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1983. A year you could never bring yourself to forget nor escape. It gnawed at your mind like a parasite starved of sustenance. You relived the day over and over; your dreams unforgiving, jolting awake, cold sweats and tear-stained cheeks.
Cop lights blaring and crime scene tape visible. You peered at the pizzeria’s glowing sign, growing bored of sitting in the back of your father’s car.
Too young to understand the situation but too old to forget it. You remember - as clear as day - your father collapsing to his knees with his head in his hands. You were too young to understand in the moment, too innocent; your mind too worried on what you were going to have for dinner that night, or what toy you were going to save up for using your weekly pocket-money.
Your sister, Charlotte, went to visit your great grandparents — at least that’s what your father said. It didn’t make sense to you, how could she visit people who had already passed? From that day forward, her chair was empty at the dinner table and the bedroom was no longer shared — it was yours.
You pondered when Charlotte would come back; your father stopped talking to you as much, his cooked meals became sloppy and most nights you could hear muffled cries on the other side of the thin house walls.
Growing older you realised Charlotte was never coming back. That day you sat in the back of your father’s car, swinging your feet and observing him, wondering what had happened — it was Charlotte. Charlotte had been killed.
Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, a place supposed to radiate happiness and warmth, now only served as a constant reminder of your sister’s brutal demise. It brought pain and suffering to you each time you drove past — your father just couldn’t seem to let the place go, as if it’s his only last piece of Charlotte left, clutching at it like a child with their favourite toy.
Your father, Henry, became a shut-out. A recluse — even towards you. His short replies and dismissal of your achievements cut you like a knife. You missed the dad you had before, the dad that played with you at the park, chased you around the house while your ribs ached with laughter, the dad you were proud to boast about in school to your peers.
You blamed yourself every waking day for not being there the day Charlotte was left to die. You blamed yourself until your eyes become red and sore and your heart ached from the overwhelming grief.
Albeit you wallowed in your sorrows, you knew that with or without Charlotte, the world would still turn. So you got a job and saved tirelessly, living on a tight budget to ultimately get your own apartment — and it paid off to an extent. It was no penthouse but it was enough for you.
Although you changed the scenery it never changed the situation, your nights still consisting of the same nightmares and cold sweats, shaking and crying until your body was simply too tired to utter more tears.
Therapy was never an option, it was too easy to deceive those who wished to help you. You didn’t dare entertain the idea of your father wanting to talk to you about Charlotte, or anything at all for that matter. Of course, there was always William, your father’s business partner, but you hadn’t talked in years due to your father cutting ties with the business — leaving the place to collect dust.
Fuck it. He probably wouldn’t answer if you called anyway. A strange number calling up to talk about their dead sister — not exactly anyone’s idea of a friendly phone call. Fingers began to dial his number, taken from your phone-book that was originally your father’s; you figured he wouldn’t have much use for it now. Who knows if it would even dial?
It rang for a couple of seconds, an odd feeling of anticipation creeping through your veins.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the phone was most definitely William, evident in his tone of speech and bass in his voice.
An awkward pause was created by your delayed reply, “hi, William, it’s me. I mean- it’s Henry’s daughter.”
“Oh hello sweetheart! Is there anything I can help you with? How is your father?” The sudden bombardment of questions became overwhelming.
“Dad’s… well you know he didn’t exactly deal with my sister’s passing in the best of ways. And as for me, I was just calling to see if, uh, maybe you were free to come over? I know it sounds strange and the last time you saw me it was, well, a while back. But I just want someone to talk to.” It almost felt as though a weight was lifted from your chest, putting your foot in the door in order to process your grief — you were actually talking to someone about it.
William agreed, and so you gave him your address.
The clock hands had moved significantly from when you had called him, doubting if he’d ever show up, you bit at your fingernails, riddled with anxiety — he was your last resort, William was the only person you could talk to.
The doorbell chimed and you got up to greet him into your apartment. You exchanged ‘hello’s and ‘nice to see you’s — but more importantly you studied his face, he hadn’t changed all that much, jawline still sharp, eye-bags still purple and defined, eyes deep set and dark; all brought together by a chipped smile.
You seated yourself on the couch, William following suit.
“Is this your apartment?” William asked, brows furrowing and awaiting a response.
