YOU KNOW I WORE THIS DRESS FOR YOU; chapter 2
Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza needed a new face to rally behind. The cheerful animatronics, greasy pizza, and arcade games were no longer enough for William Afton and Henry Emily—two ambitious businessmen determined to squeeze every last dollar out of the restaurant. Once, your face had been plastered across beauty and personal care products. Now, it was on TV every single day, promoting Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza.
There you were, smiling with your effortless charm and angelic face, praising everything the pizzeria had to offer. But you were the only one who knew it was all a lie.
cw for this chapter: smoking (mentioned)
william afton x fem!reader
It almost seemed like Freddy's had been designed to hypnotize children. Everything was so colorful—the arcades, the animatronics, the LED lights scattered all over the place. Even the cheese on the pizza looked slightly radioactive. Without a doubt, that place had the same effect on a child's brain that a casino had on a divorced father going through a financial crisis.
Hurricane was a small town. There wasn't much to do, so ever since Freddy's opened, it had pretty much become the town's biggest "tourist attraction." Parents brought their kids there to get a few hours to themselves, teenagers came in groups to spend hours at the arcades and play card games at the tables, and plenty of other adults stopped by for a quick meal. Somehow, the cooks were incredibly fast—the pizza was on your table in less than ten minutes. Then again, they probably just reheated pizzas that were already made.
"That one! I want that one, Mom! Chica's!" you said, pointing at the Freddy's menu, more specifically at the brand-new "Chica's Milkshake." Well, the other animatronics had one too, but she was your favorite. You smiled at your mom with your chubby little cheeks, and she smiled back.
"Are you sure? It's banana flavored. You might not like it... Freddy's is chocola—"
"No! I want Chica's! Please!" you interrupted your mom, now pointing at Chica as she stepped onto the stage alongside Freddy and Bonnie. Your mom simply smiled and nodded before calling one of the waitresses over. She placed the order, but you couldn't understand a single word she or the waitress said. Your eyes and your mind were completely focused on the yellow chicken on stage. She moved in stiff, robotic motions while singing a children's song. She closed her eyes, showed off her cupcake, and opened her beak... She would always be your favorite.
When your milkshake arrived, you didn't waste any time trying it. The artificial banana flavor and the ridiculous amount of sugar in it were going to keep you full of energy for hours. Your mom was going to have a lot to deal with today. Everything at Freddy's was like that—extremely sweet and greasy. The kids loved it, and the adults seemed to like the pizza too. Your mom had ordered a slice of cheese pizza, and she looked like she was enjoying it. They probably put some kind of drug in that food, as if all the sugar and saturated fat weren't enough.
You woke up to the sound of your alarm clock. 10:00 AM.
You usually woke up earlier than that, but today wasn't going to be very busy. The only thing you had planned was your interview at Freddy's at 3:00 PM. Technically, you were supposed to have a job in Washington today, but the agency had called to let you know it had been moved to tomorrow at 2:00 PM. You didn't complain, but lately it had started to feel strange having days that were almost empty.
You went through your usual morning routine, making your bed, taking a shower, and eating breakfast. You'd always liked keeping your house clean and organized. It made you feel better. Since you still had plenty of time before 3:00 PM, you decided to do a light cleaning around the house, just dusting a few things and mopping the floor. You also took the opportunity to wash the clothes you'd worn yesterday and pick out what you were going to wear to the interview. First interviews were very important, especially when you worked with your image.
You really wanted a cigarette. Really. Normally, the first thing you did after waking up was smoke, but you decided to hold back because of the interview. Even though you always smoked outside, kept your hair tied up so it wouldn't absorb the smell, and took a shower afterward, you never knew. You'd rather not show up at Freddy's smelling like even the slightest trace of nicotine. First impressions always mattered.
You decided to stick with what always worked—the basics. Light makeup that made your face look fresh while subtly enhancing your natural features, a simple black shirt that was casual but comfortable, a pair of jeans, and black heels to match the shirt. You left your hair down and didn't do anything special with it, just let it dry naturally.
Then you picked up your "first interview" perfume. It was a classic, and for many people it had practically become your signature scent. It was light and feminine, with notes of green apple and white florals. A very soft, youthful fragrance that matched the image you liked to present during first interviews.
You looked at your watch. 2:03 PM.
You'd get there about ten minutes early. Perfect. You grabbed your purse, your car keys, and a pair of sunglasses before leaving the house, locking the door behind you as you headed to your car. You tossed your purse onto the passenger seat, got in, put on your sunglasses, and started driving toward the pizzeria. You still remembered the way.
