Work Text:
It hadn’t been long, working at Fazbear Enterrtainment, and you already knew that you couldn’t keep this up for long. Currently you hid under your desk in your office on the verge of a meltdown as one of the curious animatronics peered through the window. You tried your damndest not to make eye contact but there was hardly any place to go in this tiny office of yours. Thank God you at least had doors, not all locations had them anymore.
The company was succeeding, with your boss and secret lover (if you could even call him that) climbing his grimy way up the ranks of the entertainment industry.
Will was a weird one, but the dick wasn’t bad and it got you an extra scrap of pay at the end of the week. You tried your best to keep your distance, as he clearly wasn’t all there in the head, and you know what they say about putting your dick in crazy.
But despite your strange connection to the strange man, you had half a mind to kill him about now. The animatronic outside, a strange white fox-like robot, was beginning to tap on the window. Oh dear god. You closed your eyes, covered your ears, and prayed to whatever God you didn’t really believe in anymore that you would make it to slap Will across the face tomorrow.
And to the credit of whatever deity was listening, you didn’t hear the rap of metal fingers again and eventually, with the silence, you gathered the courage to come out from under your desk and seat yourself in your chair. A couple hours later, you found yourself in the elevator out of this wretched place, and as you drove home, you silently thanked whatever had saved you back there.
But the Gods couldn’t save William from your anger as you drove in to his primary location the day you were supposed to go back underground. This building was actually active, an open and bustling pizzeria with children scrambling around the small arcade as the animatronics sung a tinny tune up on the short-standing stage. You could see one of Will’s own kids currently hiding under one of the tables, as if he knew something and was afraid. You felt for the poor little guy, but continued on your way to the back, where Will’s office was located.
You approached the door, deeming it acceptable to pound on it with your fist, as you were far enough away from the main hall that the screaming children would cover up any noise you made.
“William Motherfucking Afton, we need to have a talk!” Your voice wasn’t loud perse, just louder than usual, and with your angered tone you heard the lanky man scrabble to the door.
He opened, looking as guilty and disheveled as he always did. His eyes were rimmed red with sleep deprivation and his eyelids and eyebags were purpled. His cheeks were hollowed, and you came to know that his ribs were as well, concave stomach and boney joints giving away years of deprivation in general. He didn’t eat, sleep, or shit unless he absolutely had to. Every drop of his energy went to his life’s work. You were still confused as to why he made consistent time for you, being such a dedicated man.
You assumed it was because you fucked around with him within an inch of his life at least once every two weeks. And like you said earlier, he was a weird motherfucker, so it of course trailed into what he enjoyed being done to him. But you weren’t all too put-off by it, in fact, it was a great outlet. You were in general an angry person, so being able to beat the living daylights out of the man who was supposedly your boss really scratched an angry itch within you.
But anyway, you now stared down the skinny man shimmying where he stood as if he didn’t know the reason behind or even actually cared about your anger. You honestly had no clue anymore. Either way, before he could anticipate too much, you kicked his kneecap, sending him folding to the ground on his knees. You closed and locked the door, leaning against his desk as you put one boot on his leg, holding him there and barely helping with his mad squirming issue.
As for the other foot… You laid it atop the crotch of his slacks, no pressure yet but the promise of the pain he longed for lay in wait. His manic grin widened at this action as your frown deepened.
“One of your fucking robots tried to get into my office last night.” You began pressing down, just a little lowering of your toe but enough to make his creepy smile split a little wider.
“So they’re… movin’ independently now?” He tilted his head and you watched his pupils dilate as you pressed down harder, a shaky breath whistling out his nose.
“Yeah, I’d say so. Mind explaining why?” You noticed him shifting his hips and stomped your other foot down onto his skinny thigh. He let out a grunt of pain, arching his hips against your foot.
“They get a little… active,” He was actively trying not to pant, you could tell, “I can’t really help it, they’re restless.”
You sighed in anger. “They’re metal, you fucking freak, you gotta be controlling them or something.” You pull a cigarette from your pack in your pocket, less for actually smoking, more for another purpose that made Will’s eyes light up the second you pulled out your lighter.
“Bad etiquette to smoke indoors.” He quipped, to which you replied by stomping again on his thigh, hard enough to emit a whimper of pain.
“Bad etiquette to get your little monsters to fuck with me on my shift. Cut it out. I mean, you still want this, don’t you?” You ask, throwing out a tease without much serious meaning before taking a long drag of your cigarette.
There was a small silence in which you could tell he was having a little talk in his head. You took the advantage of pulling your phone out and snapping a picture, less for your own use and more for your own protection, a threat and a reminder.
“Maybe.” He finally let out, and the other boot finally dropped as you took your boot off his crotch only for a moment before letting it collide with a harsh kick, watching him fold over, resting against your shin.
“Oh fuck- Jesus fucking Christ-” He murmurs to himself as he speedruns through the throes of agony, fireworks cracking behind his eyes currently squinted shut so hard it look like it hurt. But you know what did hurt, putting the pressure back down as another reminder.
“Yeah? Wanna revise your answer?” You ask, the anger in your body simply marinating in his pained pants as he began to try to compose himself again.
“Yes- yes, please, oh my god.” His tone was barely above a whisper, and you could admit he sounded good when he was desperate and in pain.
“Go on, then. I wanna see you try to get off on it, the friction.” You murmured as your cigarette started burning down further, almost ready to put out. He didn’t notice. All the better for a surprise encouragement.
“Awe, go on Will, I know you can do it baby,” You cooed sickly, “You fuckin’ freak.” His ears were tinged pink as he began to work his hips against your boot, biting down on his lip, worrying it bloody. You only helped him out by the occasional tug of his hair, or a tap of your foot. He was doing well enough on his own, panting becoming little breathy groans, and before long you could sense the tell-tale signs of an orgasm approaching. All by rubbing himself off on your foot.
“Filthy. Filthy thing.” You grimaced, taking the nearly spent cigarette from your mouth and blowing the smoke in his direction, seeking to push up his wretched Fazbear Entertainment shirt sleeve and put it out on his skin, drawing from him a muffled scream as he bit into his own hand to draw away from the pain. It was just enough to push him off the edge, as his shriek of pain melded with one of pleasure, ending in a little moan as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. You raised your foot up to notice a wet spot in his pants, only seeking to push down harder as he whined.
“God, please, please-” He whined, voice unabashedly high and pleading. For what, he honestly had no clue anymore.
“God can’t hear you.” You sing-songed with a small but sadistic chuckle as you pushed again.
“No- wait, hold on, oh my God-” He began spiraling obscenities as a… different kind of liquid spilled from him as you pushed… on his bladder.
You laughed at his predicament, sat on his knees in a puddle of his own piss. “Oops-” You commented, stepping out of his little puddle of regret, shaking off your shoe. “Might wanna disinfect the burn, or not, if you want it to scar worse.” You smiled, shoving at his shoulder and earning you a wince.
“And also, quit fuckin’ with me on shift, or I might just have to hurt you less next time.” That seemed like an ample threat. Or not. Either way, you left his office with a sated smile and a notch on your to-do list to clean your fucking shoes.