Confiscated Peaches

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June 27, 1993 - Roseville, FL - 4:15 PM Just moved to this podunk town and yet it's already showing promise. No need to kill yet; job interview in two weeks. Waitress at T's Diner, seen at morning shift 9:45 am. Female, early to mid-20s, slightly above average height, naturally dirty blonde hair box dyed to a dark mousy brown (roots are showing). Wallflower type, small friend group, lives alone, rarely calls parents. Quiet neighborhood with backyard against pond & woods. Easy access; likely highly vulnerable. Smokes weed, reads occasionally, music lover. Makes an adorable face when frustrated, sad puppy vibes. ***Attending 4th of July party at 302 Oleander Drive at 9pm with co-worker Hailey Daye.

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Frat Party | 302 Oleander Drive | 11:45 PM:

You shut the bathroom door behind you, muffling music and other loud party bullshit. Dark and damp, but surprisingly clean. The only reason you even came to this party was because your bestfriend Hailey practically got down on her knees and begged you to go. The private firework show and free booze was nice, but this just isn't really your scene.

You lift your bag to check for a joint and lighter. Next to your pager you spot your trusty red zippo lighter a pill bottle. The lighter was a gift from someone special you don't talk to anymore, but you couldn't let them go just yet. Engraved on the side of the lighter was a message that read "KISS: keep it simple, stupid!" Inside the pill bottle was a carefully made joint packed with kief and a hybrid mix you got from your dealer.

The desire to smoke drags you out of the bathroom and towards where you last saw Hailey with her new boy-toy. Creeping around the drunk passed out teenagers, empty red solo cups, and shoes, you find your way to the kitchen. It's less crowded, only five or so people and many empty pizza boxes. Hailey smiles and nurses a soda from across the room. Her boyfriend in the middle of a genuinely hilarious drug-fueled rant about something sports related. Can't tell what sport though, dude is smashed. At least he's passionate about something. She looks over at you, and you saunter over.

"Hey, I'm gonna head out for a smoke and walk home after if you wanna join me." You say.

"Sorry babe I'd love to, but I promised to be a DD and I'm not leaving for a few hours."

"I think I'll just go by myself then, it's only a few blocks."

With that she gives you a hug and a quick "be safe" before you walk away. Weaving to the back door, you step into the damp night. Loud music vibrating through the concrete beneath you. Fireflies swirl in the distance. Closing your eyes as a light breeze rolls in; a welcome break from the smothering July air. A moment of calm before the storm.

"Hey, can I borrow a lighter?"

You turn, shocked and annoyed to find somebody else in the humid Floridian abyss.

"Sorry I didn't mean to startle you," he says with a disarming laugh.

The shadowy figure lights up his pager providing a brief but faint view of his face. His teeth reveal a soft friendly smile.

"Ha, no worries. Here."

Offering your lighter, he takes it to light a joint of his own. His hands spark into existence in the light of the flame. Strong, but well manicured fingers with a couple ink stains. Something about him makes the air thick and heavy like mud.

"Parties not really your thing huh?" He asks, the cherry of his joint bobbing your way.

"Oh..! Honestly, no. I mean I can't complain, it's been pretty good so far."

A series of loud bangs pulls your attention from the stranger. From above loud pops of red, white, & blue flutter and invade the sky. A swarm of yellow sparklers overtaking them. A blue light fires above the rest, only to be overshadowed by a red one.

You turn to continue speaking with the mysterious stoner, but you're met with an empty patch of grass. White rage hits you. That fucker stole your lighter! You consider staying and hunting for that jerk, but you're just too tired for this. You yank out your pager and send a message to Hailey.

Shoving it into your bag, you pop a tape in your portable cassette player and begin angrily walking home. Your wired headset blocking out the rest of the party sounds. Mumbling the words to a Cake song as you walk.

I want to love you madly I want to love you, love you Love you madly

After a few blocks, you check your pager. To your surprise, a message from Hailey sits in your inbox.