You got to the pizzeria pretty quickly. Your estimate had been almost perfect—there were twelve minutes left until 3:00 PM. The parking lot wasn't too full, but there were still quite a few cars. Then again, lunch hours were already over, so a good number of people had probably already left. You parked next to a purple car. It was a dark shade of purple, and you found it a little unusual. You hadn't seen many purple cars in your life, and this one looked kind of vintage. You didn't know much about cars, but you could tell it was a Chevrolet. How much would a car like that cost nowadays? Probably expensive.
You got out of your car, grabbed your purse, hooked your sunglasses onto the collar of your shirt, and walked toward the restaurant's entrance. You looked over the building's exterior. They'd probably renovated it sometime within the last few years. They clearly had the money for it, and the pizzeria looked almost brand new, clean and well taken care of. You stepped through the large glass doors, and almost immediately the sound of children screaming hit your ears, mixed with whatever children's song the animatronics were performing.
Still the same chaos as always. You spotted a few teenagers sitting together, drinking soda and laughing, while others crowded around the arcade machines, teasing each other as they played. You stopped for a moment and looked around. Every waitress seemed busy, until you noticed a young man leaning against the wall.
He was wearing a security cap and a purple uniform. He looked young, younger than you, with short brown hair that fell lightly over his face, and blue eyes that were carefully watching the children running around.
You walked over to him and smiled politely.
"Excuse me, I have an interview scheduled for 3:00 PM. Who should I talk to?"
He immediately looked away from the children and turned to you with a blank expression you couldn't quite read. He stared at you for a few seconds.
"What kind of interview?"
His reply was short and flat as he continued looking at you with those blue eyes.
It was him. He was the one who'd answered your call yesterday. Apparently, his rudeness hadn't just been a one-day thing. That was simply the way he was.
You raised an eyebrow as you looked back at him.
"A job interview. I saw the commercial on TV. I called yesterday, I think I talked to you."
Obviously it was a job interview. What else did he think it was? And it was obviously him on the phone yesterday. He didn't look like a teenager anymore, but he still sounded like one, which made him easy to recognize.
You crossed your arms while looking at him. There was a name tag pinned to his purple shirt. 'Michael Afton.'
The young man looked away for a second, making a face as though he were trying to remember, before giving a small shrug.
He answered just as bluntly as before before walking down the hallway behind him. You didn't bother watching where he went. Instead, you turned around and looked at the rest of the pizzeria.
Not much had changed since you used to come here as a kid. Sure, it was obvious they'd invested in renovations and kept the place much cleaner. It didn't look like some small neighborhood pizzeria anymore. Freddy's probably had enough potential to become a franchise.
A moment later, you felt someone tap your shoulder.
You turned around, it was Michael, wearing the exact same expression as before.
"Go down this hallway. Last door on the right."
He pointed toward the hallway behind him before disappearing from sight again. You watched him walk away for a second before heading down the hallway he'd indicated—the same one he'd gone through earlier.
It looked cleaner than the rest of the building. Children's drawings covered the walls, almost all of them depicting the restaurant's animatronics, along with a few photographs of children having fun.
When you reached the end of the hallway, you knocked on the door Michael had pointed out three times. Even the door was incredibly clean. It looked brand new—it was almost possible to see your reflection in the doorknob. You heard a man's voice from the other side quietly say, "Come in," and you did as you were told.
You opened the door gently and found a man sitting behind his desk, signing several papers spread out in front of him. Interestingly enough, he was wearing purple too, though this time it was a suit, a darker shade than Michael's uniform. He was also wearing a dress shirt with a black tie. You couldn't deny that it matched the purple of his blazer perfectly.
The office lighting softly highlighted the wrinkles on his face, but his skin looked remarkably well cared for. His hair was neatly combed back with gel. It was black, though the roots were beginning to turn gray.
The moment you stepped inside, you caught the scent of his cologne. A soft woody fragrance, probably cedar, mixed with something citrusy and slightly spicy, almost like pink pepper. You knew a lot about perfumes, and most businessmen you met wore similar scents—woody and citrusy—but this man's fragrance felt different somehow. Beneath it, you could pick up a faint trace of tobacco, probably from the cigarettes he smoked in his office, but there was something about the way he smelled that stood out.
You closed the door behind you and gave the man a small smile, greeting him with a quiet "Hello."
