Painted With Blood || William Afton X Reader

The After-Party

TW, This chapter contains cutting. (sexual context, not sh)

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The overwhelming sounds from the party are replaced with silence as soon as you step into William's house. You had a nice time at the lavish event, but it felt good to finally find some peace after the drama that Adam had brought along with him. The troubled face of the blonde woman in the red dress still runs through your head. You don't know why she bothers you so much, but your mind feels too spent to care right now.

You follow William to his dimly-lit living room, watching as he eagerly takes off his jacket and leaves it on the armrest of the couch. He takes his knife out of the jacket's pocket and sets it on the small side table. A sigh comes from his chest as he sits down and reaches for the bottle of whiskey that sits on the same little table beside the couch. He puts the bottle to his lips and tilts his head back, taking a long sip while you look at his bare neck.

You can see the faint outline of a bruise beginning to form on his jaw from where Adam had just punched him. The black dress shirt looks like ink against his pale skin while the blood on his face quickly draws your attention. The red liquid hadn't dried yet, giving the blood a vibrant shine as it covers his lips and chin. You take a few steps closer and stand in front of him, making his gray eyes trail from the edge of your dress up to your face while he sits on the couch.

"I'm sorry about what Adam did to you." Your fingers gently brush over his cheek.

"It's not your fault, darling."

"But maybe if I'd just let him talk to me earlier when he asked, he wouldn't have gotten so angry and hit you."

"You didn't make him angry. I did." William takes your hand away from his cheek and pulls it to his lips.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing." A smile tugs at his lips while he kisses the back of your hand.

You sit down next to him on the couch, too exhausted from the party to ask questions. His thigh softly presses yours as you slightly lean against him. He takes another generous sip of whiskey before putting it back on the side table.

"Why are you sitting next to me?" His eyes narrow as they flick up and down your body.

"Where else would I be sitting?"

"Right here." His hand slithers into his lap.

You feel your face flush while you watch him slowly stroke himself over his pants, his eyes locking onto your lips. His hands sneak up your thighs and come to rest on your hips as you sit down in his lap. Your fingers delicately run along his jaw, smearing the blood from his chin onto your fingertips.

He studies your face while you look at your hand. It feels strange to have someone else's blood on you, but an unfamiliar feeling inside of you starts to burn just from knowing that the blood on your hands is his. His eyes trail from your bloody fingers up to your face. He takes hold of your waist and pulls you closer, smirking at you like he knows exactly what you're feeling for the first time.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" He whispers.

He looks at your lips, your faces inches apart while your hands fall to his chest and take in the feeling of the solid muscles hidden by the black shirt. You gaze at the blood on his face, eyeing the way the deep red shade perfectly streaks over his pale lips.

Just as you start to feel like you could explode from the anticipation, he kisses you. You softly sigh as you taste the slight sweetness of the whiskey on his lips. The metallic taste of the blood fights to overpower the whiskey as the two flavors mix in your mouth. He shifts his hips underneath you, letting out a soft groan from his throat while his hands run down your body. He squeezes both of your thighs and pulls his face away from yours.