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mochirimochi · 6 months

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Somewhere Clean

William Afton X Reader

I STILL wanan smash the pervy dilf in the rabbit suit, sue me.

p1 ● p2 ● p3 ●p4

You decide to make the best of your circumstances and try and make the place livable. William catches you cleaning and decides to help you get dirty again.

18+ Minors DNI.

~3300 words, no use of y/n

content: abusive relationships, degradation kink, smut, rough sex, p in v sex, Cunnilingus, dirty talk, licking, EXTREMELY dubious concent, inappropriate use of cleaning products

You can also read on ao3 if you prefer: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51702985

You don’t know what to do.

It takes you a long time to pick your heaving body up off the floor and when you finally do all you can manage is to drag yourself back to the couch in the staffroom before you collapse again. You know you’re in trouble, there’s absolutely no denying it. Whatever this strange man’s motives for you are, they cannot be good. Yet, even the thought of him sends a thrill through your already exhausted and sensitized body. You drop your head back onto the dusty cushions and groan, throwing your arm over your eyes.

Yet again, the logical part of your brain screams for you to get out. You have no doubt that you’re in danger the longer you stay here. At this point though, you know you won’t leave. This mysterious and terrifying man has you in his thrall. Even now your ears are perking at every creak and crack of the old building, hoping he’s come back for a repeat of last night.

You let out another exasperated groan and pull your knees to your chest in a tight ball.

You’ve been stupid, you’re being stupid, and you will continue to be stupid despite all of your better instincts.

You take a moment to wallow in self pity. How is it that you’ve let yourself bounce from a terrible man to a terrifying one? This isn’t even out of the frying pan and into the fire, this is out of the fire and into an inferno. But your ex had never made you feel like this. He hadn’t even managed to make you cum once in your entire, all too long, relationship. This mystery man had you panting just at the sound of his voice, a feat you didn’t know was possible.

With a final huff you force yourself up into a sitting position. Thinking in circles like this won’t help you, especially since you already know that nothing could possibly drive you away from here now. You pick yourself up off of the couch and force yourself down the hallway and back into the security office. Your clothes and bag are still lying there on the floor and you hurriedly extract a change of clothes from your backpack and shove them on. You try and focus on the next logical step, except for the most obvious one of getting the fuck out of here of course. You’ll need to eat. That’s an easy task for now, you stuffed a fist full of protein bars in your bag on the way out the door last night.

You eat your meager meal sitting at the desk in the security office, staring at your reflection in the black monitors. You look tired, and both your old and new bruises are beginning to darken. The one around your neck makes your stomach clench in revulsion, meanwhile the one on your jaw sets you on fire. You tear yourself away from the blank screens before you let yourself think too hard about the situation.

That presents you with another problem. What do you even do now? You’re stuck in a dilapidated children's entertainment center with no cell, very little food, and three changes of clothes (one of which is dirty). These are not exactly ideal circumstances. Even now your eyes are beginning to water from the dust that kicks up from every surface whenever you move and your throat is tickling from the mildewed air. The place is disgusting.

Your brain latches onto that thought. That is something you can do something about. It’s completely illogical, of course, but you and logic aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now.

Fuck it. It’s not like you have anything better to do.

You leave the security office like a person on a mission, opening every door you pass in search of the cleaning supplies you know must still be here. Eventually, you find a janitor's closet and sure enough it’s packed to the brim with all the cleaning products you’d expect to find in an establishment that must have collected germs like they were going out of style. You roll up your sleeves and dive in.

The next hour is a flurry of dusting, sweeping and scrubbing. You start with the staffroom, figuring that will be your home base. After leaving your bookbag pointedly on the table, you take the pillows out into the back alley and beat the ever loving crap out of them with a broom handle, determined to expel every speck of dust. It’s laborious and distracting work, and rather cathartic as well. When you’re satisfied that you’ve beaten the dust to kingdom come you drag them back in and tackle the rest of the room. Once that’s done you move on to the security office, and then the main show floor.

As you reach the door at the end of the hall your hand pauses on the knob, half expecting the phone to ring again. You’re almost disappointed when it doesn’t. It’s just as well, you’ve given yourself a job to do and now that you’ve started you’re determined to finish. Never mind the ache that starts to clench in your core when you peer over your shoulder at the security office.

You dive into working on the floors, sweeping and mopping the black and white tiles and making a mental note to test out the vacuum on the carpet later. After you’ve swept and mopped you decide to fill a large bucket with soapy water so you can scrub the grime from the tables. You trudge back through the staff area to grab what you need, but on your way back through the main show floor something catches your attention. The red curtain around the stage flutters briefly, as if bumped from behind.

You freeze. Is he back? You swallow the thick lump that forms in your throat and a flicker of misplaced excitement sparks in your chest. You put down your armful on the nearest table and move slowly towards the stage. The curtain doesn’t move again.