You nodded in return, stifling a giggle at his question; as if he didn’t think you were capable of getting your own apartment.
“Well, I’m proud of you.”
Those words sat heavy on your heart. Bringing you back to the fond memories of you and your father in the park, ribs aching from laughter, the words reminded you of the dad who all your peers would never hear the end of because of you.
The corners of your lips became downturned, just the slightest bit.
“I’m guessing you haven’t been told that in a while.” William chuckled, not in a way of ridicule or judgement, but awkwardness.
“After my sister died he hardly talked to me. You just get used to it, I guess.” However, you never got used to it, the tears welling in your eyes made that crystal clear.
“C’mere.” Afton beckoned, opening his arms to you, and you fell into them. Clutching tightly around him like you never wanted him to leave. Nose taking in his cologne mixed with the smell of cigarettes. A hand raised to your head, his fingers slightly interlacing within the locks of your hair.
“Let it out, it can’t be any good for you to keep it all bottled up, love.” And let it out you did. Cheek resting against his chest and tears staining his dress-shirt. The feeling of his hand repeatedly stroking your hair comforting you in a way you craved from your father for years.
For what felt like hours you laid there, although it was probably mere minutes. Tangled in each other’s arms, cheeks wet from tears and William’s hand still resting on your head. You wished to stay like this forever, clinging onto his affection like a lifeline.
“You know I’ll always be here for you, right?” William said, interrupting the comforting silence.
“Thank you, William. You’re so good to me.” A soft smile was painted across your face, but your eyes still conveyed sadness. A bittersweet expression on your face.
His large, calloused hands began to wander south. Face inching closer to yours. Realisation hitting you like a freight train.
“What are you-“
“Shhh shh… I’ll make you feel better love. I promise.” He cooed, fingers tracing the hem of your skirt.
“I-I think you should go, I don’t think this is a good idea..” unease heavy in your voice. Was he acting sympathetic just to use you like this? Was it all an act? And for how long? He’s known you - properly at least - since you were a teen, helping you with your math homework and making sure you weren’t up to mischief while Henry was out. It all felt wrong.
“My dad would kill you if he knew you were doing this.” Your argument didn’t halt his action, it only spurred him on. Starved hands roaming over your body as you now sat up, still on top of him as you did so.
“Your father doesn’t care about anything anymore, honey.” Perhaps that one corny statement you’ve heard all of your life was in fact true. Truth does hurt. It stings. It cuts like a knife.
Heart racing and lips yearning to be met with his, you gave in, melting into the kiss and feeling his warmth, like winter seizing to spring. It was wrong, you were well aware of that, but your touch-starved mind ran wild with the feeling of his fingertips grazing at your exposed flesh.
“God, you’re so beautiful.” William said lowly, teetering on a whisper. Breaths laboured as you both broke apart from the kiss. Slowly and gently unbuttoning your blouse and discarding it; he was holding himself back, in all honesty, he wished to rip it off of you.
You’d never envisioned William in this way, straddling him whilst he undoes your bra. His brown hair disheveled and falling in just the right places. Low lights dimly shining on his face, hungry eyes taking you all in in your most intimate and raw form, sizing you up like a predator to its prey.
His hands wandered to your breasts, relishing in the feeling of his rough hands that juxtaposed beautifully against your soft skin. You began to undo his shirt impromptu; tossing it onto the floor. It all felt so wrong yet so right, he was old enough to know better, and you were too.
William hooked his index finger around the elastic of your underwear, tugging slightly before your hand came to grip at his arm.
“We should probably stop..”
“Please, let me make you feel good.” Afton said, irises looking straight into yours.
Slowly but surely, you loosened your tight grip on his arm and let him continue; he gently nudged you off of him, spreading your legs and kneeling in-front of the couch. The cool air on your bare pussy gave you chills, whimpering and clenching around nothing in hopes to acclimatise to the rooms temperature soon.
A sigh escaped you as you felt William’s hot breath against you, tongue finally making a connection to your wet folds before licking all the way up to your clit. You couldn’t help but moan uncontrollably, the sensation of his tongue circling around your clit was almost too much to bear.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about doing this to you.” William groaned, cock creating a prominent bulge in his pants. Moving his tongue away from your clit, he grazed at your inner thighs; peppering them with sweet pecks.
