Death Of Me (William Afton X Reader)

̷C̷̷h̷a̷̷p̷̷t̷̷e̷̷r̷ ̷F̷̷i̷̷f̷̷t̷̷e̷̷e̷̷n̷

With your break now over, you reluctantly made your way back to the workshop, your thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and frustration. Alex’s teasing about you liking William—which you absolutely didn’t—echoed in your head, colliding with the memory of his smirk. That smirk—so calculated, so deliberate—still burned in your mind, accompanied by the way his words had curled with just enough charm to set your nerves alight. Casual. Dismissive. Mocking.

It shouldn’t bother me. It shouldn’t bother me. You repeated it like a mantra, trying to silence the wildfire raging in your chest. You didn’t like him. Why would you? He was cold, distant, and more of a professional nightmare most days. His teasing had been nothing—just a throwaway comment to unsettle you. A harmless, meaningless joke. And yet… your chest still felt tight, and your pulse was behaving like it was late for something.

Why does it feel like I can’t breathe?

You paused outside the workshop door, fingers brushing the handle but not gripping it yet. Alex’s words resurfaced, uninvited: “I think you like him.” They were meant to be a joke, something to laugh off, but now they lingered like an itch beneath your skin.

Do you like William?

The thought hit like a slap, sharp and unwelcome. No. Absolutely not. Why would you? Sure, you couldn’t deny he was attractive—annoyingly attractive, really, in that untouchable, devil-may-care kind of way—but that meant nothing. Plenty of people were attractive. That didn’t mean you liked them. And William? He was rude, aloof, and infuriatingly smug. He wasn’t even the kind of person who smiled often, yet somehow he’d wormed his way under your skin.

Hadn’t he?

You shook your head sharply. No. Stop it. You’re overthinking again. Your stomach churned with unease, and a strange weight pressed against your ribs. Why couldn’t you brush this off like usual? Why was everything about him starting to feel... heavier?

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before pushing the door open. The familiar hum of machinery greeted you, grounding you for a brief moment. William was already at his desk, his back to you, but he turned at the sound of the door, his sharp gaze immediately locking onto yours.

“Let’s pick up where we left off,” he said, his tone clipped yet smooth, effortlessly composed.

You nodded stiffly, forcing your legs to move despite their sudden reluctance. Each step closer heightened your awareness of him—his presence, his movements, the faint trace of cologne you hadn’t noticed before but now couldn’t ignore. You couldn’t help but feel like he was entirely too close, even though he hadn’t moved.

He launched straight into the lesson, his voice steady as he explained the next steps. You tried to focus—really, you did—but his words slid past you like oil on water. It was impossible to concentrate when his voice wasn’t quite as sharp as usual. There was something warmer in his tone, something subtle that made your nerves buzz even louder.

“Pay attention,” William said suddenly, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a scalpel. He leaned over the workstation, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. His hand brushed yours as he adjusted the tools, and the contact sent a bolt of static through your system.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as heat surged to your face. You dropped your gaze, feigning focus on the wires, though your hands trembled slightly.

“Are you alright?” His tone had shifted—lower, softer. Still professional but with an edge of curiosity. The way his eyes fixed on you felt almost invasive, like he was trying to read thoughts you hadn’t formed yet.