Between the booze and frustration you struggled to recall any remarkable details about him. You text Hailey back.

She responds instantly.

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July 5, 1993 | 1703 Oleander Drive | 12 AM:

Stepping up to the front door of your apartment, you stick in the keys and walk inside. It's dark, which was to be expected. Dropping your bag onto the floor. Flicking on the light, you notice everything is slightly less messy than you left it. A couple to-go boxes remain, but the dishes look freshly washed. A thick smell of cheap cologne hangs in the air. You shake your head. This is crazy, who would break in just to do the dishes? It's been a long night, surely you must've done them this morning during your high-as-a-kite cleaning binge. The smell must be from a neighbor or something.

You walk into the tiny kitchen (ignoring the freaky squeaky clean dishes) and open a drawer to get another lighter. It's not the lighter you want, but it's the lighter you have.

Pulling out the joint, you unlock the back door to your balcony. It's a small balcony, only able to fit a small chair and a side table, but you couldn't complain. At least nobody complains about the smell of weed. Being up against the woods was a blessing. Private and safe. After sitting down you light your joint. Music getting better and better with each inhalation.

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July 5, 1993 - 1703 Oleander Drive - 12:15 AM Took a big risk. Poor little puppy lost her precious lighter. Stole it just to annoy her. She looked so fussy and angry when she couldn't find me, even though I was less than 20ft away. Priceless; couldn't snap a pic as the flash would've given me away. I'll have to create another opportunity in the future. Fortunately, it was dark enough to remain unidentifiable & invisible. A cloudy night does a lot to hide a person. Although if she had remembered anything about me, it would be easy enough to pack up and leave now. Nobody knows me yet. My own desires and excitement are making me too bold. Stay calm and stick to the plan. 12:16 AM. She's smoking on her balcony, as per usual. One-hit-wonder over here coughs every other hit; she should really switch to edibles. The need to interact with her is growing stronger. Can't believe she didn't make a bigger deal out of those dishes. While I was inside I couldn't resist the urge to wipe lipstick off of her glass using my gloves just to put it to my lips for a taste. It tasted like chapstick, too far gone to have retained her scent. The disappointment only fueled my desire for her. My attraction towards her is ruining everything; this is supposed to be a test run. I suppose this is more of a Danny design than a Ghostface one. I wanted to steal one of her panties, but they were all clean and worthless to me in that state. My hand isn't doing it for me anymore, I need my cum to mix with her fresh slick in those cotton undies. I'm gonna make this bitch fuckin' scream when she cums on my cock. 1:12 AM. She's touching herself again, but she's still unsuccessful. Stupid whore can't even find her own clit. Don't worry puppy, I'll find it for you. Vibrator can't replace what you really need huh? Went through her phone book and journal, no known boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, or any ex-anything for that matter. Could she be a virgin? The thought makes my cock twitch.

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NOTES:

Sorry for the lack of real smut, but Danny has to take his time with you. So be fucking patient, you wanna be a good girl right? Act like one.

This is my first Danny x reader fic, so please let me know what you'd like to see in the future!

“I just can’t.” you say bluntly into the phone, quickly to be met by a sigh from your boss. There was no way you could face Afton again. Your body physically wouldn’t let you and the thought of it crippled you with fear. Hence this call, letting your superior know you won’t be attending the scheduled interview for today.

“But you won’t tell me why.” he scoffs, “Look, y/n. Obviously this case isn’t to your liking, but what were you expecting? He’s a child murderer, it was never going to be pleasant.” 

“Yes, I know but-” The man on the other end of the phone didn’t wait for your argument and you could tell that his decision was already made.

He sighs, “We don't have the resources to send someone else. Moreover, you have taken and categorised the information yourself so far, it would take time for you to share this with another agent. Time we don’t have.” This dispassion and lack of concern in his voice made tears prick your eyes, he didn't understand. You couldn’t go back to the facility and sit opposite a man that had been endlessly playing with you since you met him. 

