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mochirimochi · 5 months

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Something Worth Waiting For

William Afton x Reader

The Matthew Lilliard hyperfixation is alive and well.

Part 4 in a series.

p1 ● p2● p3● p4

...

After leaving you high and dry for a few days William catches you taking matters into your own hands. He returns to show you what you've been missing.

18+ Minors DNI.

~3300 words, no use of y/n

...

Content: Extremely Dubious Consent, Masturbation, Somnophilia, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Fingering, degradation kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Dirty Talk, Biting, Rough Sex

You can also read on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52175956

...

The man hadn’t returned that day. After dropping the bags he’d brought on the closest spot of dry floor he’d given you brief instructions on appropriate (to him) use of the cell phone he’d brought you. He’d then left as quickly as he’d arrived, leaving you shivering on the floor.

After showering again and changing into dry clothes you’d spent the rest of the day continuing your self-assigned mission of scrubbing the pizzeria from top to bottom. By the time you collapsed, sore and exhausted, onto the couch in the staff room you’d made a fair dent in the dirt and grime that coated every surface.

When you woke the next morning you’d continued your war on grime: vacuuming, scrubbing and polishing until your back ached and your shoulders cried out. With each passing hour tension and anticipation had grown in your stomach. You’d found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder or up towards the door. It was no mystery who you were waiting for, there was only one man who had ever managed to put you on edge in such a deliciously terrifying way. As the day wore on your anticipation had wound tighter, until it felt like you might snap. You had thrown yourself even harder into cleaning, hoping to keep your mind from wandering. Despite your grueling work you hadn’t been able to help your thoughts as they flashed delicious images through your head, especially when the sore muscles of your thighs and hips had protested almost every movement.

He hadn’t returned that day either. Or the day after that.

You wake up on your fourth morning at Freddy’s and begin a routine that is quickly becoming familiar. You shower (now with soap and shampoo thanks to the delivery), dress, eat, and then get to work. You’ve become increasingly desperate over the course of the last few days, and now you’re frantically seeking out the most laborious and distracting work possible. Anything to distract you from the looming sense of dread that’s building in your stomach at an alarming rate.

If you thought you’d been on edge on the second day without a visit it was nothing compared to what you’re feeling now. You find yourself glancing up at the security cameras constantly, chewing your lip as you wonder if he’s watching you from the other side of the feed. The thought sends waves of fresh desire through you, but that’s not hard. For the last few days you’ve been in a constant and exponentially increasing state of arousal. Just the thought of him has you panting and soaking your panties like you’ve never been touched a day in your life. You can’t help but remember the feeling of his tongue on your skin, or picture his form looming above you as he’d fucked you across the tiles of the show floor.

You whimper to yourself, biting an already swollen lip as you try to focus on dusting the prize counter. The waiting is torture. You’re beginning to wonder if he’ll ever come back, but he has to, right? He wouldn’t put in all that effort just to leave you high and dry.

You’re reminded again that you know literally nothing about this man other than that he occasionally likes wearing a big yellow rabbit suit, seems to own the restaurant, and has a knack for fucking you into next Tuesday. For all you know he might just let you scrub your knuckles down to the bone, never to be seen again.

You don’t think that’s the case though. He promised he’d come back and for some reason you know deep in your bones that he will.

You keep cleaning and scrubbing until your arms feel like jelly and you can see the sun beginning to set through the single unboarded glass door at the front of the restaurant. You can’t help but imagine a tall, broad silhouette on the other side of that glass. But, of course, there’s no one there. You groan in frustration, both at yourself and the absolutely surreal circumstances you’ve managed to find yourself in.

Unable to sustain your frantic pace anymore you sigh and throw in the towel, resigning yourself to an evening of undistracted thought. Not that your distraction techniques were all that effective in the first place. You make your way back to the staff room with a frustrated huff, grumbling to yourself all the way. Your frustration continues to mount as you eat an unsatisfying dinner, facing the window that looks into the hall and staring intently out. When he still hasn’t appeared by the time you’ve finished eating you’re ready to explode, both with frustration and with pent up desire. You know there’s nothing to be done but wait, and yet the waiting is agonizing. Every second seems endless.

Eventually you make up your mind. You stand up from the break table with enough force to tip over your chair. If he’s not going to come and give you some relief you might as well take matters into your own hands. You practically stumble over to the couch that serves as your makeshift bed and fall heavily onto it. Now that you’ve made your decision you can’t move fast enough, desperate to ease the aching longing that’s been building in you like an inferno ever since he left. You strip off your clothing before collapsing onto your back. The cool fabric of the couch is rough against your bare skin.

You hesitate, suddenly timid in the wake of your nudity. This isn’t like the last time, where you’d been so caught up in the words coming from the man on the other side of the phone that you hadn’t had a chance to really think about what you’d been doing. Now it’s just you, your body, and the cold, damp air.

You’re too desperate to stop now though, and you bite down your apprehension and timidly start by ghosting your hands up and down your torso. Tilting your head back, you try to picture his hands instead. You imagine those long, broad fingers making their way up to your breasts, moving your own in tandem. He’d play with your nipples, you decide, pinching and tweaking them. You let your hands follow your imagination, sighing as a warm tingle spreads out from where your fingers touch your skin. Your back arches off of the couch as you play with your own breasts. You can’t help wishing it wasn’t your own hands doing the work.

