this easy.

Afton's eyes narrow slightly as he steps into the room, his posture stiff. He crosses his arms over his chest, his sharp gaze cutting through you like a knife.

"And where exactly do you think you're going?" he asks, his tone cold and accusatory, as if he's already decided you're up to no good. His presence, so sudden and imposing, makes you shrink back slightly.

Your heart races as you hesitate, words catching in your throat. Afton's gaze never wavers, his stern expression clearly waiting for an answer, but you feel trapped, like a deer caught in headlights.

"I-I was just going to the bathroom," you manage to stammer, trying to keep your voice steady.

Afton raises an eyebrow, the gesture somehow making him seem even more imposing. "The bathroom?" His voice drips with skepticism, as though he finds the very idea suspicious. "You've been assigned to study. Not wander about."

You bite the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at how ridiculous it sounds to be scolded for needing a basic human necessity. But standing there, pinned by his cold, judgmental stare, you feel the weight of his disdain crushing you.

"It's just... I've been sitting for a while," you say, trying to sound reasonable. "I didn't want to... you know, disturb anything."

Afton's eyes narrow again, the thin line of his mouth giving no indication of sympathy or understanding. "Be quick about it," he finally mutters, uncrossing his arms just enough to step aside, allowing you to pass. "Don't waste time."