You hadn't seen William Afton since he cornered you in the interview room, since you used him for pleasure, since you came to, curled up on the floor of your apartment ravaged by tears and the searing guilt of what you had done. How could you continue this case? But how could you not? It's not like you can tell your boss that reason, it’s unbelievable, you yourself could hardly comprehend it. Hell, even if he did believe you, you’d lose your job.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I know it’s taking an emotional toll on you, how couldn’t it? But we need you to continue.” Your tears are obscured by a venomous scowl you have no control of- ‘an emotional toll’, you could laugh at that. He had no idea. You feel watched at all times, vulnerable, and as such have lost sleep because you don’t know when or how he will toy with you next. 

“I-” 

Again you are cut off by his uncaring and bored tone. “I’m sorry, but if you refuse… your contract will be terminated as per clause... 14a.”

“Yes, sir.” Your voice cracks with the words and you have to take a pause to steady your breath and resign yourself to this fate. The fate of continuing to be this child killer’s play thing. “I understand and I will proceed.” You enunciate each word separately, unable to pretend to be polite. 

You can picture the arrogant expression on your superior’s face and it makes your fist clench automatically revealing a row of white knuckles. “Tomorrow, report to me afterwards.” And you agree, through gritted teeth, the now very familiar sensation of dread making itself known.

Tomorrow. You would be there tomorrow, faced with the reality of your ghost.

~

Afton had a nagging feeling you wouldn’t show, no doubt terrified of the fallout of what you’d let him do to you last time. As much as he’d expected this, that did nothing to ease the boredom of being locked in his cell all day with only planning and thought for stimulation. 

He had warned you, told you that you would regret not showing, not playing his game. You’re a fool if you think that abandoning your post would be the end of it. Would it fuck. If anything it just made him want to teach you a lesson about resolve and determination, something you were clearly lacking. 

It was his goal to break you down, make you malleable, the perfect toy for him. And clearly it was easier than he’d have thought, you jumped at the chance to use him then crumbled immediately. So he left you alone for a while, let the fear of yourself amplify.

The pacing of his cell ceased for a moment to allow himself a chuckle at how bizarre this was. He was on edge at your absence and felt as though he lacked control. He’d see you soon, tonight perhaps, but how should he proceed? You hated him, it was poisonous around you and dripping with rage, targeted at him but rooted in hate for yourself and your powerlessness. Because you were powerless, even if you ran or hid, you were powerless because deep down you wanted him to find you out.  

God, it was evident in your last meeting. You’d resisted, spat on him, your disgust making his cock rock hard. And then you’d lost yourself, faltered so easily. Dragging yourself against him fuelled by burning lust, he could practically see it in your eyes, hunger plain and simple. Just thinking about it made him carnal, he had received nothing from the interaction but the image and it was a fucking sweet one to say the least, he would have acted on the picture right then and now, pulling his shirt up slightly to gain access to his waistband. But he’s quickly interrupted by footsteps down the corridor. 

It was two sets of steps, intending to be slow and purposeful but instead reeking of entitlement, it was no doubt his favourite duo of coppers. Dithers and Paulson. He sighed, turning his back to the glass wall, not wanting interaction with PC Douche and PC Can’t-walk-straight-for-Douche’s-hand-up-his-arse.

The steps stop outside his cell, bringing with it a heavy silence. They were waiting for him to turn but he only sniggered, pressing his tongue over his front teeth. His silent refusal caused officer Dithers to glance at the other guard, a mean spirited smirk crossing his face as he walked over to the door, raising his hand to pound the glass. Trying to corral him like a fucking caged animal. 

“Come on, knobhead. Got something to say to you.” Dithers called out sing-song style, the other guard laughing in toe. 

Afton turns, making a point of sizing the officer up, exhaling loudly through his nose as he approaches the door. Sticking his chin up and letting a smirk slide across his face at the height difference between himself and both these officers. And although Dithers would never admit it, he had to step back to effectively meet his eyeline. 