Your heart pounds as you approach, fear and anticipation warring in your chest. You reach out slowly with a shaking hand but draw the curtain back quickly when you finally grasp it.

Nothing.

Your heart drops as you take in an empty stage, nothing but abandoned tracks and wires. You pause to take in the sight, but eventually shake your head at yourself. It must have been a mouse, you reason. Honestly, you’re slightly embarrassed for getting worked up over nothing, and even more embarrassed that a large bit of the tension that had built in your chest hadn’t been fear. You’re vaguely surprised that there are no animatronics standing there, but then again you’d seen Freddy in the corridor last night. Perhaps whatever circuits governed their independent movements were all malfunctioning in the same way? You don’t know enough about electronics to know if that’s a reasonable assumption or not. The idea of the animatronics wandering mindlessly through the building makes you shiver, hopefully you won’t encounter any more of them out and about.

You take one last look at the empty stage before returning for your cleaning supplies, dunking the cloth in the bucket and thoroughly scrubbing the closest table. You lose yourself in the mindless task, dunk, scrub, repeat. It’s almost enough to make you forget about the man that, despite your better judgment, you’re hoping desperately will show up again soon. Almost.

–

William can’t believe his luck. He’d spent the day gathering a few of the things he knew you’d need if he wanted to keep you at the restaurant. Food mostly, but some clothing as well, and even a new cell phone. The phone is a burner phone of course, and it will come with strict instructions to only use it to contact him. Still, he’s being extremely generous by bringing you these things, he thinks as he silently makes his way into the restaurant.

The sight that greets him is delectable. You’ve got your back to him, bent over one of the tables on the show floor, sleeves rolled up and scrubbing like your life depends on it. A bucket of water is balanced precariously on the table and he watches as you dip a rag into it, ringing it out with a small grunt of exertion before diving back into scrubbing.

You’re blissfully oblivious to his presence and he takes a moment to take you in, imagining a look of concentration on your face even as his eyes are glued to your body. God that body, all he’s been able to think about since your conversation on the phone is that body. Even after cuming so hard he’d seen stars earlier that morning he’s been nursing a stiff and aching cock all day. He slowly puts down his bag of supplies, careful not to make a sound. Of all the things he had expected to see you doing when he finally came to see you, this was not one. It’s a delightful surprise and his mouth practically waters as he watches your hips sway in time with your circling hands. You bend over further and further to reach across the table, presenting your ass as if it was made just for him.

He can’t resist anymore, he noiselessly surges forwards and grabs you roughly by the hips, pressing his groin against your ass. The shocked scream that rips from your throat is music to his ears.

–

Panic floods through you when strong hands grab you and a form presses against you from behind. You try to twist around but your hips are locked in place, so all you can manage is a painful twist of your neck. You spot the familiar face in your peripheral vision and a wave of relief and desire threatens to take your breath away.

“You scared me.” You gasp, as he presses his face into the side of your neck and sucks in a deep breath through his nose.

“Did I?” He nips his way up your neck and to your ear. “But I’ve barely started scaring you, little mouse.” It’s barely above a whisper, but his voice in your ear sends shivers down your spine. He runs his hands up your torso and under your shirt as he goes back to running his teeth and tongue over your neck. The edge of the table bites into your hip bones as the pressure of his hips against your ass pins you against it, making the bruises there ache deliciously. His hands leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, slipping under your bra before his fingers bite into the soft flesh of your breasts. His grip is rough and possessive, a mix of pleasure and pain as he takes them in his fists.

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” He gives one of your nipples a sharp pinch and you yelp. “Waiting for me to come make good on our promises.” You nod feverishly.

How is it that as soon as you feel his hands on you your brain practically leaks out your ears and the empty space fills up with hapless lust? All you can think about is where his hands will go next, or his mouth, or his cock. The thought makes you grind your hips back into him instinctually. You feel him grin into your neck.

“We’ve been through this, little mouse. I want to hear you say it.” He punctuates his words with an even sharper pinch.

“Yes, god. I’ve been waiting.” You obey without a thought, without a question.

His hands leave your breasts, although he makes sure that your shirt and bra are still pushed up to reveal them, and glide down over your ribs and stomach to the top of your jeans. This time he doesn’t make you wait, unfastening them and yanking them down over your hips together with your panties in one fluid motion. He uses his other hand to push your torso flat against the table.

You expect to feel him at your entrance, but instead he paints one long, slow line down your spine with his tongue. A moan escapes your mouth as you feel him crouch behind you.

He keeps you pinned to the table with a firm hand on your lower back as he sits back on his heels to take you in. You can feel his hot breath flowing over the curve of your ass as his other hand brushes up and down your thigh.

