Michael Afton x femdom/switch reader smut

Uno.

Trotting my way to the lockers, I hum to a song I've heard only once before as I spin the chain of my key around my pointer finger out of old habit. A line of the lyrics somehow managed to stay stuck in my mind, but I only remember fragments and the mood of the tune, so I'm pretty sure I'm not getting it right. But hey, my remix doesn't sound that bad, either.

I stick the key in its hole and twist. With a huff, I yank the stiff rusty locker open by the handle, its familiar metallic screech making its way to my ears. I make a mental note to file yet another complaint about it. This place is absolute shit.

At least I'm planning to leave anyway.

Zipping open my old and slightly worn duffel bag, I toss my flashlight in and fish my pockets for anything else. My fingers curl around the plastic tube of my chapstick and a few dollar notes from the tips I received today. I throw them in too, then shuffle around for my car keys.

Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I lean my weight on the locker door, forcing it closed with a slam. Twisting the lock once again, I head out into the dim hallway, the squeaks and steps of my shoes echoing in the eerie silence.

I wonder what I'll make for dinner today? Maybe just some instant noodles, like always.

I tut and shake my head. With a diet like that, how will I ever achieve my dream body? Another reason to leave this place.

And the animatronics are super creepy too. I've always tried to avoid them whenever I can. They're... inhuman, yet also human, somehow. Like a person is trapped inside them. Maybe it's their eyes. Or their smile.

Or maybe it's your paranoia.

I roll my eyes. I'd rather stick to my fantasies, thank you very mu—

Squelch.

Fuck, not this shit again.

I sigh and close my eyes, annoyance immediately pumping through my veins. I brace myself and glance down.

I see exactly what I knew it was.

A greasy cheesy slice of pizza squashed right under my shoe.

Goddamn those snobby kids.

I reach for a paper tissue in my bag, realizing I haven't zipped it up yet. I balance myself on my other foot and hop to the nearest wall, using it as leverage as I wipe down the gooey tomatoey mess on the outsole of my shoe. Apparently, I just used up the last of my tissues, so I have to make do with the remaining grease that feels uncomfortably slippery against the tiles.

I stare at the spot of mess on the floor and contemplate if I should clean it up.

...Meh.

I wave it off and turn around, looking for a trash bin nearby to discard the used tissue. I'll do it tomorrow.

"Clean it up." A voice startles me from behind. I immediately twist to face the source, holding a hand over my heart.

And there he was,

Michael—fucking—Afton.

A.k.a a prick. A frustratingly hot one, as much as I may try to deny it.

He gazes at me with a knowing look, his dark hair falling freely over his forehead. His normally icy blue eyes nearly turn black in the lack of lighting, and they bore right into mine.

He raises his brows, impatient. I roll my eyes.

"Yes sir, I'll get right to it." I mock-salute him. Before I open my mouth to question his presence, he walks past me. My eyes follow him as he walks into the storage room a few meters away. The yellow lights flicker on in the room.