“Morning, kiddie-fiddler.” He says, instantly turning to his mate for validation. The killer sneers, forcing himself to not rise to the words of this shit-stirrer in front of him. To put it lightly, Dithers was lucky for the walls of the cell. “Been busy, huh?” He gestures to how his uniform was disturbed from the activity he was about to indulge in, spurred on by the memory of his last encounter with you. “Suppose you’ve got nowt to do but pull your prick all day.” 

The two officers shared a look of amusement that was instantly shattered when Afton grinned, “And… you’re here to watch?” Their machismo makes them stand a little straighter and avert their gaze. Their instant school-yard response of ‘you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ dead air because yes, he probably would. 

Awkwardness remains for a few moments before it's broken by the guard. “Looks like that pretty little agent ain’t coming today.” He gets closer to the glass trying to assert dominance, “She must’ve got bored of talking to nonces.” 

Afton looks down his nose, the smirk on his face as aggravating as a slap in the face. “They should put someone else on duty then.” he sniggers.

At that, Dithers slams his hand against the glass and takes out his keys, the aggressive rattling loud in the otherwise silent corridor. Afton just chuckles, clearly he’s struck a nerve if this bastard thinks it’s a good idea to pick a fight with him in this tiny cell. The raised voices of Dithers and his crony catches O’Connor’s attention from his post and he moves quickly down the corridor to see the key raised to the lock and hear the threats of the fuming officer. 

He shouts at the soon-to-be altercation, “What the Hell is going on here!?” Forcing his hand between Dithers and the lock, getting cut up by his movement in the process. “Are you fucking stupid?” He hisses in pain, and holds up his hand to show Dithers the blooming blood, causing the aggressor to back off, the ugly expression on his face demonstrating that he knew he’d fucked up big time now.

“Shit.” he mumbles, mouth opening to give excuses. 

O’Connor snaps and grabs him by the collar, shaking him before pushing him back, leaving him to stumble. “Just- feck off and get me first aid.” The words are hissed, his tone harder than they’d ever thought possible from someone they’d before considered a soft-arse. 

Dithers nods and moves away, the other guard follows suit, both hoping to find the captain before O’Connor could, conveniently forgetting the CCTV is on his side. As they retreat, O’Connor grabs his hand, wincing in pain, he wipes the blood to see the injury underneath. The keys had pieced his palm fairly deep and the blood was pouring. He mumbles the word ‘fuck’ under his breath. 

“You alright, big boy?” Afton smirked, but he wasn’t laughing any more though because he recognised that this young lad had probably just gotten him out of a week in seg. for something that wasn’t really his fault.

The officer looks from his injury to the criminal, “What the fuck was that about?”

“You tell me. I were minding my own.” 

He scoffs, to be fair that was pretty hard to believe. “Yeah let’s see if that’s what the cameras say.” Afton laughs, moving away from the glass to sit on his bunk. Officer Dithers was a fucking joke, that whole display was pathetic, all the CCTV could tell was he stood their calm as anything whilst the guard tried to prove how big his bollocks were, the runt. 

He remained on his bunk, watching the officer try to stem the flow of blood with his fingers. The action irritates him, “You want to get that sorted. Disinfectant. I wouldn’t wait for PC Dipshit.” 

O’Connor turned to again face the man inside his cell, his brows furrowed. What was that, advice? How weird, he thought to himself, must be this freak’s way of a thank you.   

~

The next day when you arrived at the facility your heart was in your throat, firmly lodged there making it impossible for you to breathe normally. You’d called early this morning, arranged everything the same as it should have been yesterday, but it did nothing to ease your nerves. You pause outside the doors, taking a moment to reassure yourself, it’s anxiety, nothing new, once you clapped eyes on the bastard it’d subside - at least you hope so. But that didn’t make it any easier to enter the building. 