“I’ve been waiting too.” It’s so soft you can barely hear it. Before you can respond you feel his warm tongue drag another languid streak from the back of your knee and all the way up your thigh. You gasp and buck back towards him and he growls his approval at your response. The vibration of his voice sends waves of pleasure out from its point of contact. Without further delay he plunges his face into your dripping pussy and you see stars. He swipes his tongue in one long stroke from your clit to your entrance as you shudder and gasp. The pleasure is all-consuming and you’re running entirely on instinct as you come undone under his ministrations.

He works his tongue around your entrance while he rakes his hand up your thigh and to your clit. The contact makes you whimper as he works firm, consistent circles over and around it. The sounds that come out of you are lewd and loud, echoing in the empty room. In another situation you might have been embarrassed, but all you can think of is his rough hand on your back and his white hot tongue between your legs.

He plunges his tongue into you and gives your clit one last expert stroke and you peak with an intensity that has you flailing for a hold on anything solid as your knees buckle. You grasp at the edge of the table in a desperate attempt to ground yourself as pleasure courses through you, sending the bucket of water tumbling to the floor. He pulls his head away from you at the sound and you whimper when cold air hits your hot flesh.

“”Now, that’s quite the mess.” You look back at him over your shoulder and your legs almost buckle again. His face is damp with your release and he’s smirking from ear to ear. It’s positively obscene. He rolls up his sleeves, looking for all the world like the cat who got the cream. “I can’t have you making a mess like that in my restaurant.” He drawls, eyes following his hands as he traces lazy fingers over the still quivering curves of your ass.

Before you can react he grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around. Face to face with him for the first time your eyes dance over his features. He’s just as handsome head-on as he had been looking up at him. The soft lines of his face are cut through by the firm, determined line of his brow. His smile is wicked as he grasps your chin, tipping your face up towards his.

“What do you suppose we do about that?” he asks, leaning in so close that his lips brush the side of your mouth as he speaks.

“I’ll clean it up.” You respond with a gasp.

“You bet you will.”

He grabs you by your shirt, pulling you up and away from the table before roughly depositing you on your back on the floor. The now cold water seeps into your shirt and soaks your hair as the strands feather out around you in the suds. He quickly joins you on the floor, ripping your pants and underwear the rest of the way off and tossing them carelessly away. His own pants don’t stay buckled for very long. That same wicked grin dances over his face as he kneels over you, cock in hand. Just the sight has you whimpering again, his towering figure filling your vision.

“I hope you don’t mind if I supervise.” He moves between your legs with the grace and confidence of a predator stalking its prey. “It’s so hard to find good help these days.”

Pushing your knees up and apart he plunges into you, driving himself in to the hilt. With each thrust he pushes you through the water and across the slippery floor and you wish you knew his name so you could scream it. Instead, all that escapes you are wordless cries of pleasure as he plows you across the tile.

“You know, I don’t know if I can clean this up with such a dirty fucking slut.” He growls, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he pushes your knees back into your chest. Your muscles burn and it feels like he might snap you in half with the force of his thrusts. The assault on your senses is vicious and visceral. Every movement he makes sends shockwaves through you until you don’t know if you can even remember where you are or what your name is. All you’re aware of is him, his hulking figure above you, blocking out all other sights and sounds as he stares down at you with ferocious intensity.

His movements grow faster, more erratic and frenzied, and his grunts and groans more guttural. The new pace is enough to push you over the edge and your eyes roll back as waves of pleasure have your body clenching and bucking against him. Your release spurs him on and he pounds into you even harder, driving you through the suds as you convulse around him.

Finally, he reaches his own climax, collapsing onto his elbows above you with a final roar of pleasure as he spills into you. He stays like that for a moment, his chest heaving against yours as you both come down from your high.

Slowly, your ears stop ringing and you come back to earth. Your hair is wild around you, sticking to your face and shoulders in damp strands. The cold, wet fabric of your shirt makes you shiver under him again. That seems to rouse him, and he looks up and into your face. His eyes examine you, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“How do you do this to me?” He mumbles stroking a long finger down the side of your jaw. Reflexively, you tilt your head into his touch.

The almost tender moment ends as quickly as it began. He seems to realize himself and the crease between his brow only deepens as he pushes himself up and off of you. The loss of his heat only intensifies your shivering and he takes one last long look at you before standing up. You realize all at once as he buckles his pants and pulls on his jacket that you don’t want him to leave. What it is that you want him to do if he stays is a mystery to you though. This isn’t the kind of relationship for sweet nothings and tender caresses after sex, but you still want something from him. There’s a longing that courses through your entire body that demands the feel of his hands on your skin and his breath on your neck. Your displeasure must show on your face because he chuckles down at you.

“Don’t worry, little mouse. I’ll always come back.”

Ok, this is DEFINITELY my favorite so far. This one was so much fun to write. Thanks for reading! And don't forget to leave a reply or reblog if you enjoyed, I love hearing what you guys have to say!

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