Before long you can’t take it any more, and you plunge your fingers between the throbbing, wet lips of your pussy. You moan as you slide your fingers into your pulsing channel, thrusting them in and out as you seek your pleasure. You bring your other hand down to stimulate your clit, trying to emulate the pattern he’d burned into your skin the last time he touched you. God, you want it to be him. You want his fingers to be the ones pumping in and out of you. You know he’d give you the delicious combination of pleasure and pain that you can’t quite emulate yourself. It’s almost not enough. When you finally cum with a thrust and a moan it’s only a shadow of what you know he could do to you.

Immediate ache relieved, you flop onto your stomach in frustrated exhaustion, drifting into a fitful sleep.

–

Williams eyes are glued to the cameras, nothing in the world could rip them away from the images on the monitor. He knows you’ve been on edge. He’s been watching you every chance he gets for the last two days. He hasn’t been away on purpose, he’s been participating in a mandatory counseling conference, an absolute farce of a thing that he can’t believe he has to stoop so low as to attend. If it wouldn't have meant losing his job (and subsequently risking his cover) he never would have been able to force himself away from you. Somehow, and in spite of himself, over the course of your few days at the restaurant he seems to have become quite attached to you. He knows it’s a bad idea, but impulse control has never really been his forte, so he can’t quite bring himself to do anything to stop.

That’s why he’d decided to set the security footage from the restaurant to feed remotely to his laptop. A stupid, impulsive choice to be sure, but oh so worth it. He’d spent every spare minute at the conference watching you scrub with increasing desperation, watching you become increasingly worked up as the hours passed. It had been the next best thing to being with you, watching you squeeze your thighs together and chew your perfect lips while you cleaned like a person possessed.

Now, finally, he’s back in his office. He barely manages to shut and lock the door before pulling up the security feed on his larger work PC. He can’t believe his luck when he opens the feed just in time to see you begin to strip out of your clothes. He watches, enthralled, as you writhe on the couch. You’re absolutely mesmerizing. Everything about you drives him wild: the way your body arches and bucks into your fingers, the way your hair pools around your head, and your mouth falls open in what he can only assume is a needy moan. Perfection.

His cock pulses as you bring yourself to climax, collapsing in a boneless heap. This is different from the last time he’d watched you touch yourself through the cameras, more intimate. He wants to touch you so badly, needs to touch you. The frustrated look on your face fills him with an overwhelming pride and possessiveness. Of course it would pale in comparison to his touch. Ever since that first night all he’s wanted to do is ruin you for anyone else. He’ll make you so completely dependent on his touch that nothing will ever be enough again.

It looks like he’s succeeding.

A smirk spreads across his face as a wicked idea comes to him; perhaps it’s time to give you what you’ve been missing.

It doesn’t take him long at all to make his excuses and duck out of the office, and the trip across town to the pizzeria is only slightly longer. It feels like eternity though, his hands tight on the wheel as his mind races with thoughts of you. It has occurred to him that his obsession with you might be a problem. That he might be risking everything he’s worked for over the years. He still can’t bring himself to care, so far you’ve proven yourself more than worth the risk. Besides, he’s never been the kind of man to do things halfway.

The pizzeria is dark and quiet as he enters, footsteps echoing as he forces himself to keep a leisurely pace on his way through the halls. The animatronics have made themselves scarce, as they have since you started staying here. At another time he might pause to ponder this, but right now he has something more urgent to attend to: namely, you.

As he approaches the staff room he catches a glimpse of you through the rippled plexiglass, the fog of the aged plastic blurring your sleeping form ever so slightly, smoothing your naked body to almost devine levels of perfection. You’re lying on your back on the couch, one arm thrown over your eyes and blankets woven between the soft curves of your thighs. A growl builds in his chest as he opens the door as quietly as possible. It’s almost impossible not to just dive into you, to grab you and bend you and remind you who you belong to. However, the plan he has for you is so much better than that. He forces himself to approach slowly and silently, turning off the still flickering light as he moves.

He settles himself at the end of the couch, careful not to wake you. His movements are deliberate and cautious as he gently untangles your legs from the blankets. He can’t help but grin at the image of how fitfully you must have tossed and turned to get yourself into such a state. You don’t stir and he watches the rise and fall of your chest for a moment before trailing a finger lazily over your hip. It follows the curves of your hip bone down to the crease of your upper thigh. His finger leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. When that fails to draw a response from you he runs both his hands back up your hips, smoothing his open palms gently over your waist until his fingers brush the base of your breasts. Your brows crease in your sleep and his grin widens as he watches your nose scrunch in unconscious confusion. He ghosts his fingers over the smooth skin of your breasts, relishing the feeling of your malleable flesh giving under his fingertips. You make a soft sound deep in your throat, but still you don’t wake.

He could spend hours doing this, slowly making himself familiar with every curve and dip of your body while you lay there, oblivious.