“Hey!” a man’s voice calls out to you, making you turn to the direction of its source. Your kind-of friend, O’Connor, gave you a shy wave, a bundle of bandages wrapped around his palm. And giving him a slight smile you go over, fists clenched tight to stop your hands from trembling, hating how much effort you need to stay remotely professional right now. 

“Hi. What happened?” you ask instantly, pointing at the covering on his hand. It was out of curiosity but also your need to keep the conversation away from last week and your absence yesterday. 

He looks down to his hand as though he’d forgotten about the injury altogether. “Oh, your man, Afton, had a row with uh Officer Dithers.” He smiles bashfully and some colour appears on his face. “I intervened and-”

“Afton did that?” You cut him off, voice stern due to anxiety and coming off sharper than intended. 

The smile falls at your tone, he can tell something is bothering you, though to be fair I didn’t exactly take an emotional genius. “No, no. Dithers did, it was an accident- doesn’t really matter. Are you… okay?” 

You pick up that he’s not just asking etiquettely, it's touched with concern. So you double check that the expression on your face isn’t revealing too much, and smile as much as you can. “Yeah, sorry. Just… after last week I’m put off, to say the least.” It’s a reasonable excuse and you’re so glad it came to you as easily as it did.

“Yeah, I get it. But uh if you want, I can get someone to go in there with you, I don’t mind doing it?” The second the idea leaves him he sees your face change, like you breathed out for the first time since you walked in, a bucket of tension off your shoulders. 

You blink as relief seeps through your veins, this guy must really like you to offer that. “Is that something that can happen? I mean, that would be great, but who do I ask?”

“I’ll talk to the cap., you can wait here, or…” Or go in alone, you finish the thought for him in your head, weighing it up. Obviously waiting for him is preferable, then you won’t have to face your demon alone, it’ll keep Afton in check too, no sly comments if he’s there. But… you’re on a strict time schedule to make up for yesterday and your boss wants your report in exactly two hours. The anxiety creeps back in when you realise that you’ll have to do the first stretch on your own. 

You assure yourself, as much as O'Connor, that you’ll be fine, though it’s a complete lie. He goes straight to the Captain’s office, leaving you to take yourself to what feels like your doom. Maybe it’s better because the silence gives you an opportunity to ground yourself, you’re safe here, you have someone staying at your flat with you, you don’t have to subject yourself to these awful impulses Afton released from you; you just have to conduct your questioning. It helps somewhat, the fear now lessened to a nagging tightness in your shoulders, by the time you stand outside the interview door and exchange a few words with the guard there.  

But still you find yourself trembling when he unlocks the door and holds it open for you.

Seeing Afton sitting there waiting for you, makes your whole body go tense. This was ridiculous, you should be here, you shouldn’t have to do this, not after the landslide of emotions you’re still recovering from. How can you be terrified of someone doing something you liked? Maybe you’re not really scared of Afton, maybe you’re scared of what Afton is turning you into. This pathetic, shaky mess isn’t you. And so, with a nod to the guard on the door, he closes it, the small beep indicating the lock becoming active and sealing you in here, with him. 

You take a deep breath and force yourself into business mode, slowly walking over and taking a seat, all without actually looking the criminal in the eye, though you feel him staring and analysing your every movement. Once seated you make yourself look at him, though the struggle to do so is evident in the tension of your jaw. He catches the flicker of a wince on your face and smiles broadly. 

“Just as I were starting to think you wouldn’t come back. Here you are…” Afton breaks the silence that was just beginning to become too long, he plays with the words, taking his time to speak whilst bringing his hands up to rest under his chin. He takes you in, dressed all modestly today, like you’re trying to compensate for last week, it’s cute. As he moves you notice he’s wearing different cuffs, these ones not a chain between them but a thick solid metal bar. It must be some fallout from the interaction with Officer Dithers, though you can’t see why. 

You swallow, internally begging your voice not to crack, “We’re only a day behind schedule. I think you’re being overdramatic, Mr Afton.” The second you get the words out you applaud yourself, grateful that the role of lawyer wasn’t too difficult to slip into, though maybe that was partly due to the impending arrival of O’Connor. 