“To feel you. To taste you. To make you mine.” Every sentence was defined with a peck to your thigh, inching closer and closer to your pussy before indulging himself again. Your hand found its way to his hair, fingers intertwining with his brown locks, pulling ever so slightly when he found just the right spot to suck or lick.
He relentlessly lapped at your pussy, sucking on your clit like a man starved. Grunts and groans vibrating against your pussy and sending shivers down your spine. His long, bony fingers found their way to your entrance, two digits circling around your hole agonisingly slow before entering you entirely.
“Ah… oh my god… keep going, please William, please..” you pleaded through otherwise incoherent speech, accompanied by your whimpers and moans. A smirk was plastered across his face when you began to beg him.
Two deft fingers began to pump in and out of your pussy, your slick coating his fingers all the while. Your moans and gasps were music to William’s ears, only encouraging him to work your pussy even more, sucking and licking at your clit with earnest. Hand still in his hair, he looked up at you; hair messy, cheeks puffy from the crying that got him in this predicament, eyes glossy and lips slightly agape.
“William- ah, you’re gonna make me cum. Oh fuck ‘m gonna cum.” He didn’t falter his previous manoeuvre, just kept on going. Although his cock was hard and his heart was aching for you, he felt the undeniable sensation of guilt, like a knot in his stomach. He knew what he wanted as soon as he heard your voice on the other end of the telephone — you. This wasn’t some circumstance that just ‘happened’. No, William wanted this to happen, and he knew it would, he knew you’d give in, you were like a lamb to the slaughter.
William continued to lick at your pussy, feeling your gummy walls spasm around his fingers. Watching your chest heave up and down as you came. A string of erotic sounds getting caught in your throat. He gave you a second to readjust; giving him time to undo his belt, letting his pants pool at his ankles before stepping out of them entirely.
He began to guide you, laying you down on the couch, your arms wrapping around his neck and his face buried into the crook of yours, gently nipping at the exposed skin — gasping in ecstasy. His cock teasing your wet cunt before inching his way in slowly, restraining himself from thrusting into you in one fell swoop.
“You feel so fucking good..” you mewled, biting your lip, fingernails now digging into his back as you began to take every inch of him in. What felt like eternity finally came to a halt, with his cock finally bottomed out inside of you, he began to move.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.. taking my cock like a good girl..” William groaned between breaths, thrusting into you at a pace that allowed him to hit just the right spots, and allowed you to savour the feeling for longer.
The conflict in your head had been completely overridden, who cares if it was right or wrong… the feeling of him buried deep inside of you, whispering praises against the shell of your ear was insurmountable. Skin against skin, sharing each other’s warmth, both covered in a sheen of sweat that gleamed ever so slightly in the dim lighting.
William grunted atop of you, fucking you nice and slow. The smell of his cologne and cigarettes only turned you on more; accompanied by the intoxicating scent of sex in the air. William persisted, forearms flexing as he kept himself on top of you, slowly thrusting in and out of you. His cock hitting all the right spots as he buried himself deep within your pussy — and made you feel so full of him.
“Fuck.. ‘m gonna make you all mine.” William panted, slightly quickening his pace to a more unforgiving force.
“I’m all yours.” You said through moans, the sensation of his cock now slamming into you was almost too much to handle, fingernails scratching at his back which only spurred him on more. The whole situation was downright taboo, having sex with your father’s former best friend. The man that was only supposed to be a source of comfort has marred at you.
Your fingers reached down to rub at your clit, atop the newfound relentless pounding William was giving you. The feeling began to pool at your abdomen, before making its way down to just above your pussy.
You bellowed, “I’m gonna cum again… oh fuck!” William could feel your walls begin to tighten around his cock, as if you were milking him for all he’s worth, a feeling so impassible he didn’t want it to end. His hips began to stutter, trying to fuck you through your orgasm while he chased his, and it came like a crashing wave.
Switching positions was the only energy you both had left, with you led on top of him, finger tracing circles on his chest. Albeit it was a cute image to behold, there was something different on your mind.
The guilt would eat you alive. You knew it. It would eat him up too. Two people who were never supposed to cross each other’s paths again the way that they did, yet it just happened to fall into place that way. He was like the forbidden fruit of your miserable life.
Phoning him up was your first bite of the apple, and you wanted more, but did he? Or was he the serpent that tempted you to take a bite in the first place?