As soon as he noticed you, he set the papers aside and smiled back. His smile deepened the lines around his mouth, and you couldn't deny that he was an attractive man. He said your name while looking down at one of the papers. You nodded and took a seat across from him, crossing your legs and resting your purse on your lap.
Your eyes drifted to the nameplate on his desk. 'William Afton'. You were sure you'd heard that name somewhere before. Maybe on TV. Or at least the last name.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Afton," you said, smiling politely once again.
"The pleasure is all mine," William replied as he set the paper aside.
"You found out about the position through the TV commercial, correct?"
"That's right. I've lived in Hurricane my whole life, and I thought it was a really good opportunity. I brought my portfolio."
You opened your purse and took it out.
"Perfect." William took it and began flipping through the pages with an expression you once again couldn't read.
Silence settled over the office, and you took the opportunity to look around. Behind him stood a large bookshelf, though you couldn't make out any of the titles. The office itself was spotless and organized. Everything was exactly where it belonged. There were several posters of the restaurant's animatronics hanging on the wall behind him, especially one of a yellow rabbit you'd never seen before. Speaking of rabbits, there was also a plush of that same yellow rabbit sitting on his desk, almost as if it were staring at you while William looked through your portfolio. On another table sat a coffee machine, an ashtray, and a lighter. That was probably where the smell of tobacco mixed with his cologne had come from.
Come to think of it, yesterday you'd assumed Freddy's wasn't very professional. But now, looking at William's office and the image he presented... Maybe you'd been wrong. You still felt the same way about Michael, though. He annoyed you.
"Great. Perfect. Very interesting. You have a lot of experience."
William finally broke the silence, setting your portfolio back down on the desk before looking directly at you. You straightened your posture slightly, keeping eye contact with him.
"Yes. I've been working in this industry for over ten years."
"My dear, I'll be honest with you." "Lately, Freddy's has been growing a lot. We're expanding with the goal of becoming a major franchise, but things like that don't happen without hard work. I came up with the idea of putting together a new marketing team because I know how important that is to the success of a business." "But I'm not looking to work with inexperienced people."
"And from what I've seen, you seem to be the exact opposite."
He smiled at you. A chill ran down your spine. At the same time that he was attractive, he was a little unsettling too.
"Yes, I understand. Thank you, Mr. Afton. Really, Freddy's has grown a lot. It has a lot of potential," you said, softening your voice slightly to hide the discomfort William's smile had given you.
"You also have the right face for Freddy's. You'll appeal to people of all ages..." William said as he looked at you. "I liked your portfolio very much, but I still have other interviews to conduct. I already have your phone number. If you're hired, I'll give you a call and schedule a meeting so we can discuss exactly what you'll be doing."
Other interviews. Right. Now all you could do was hope there wasn't another model in Hurricane with as much experience as you applying for the same position.
"Alright. Thank you very much, Mr. Afton," you said quickly.
William smiled again and held out his hand for a handshake. You returned the smile before looking down at his hand beside yours. The difference in size was obvious, his rough, calloused fingers contrasted with your neatly manicured nails and small hands in a way that was strangely pleasant to look at.
But your thoughts were interrupted the moment you felt the cold touch of metal against your fingers.
Of course. A wedding ring.
Who would've guessed that this businessman, who was nearly twice your age, was married?
You looked away, pushing the thought out of your mind, and stood up, picking up your purse.
"Have a nice day, Mr. Afton."
You said it without looking at him, walking out of the office and only catching a muffled, "You too," from behind you.
That had been much easier than you'd expected. Still, the interview had clearly been nothing more than an introduction. You still had no idea how the job would actually work or whether it would be something you'd even agree to. It all felt a little strange, he hadn't explained anything about the position itself. But that was fine.
From the image Freddy's was presenting now, and everything William had told you, it seemed like a promising, long-term opportunity. It didn't feel like the kind of temporary job you were used to, especially after he mentioned they were looking for "a new face."
You walked back down the hallway. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Michael leaning against the wall again. He was looking at you. You ignored him, avoiding eye contact as you headed straight for the exit. But then something clicked in your mind.
William and Michael had the same last name. Was William his father?
Probably. Now that you thought about it, they looked remarkably alike. Those blue eyes they both had were hard to miss. Michael looked like a younger version of William. A slightly more awkward version.
You pushed the glass doors open once again, feeling the warm breeze against your skin. The sunlight hit your face, and you put your sunglasses back on before making your way to your car to head home.