“Overdramatic, huh?” He laughs, “And what would you call your reaction to what happened last time I seen you?” His tone is dripping with accusation, implying you missed yesterday because of it, a sarcastic sharpness layered on the words. It looks like you missing yesterday’s session pissed him off more than reasonably, he probably thought his ‘skills’ weren’t paying off and that you had slipped out of his control. 

“You mean that pathetic display of violence on that officer?” The dismissive way you speak annoys him, manifesting in a slight scowl. You must think you’re so clever sitting there, trying to pretend you weren’t on the verge of breaking, he can see it in your eyes, you’re close to being his.

“Why? Did it scare you? You know that that’s not what I’m talking about.” He speaks a little more harshly, the theatrics dropping off by the second. But your words didn’t reflect how you actually felt about that day, when he headbutted that guard, there was no reaction of pain. Not even a flinch. And that was disturbing. Maybe that explains these more secure cuffs.

Sighing, you wave your hand, not wanting this teasing to go on. This needs to be over as fast as possible, for your sanity. “Frankly, Mr Afton, I’m not interested in whatever rapport you think we have. I’m here to work.” You let the natural authority fall from your lips, pointing down to the sheet of questions designed for today’s session. You shove all fearful thoughts from your mind, resigning yourself to calm. 

“Oh." He leans back, an expression of faux-offence coating his face. “So, no foreplay today? Fine, sweetheart… I’m happy to give you what you want.” His suggestive tone and eyes scanning your body makes last time flash before your eyes, and it steals your breath.

“I…I want to talk about your family. Research suggests it might play a huge part in your actions...” You trail off at the sound of the keypad outside the door being used, finally O’Connor was here, you can rest a little easier. Looking at Afton, you see his gaze completely locked on the door, brow furrowed. It hits you then that this might not be a good idea, changes like this are notorious for getting a rise out of inmates and that’s the last thing you want from a man who can torture you if the impluse strikes him. 

Your friend enters and you turn expecting to see him walking towards you. He doesn’t, instead just gesturing at you to come over a look of pity written on his face. Pushing your chair out you go to him, very aware of Afton’s eyes like daggers on the two of you, his expression serious. 

The scrutiny is evident in his face as he wondered why the hall that officer was interrupting his session. His time with you. It's rude to say the least, and just as he was starting to like that ginger guard and all.

You keep your voice quiet and out of his earshot, “Well?” 

He launches into it immediately, “...I don’t have the right clearance. Cap. said that I can’t go near this. I’m so sorry.” You can tell on his face that he means it, he looks very sorry indeed. “I tried to go after someone higher up, but-”

“No one would do it?” You laugh shortly, what a fucking surprise. No one would sit in for you because you’re a stranger here. A woman no less. An unknown woman who’d slighted one of their colleagues, that must be like a triple crime here. 

“I’m sorry, I really am.” 

You smile, though it’s strained, and resist the urge to cry that’s now making itself very apparent. “It’s alright, it’s not your fault.” You place your hand on his arm, half out of reassurance that you’re not angry at him, half the need to bring yourself back to reality. You’re going to have to finish this alone, but hey, if you’ve come this far you can handle it. It’s such a nothing action and you hardly register it, O’Connor smiles back, still looking very apologetic. “I need to get back to this.” You make your intention to walk away clear.

He nods, quickly leaving the room. You hear the beep again when you sit down, finally casting your attention back on the murderer in front of you, whose face is set in indignation. Such fiery anger that you blink in shock, unable to understand what had brought him to this. 

“What the fuck was that?” The words are knife-like, said through gritted teeth. The human part of you shudders but the business part of you is intrigued as to why he was reacting this way. 

You speak cautiously, “I’m sorry, I asked O’Connor to do something for me: it didn’t work out. Anyway, as I was saying-”

He cuts you off, “Are you fucking him?” The words are interrogation and you then notice his hand gripping the desk as he leans forward, his knuckles strained so much a previous gash was bleeding. You remember those hands on you, how easily he held you still, the frightening strength of them. Then he wasn’t even pissed off, what the fuck could he do if he lost control? The thought makes you swallow.