He doesn’t think he could contain himself like this if you were awake. He knows all too well that your eyes and quivering lips drive him to the very edges of his self control. The moment he wakes you he has no doubt that he’ll lose his tenuous grasp on the impulse to bend you to the verge of breaking. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

With that thought his anticipation builds past the point of no return. His ability to be gentle and patient gives way to the urge to feel you gasping and quivering under his hands. With the last threads of his patience he slowly pushes your knees apart and settles to kneel between them. He can’t contain a deep moan when he sees the slick wetness that still coats your thighs and pussy. No longer able to contain himself he plunges two fingers roughly into your depths.

–

You wake with a startled yelp, heart pounding and mind racing to process the sensations assaulting you. The first thing you become aware of is the delicious friction between your legs. Your thighs are already trembling as if they’d registered the feeling before your brain had. You gasp and throw your eyes open wide as you arch into the hand moving swiftly between your thighs. A familiar figure is looming over you in the dark, glasses flashing in the limited light bleeding in from the hallway. He leans over you, placing one hand on the couch cushion next to your shoulder while the other hand continues plunging in and out of you. The smirk on his face is absolutely sinister. It sends a thrill down your spine and straight to your throbbing pussy.

“Did you miss me, little mouse?” He leans into you, so close you can practically feel the rumble of his words in your chest. Before you can answer him he drags his thumb roughly over your clit and whatever your response would have been it’s replaced by a throaty moan as you throw your head back into the couch cushion.

He takes advantage of your exposed neck, seeking out the tender flesh to roughly nip and suck at your pounding pulse point. A cry escapes you when he bites down just hard enough to break the surface of your skin. You feel the corners of his mouth turn up and his tongue runs over the throbbing bite.

“I’m going to leave my mark on you.” He murmurs into the crook of your neck. “One piece at a time until you know who owns every part of you.”

His thumb resumes its assault on your clit and all you can do is pant and moan under his expert touch. What you did on your own earlier that evening is barely a shadow compared to this. You don’t know how you were ever satisfied with anything less than this mind numbing, ground shaking pleasure. You feel that familiar, delightful tension begin to coil between your hips and begin to thrust desperately against his hand, searching for the release you’ve been craving for days.

Just as you’re about to reach your peak he rips his hand away and sits back on his heels, leaving you empty and needy. You practically sob. He spreads his palm over your stomach, pressing you down into the couch cushion to stop the motion of your hips as he towers over you.

“When you cum it’ll be around my cock.” He growls, moving his hands to his belt. He rips it open, with a speed and force that seems almost as desperate as the need coursing through you. His pants follow, his cock springing from his waistband.

“Please.” You groan at the sight of it. All you want is to feel that thick cock moving inside of you. It might be all you’ll ever want. He quirks an eyebrow and watches you squirm for a brief moment but desire quickly overshadows his mirth.

“You’re lucky I don’t have the patience to make you beg tonight.” His voice is deep and strained. Like a dam breaking his restraint seems to snap and he surges forward, thrusting himself in to the hilt in one swift movement. The two of you groan in tandem as he grasps behind your knees, pushing them to your chest to open you entirely to him. The straining of your muscles combined with the friction of his frantic thrusts is mind numbing. You lose yourself entirely to the rhythm of his movements and ache that shoots through you. He releases your knees and falls forward, pushing your chests together and locking you in his arms. One arm makes its way under your back while the other snakes behind your shoulder to tangle in your hair. His fingers scrape against your scalp as he yanks your head back.

“Look at me.” He locks his eyes on yours and he stares at you with such raw intensity that you can’t look away even if you want to. Those slate blue eyes continue to bore into you from behind his glasses, daring you to break eye contact as you squirm under him. You don’t.

You feel the tension and heat growing in your abdomen threatening to send you over the edge. The hand in your hair tightens as he notices your moans becoming increasingly desperate and he finally tears his eyes away from you to begin driving into you in earnest. All you can do is hold on as he presses you even more tightly to him until every curve of your body is against his. One last tug on your hair is all it takes to send you screaming over the edge. As if he were waiting for that moment his pace falters and he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, groaning into your skin as he reaches his own peak.

For a moment he rests his entire weight on you, panting into your neck as he catches his breath. You rest your hands on his back as you come down to earth. It’s a struggle to grasp any coherent thought through the haze of your post-orgasmic exhaustion. Instead, you run your fingers over the ridges of his spine.

Your gentle touch seems to break whatever spell he’s under and he jolts up and away from you. You could swear you see something like confusion in his eyes as he sits up but he quickly wrangles the expression into a smirk and the moment is gone. He gives your thigh a final, tight squeeze before he stands to gather his clothing.

“I won’t make you miss me again, little mouse.” After one last look over his shoulder he tugs on his clothes, leaving without another word.

Finally sated, you pull the blankets up around you and sink back into the couch cushions. Your last thought before you lose the battle with your heavy eyelids is to wonder when he’ll be back.

#murdaaa what murdaaa #don't let real men treat you like this #no beta we die like the security guard #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton x you #fnaf #five nights at freddys #fnaf smut #fnaf fic #fnaf fanfic #smut #18+ content

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