Death Of Me (William Afton X Reader)

ȻħȺᵽŧɇɍ Nɨnɇŧɇɇn

(Trigger warning- slight sa. Also- the "fun" effects of the drug used on y/n causes Relaxation, drowsiness, euphoria, lack of inhibition, increased sex drive, and heightened sensitivity.)

David’s hands were on you, relentless, dragging you outside as if you were nothing more than a ragdoll. His grip was tight, his movements forceful, and despite the weak protests that spilled from your lips, he didn’t seem to care. The world was a blur, your body swaying with every step, the drug in your system clouding everything. Your head spun, your thoughts felt thick, and everything was... too much. You tried to push him away, but it was like trying to fight against a wave in the ocean. Useless. He didn’t stop.

When he pulled you into the parking lot, you could barely register what was happening. The cold night air cut through your fogged mind, but it did nothing to clear the haze. “Stop…” The word barely escaped you, slurred and weak, but it felt like the only thing you could say. You pushed him, your strength a flash of desperation, but it was fleeting. The moment you tried to break away, he shoved you against the side of a car. The metal felt cold against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat in your cheeks. “Sweetheart, stop making this so difficult,” he sneered, his breath rancid, filling your nose, making your stomach churn.

And then it happened. His hands. Everywhere. Touching, caressing, exploring places that made your skin crawl, but your body didn’t obey. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. God, why can't I move? Your stomach twisted, bile rising in your throat, but it was like your body was no longer yours. His hands seemed to linger in all the wrong places, and you wanted to scream, but your voice was lost in the fog. You felt tears prick at your eyes, hot against your skin as they spilled down your cheeks. No… You wanted to fight back, to push him off, but your limbs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Stop…” you whispered, the plea nothing but a broken whisper. Even that was weak, a mere shadow of what you wanted to scream.

You needed him. Where’s William? Please, where is he?

“Shh…” David’s voice was sickly sweet, like honey laced with poison. “Relax, sweetheart. I promise, I’m gonna take good care of you.”

You shook your head, your whole body trembling with revulsion. His hands slid around your neck, pulling your face up to his. The kiss was cold, disgusting, and all you could do was flinch as he pressed his lips to yours, a kiss that tasted of nothing but alcohol and something far worse. No. No, no, no...

Then, like a shot to the chest, you heard it. That voice.

“Get the fock off her.”

That accent. William.

Your head whipped around, and through your blurry vision, you saw him. He moved with the lethal speed of a predator, his gaze sharp, cold—like death itself. God, please, please, Please save me.

David didn’t seem to care. He held you tighter, his arm like a vice around your waist. His smirk was smug, confident. “Why don’t you fuck off, buddy? Mind your own business.”

William’s voice was a low hiss, filled with venom. “She is my business. Get your fockin' hands off her. Now.”

The words were like fire, but David’s response was a challenge. “Or what?” He sneered, his fingers brushing against your throat in a mocking caress.

“Or I’ll break your fockin' hands if you don’t step away right now.” William’s warning was deadly serious.

David chuckled, a cruel, mocking sound. “I ain’t afraid of you, buddy. Besides…” His hand tightened around your throat, pulling your face up to his, while the other began to trail lower, down your thigh. “I think she quite likes this. So go find someone else to bother.”