“I- Mr Afton. It doe-”

“It does fucking matter.” He spits, the words pure venom, “Answer the question.” The movement of his head is animalistic as he ducks slightly to catch your eye line better, like how a caged wolf would follow a keeper’s actions, waiting for a mistake, a chance. 

You stare at him in disbelief, the ability to speak coherently lost in your terror and fascination. “I-I… no.” you finally manage, shaking your head. 

He scoffs then, averting his gaze for a moment before again fixing it on you. His fingers rising from the table like he suddenly remembered himself, then slowly laying flat. “If he lays a finger on you- I’ll fucking kill him. You hear me?” He speaks quietly, demonstrating an insane amount of self-restraint, which didn’t go uncommended. 

“Excuse me?” Your brows narrow instinctively as you’re unable to follow his manner of thinking. All this rage over that interaction, it’s crazy.

He laughs, leaning closer to you, “I’ll make it good too. I’ve heard intestines are longer than you think.” Intimidation, it’s just intimidation. You try to soothe yourself, the thought manual to try and lessen the spiral he’d just thrown you into. He just wants to assert dominance, to make you feel weak. But looking at the cruelly grave look on his face, you just know he’s telling the truth. 

You try to engage him, eager to understand why he said that, the pen gripped in your hands as you hold yourself back from writing this down. “I- so you would do that. Murder us, what- just because you can?” 

Out of the blue, a smirk slowly spreads across his face, “No, no sweetheart. I’ll kill him… Could you live with that? Lover boy’s blood on your hands?” Something thoughtful flickers in his gaze before he continues, “It’s harder than you think.” 

“I don’t understand. Why?” 

The grin doesn’t budge when he sits back in the chair. “Just because I can.” He puts knowing infliction on the words, mirroring exactly what you’d said moments ago, mocking you. Then he shrugs, “I think we’re done. For now.”

You’re more than taken aback by that, it’s like he’s trying to remove himself from your company, maybe because he’s still  pissed off and didn’t want you to see it, and that suggested an element of control you didn’t know he had. And so, putting your notes away you try to think of what you would tell your boss, he’d given you nothing today and no doubt that was going to be your fault. Fuck’s sake. 

“Next week then.” You say at the door, as a means of goodbye. It makes the murderer smirk and he shakes his head briefly. 

“Sure. See you soon, sweetheart.” 

~

You’re still a little dazed even on the other side of the door, still in shock Afton had just ended the session like that, leaving you hanging in your boss’s mercy. But there’s not really anything you could do. And perhaps, that possessive reaction could be worth reporting, though how you would do that without implicating yourself in something, you don’t know.

“Hey, you didn’t finish early cos of me, right? Again, I’m sorry.” The sweet officer walks beside you, eager to really make sure you’re not angry at him. You probably should be, he’d gotten your hopes up of support, but then again, you managed fine. Plus it’s hard to be upset at someone who’d so far struck you as very genuine.

“Honestly?” You ask, a small smile settling on your face. He nods. “Afton called it off. I don’t think he liked the interruption.” 

He chuckles, “Or he didn’t like the idea of you having a life outside that room.” 

You look at him then, your brows narrowed in thought. “What do you mean?” You know more than you’re saying, but getting his opinion on your surface level relationship with your charge could be useful. 

“Just that… You know what they’re like, don’t see a lass for years and now he has one visiting him every week? He probably thinks you’re a lot closer than you are.” You try not to let your reality manifest in your expression and smile politely. He has no fucking idea how close you are. God, you wish you didn’t. 

~

You’re so comforted by your little do with the officer that it makes the drive home easier, instead of being fearful of what would await you later on you replay the entire conversation, focusing on your side and hoping you didn’t make a melt of yourself. The analysis makes the drive fly by and you’re parking in your building before you know it, messaging your temporary housemate to check that they’re in and physically relaxing with the knowledge that they are. Today couldn’t have gone better really, especially after all the anxiety you had prior to going to work, and now you can forget about it, well, as much as you're able to with Afton’s words still sharp in your mind.  

Unlocking your apartment door, you step inside and call out instantly to the person waiting for you. No reply. But the blurred sound of the tv calms your nerves, they probably didn’t hear you over it, nothing more. The flat is still, your kitchen exactly as you’d left it, pots and all, the table messy with a pile of washing on it. Why you’re looking for something wrong is unknown, but an eerie feeling in your gut tells you to be careful, and you know better than to ignore it. 

Going through to the living area, you stiffen at the sight of the empty sofa, the telly playing to itself and your houseguest nowhere to be seen. Your intuition was right, something was gravely off and the heavy silence makes you turn to the open door, a tightness spreading across your chest. On a small table near the door there’s a kitchen knife, probably the biggest one in your rack, and it’s just laid there. Although it’s a menacing sight you go over to it and pick up the blade, a soft security in having something to defend yourself with. Maybe you’re overthinking, allowing your fears of further confrontation with Afton to come to fruition, but you can’t physically relax. Your friend could just be in the toilet, or the bedroom, yet something tells you not to call out again. 

Whilst you’re looking at the hefty knife in your hand a devastatingly loud scraping sound comes from outside the room. Like some heavy furniture being pulled across the floor without care. You hold the blade to your chest, eyes flicking over everything as you walk back towards the kitchen, a prey mindset coming over you, making you consider your escape options. Not the front door, you locked it, it would take too long, besides surely your pursuer would catch you, unless… you tighten your grip on the knife.

In the kitchen you find the source of noise, one of the chairs strewn across the room and knocked over. You steady yourself as much as possible, mind too pragmatic to let fear overcome you right now and head to the chair, picking it up as quickly and silently as you can. It’s then that that god-awful sensation of eyes makes you tense, and so you turn, knowing before you can see that it's him. 

You don’t question how Afton is in your flat, hell, maybe deep down you’d expected it, at least he was in front of you and in your sight, there’s a certain power that comes with that. “What do you want?” You speak gruffly, not allowing any smidge of terror in your voice, you have to stay strong… for all that worked last time. But today is different. 

“I thought I’d pay you a visit. It’s a nice place you have here… real private.” 

“And this?” You hold the knife forward, the light catching it and making the blade shine, “We’re playing games now?” He laughs at that, leaning his huge frame against the wall of the hallway, letting you see the front door over his shoulder. 

“We’ve always been playing games. I felt bad for you, thought I’d give you a chance.” He grins and it’s meaner than usual, so is his tone, this didn’t feel like giving you a chance, more like setting you up for failure so he can see the hope die in your eyes. You can’t help but think this could be punishment.

“If you think I wouldn’t use it- you’re wrong.” You say sternly, putting a lot of effort into keeping your voice solid. He doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest, if anything a tinge of amusement graces his face, that's definitely what scares you the most. He moved then, standing straight and stepping towards you, eyes raking over your form for any sign of weakness. You match his movement by retreating so your back is against the counter, the kitchen table separating you and him, the deja vu from your last encounter gives you hope: this table certainly isn’t fucking bolted down. 

Maybe he picked up on your thought process because he suddenly moved quickly, quick enough to startle you but not to ruin your idea. You shove the table hard and it hits the target with a notable thump. You know it’s not going to hurt him, but it gives you the briefest chance to run, so you do. Out the kitchen to your bedroom hallway. You slam the door to keep him inside, wanting all possible indications of his movement when he chases you, then the door to the bathroom, your room and the guestroom, not before sliding inside the latter. In a quick though you push yourself down under the bed, its long covers close to the floor and side table providing you a small corner to curl up in. 

It’s the best you can do and it allows you to watch the door and wait for him, the knife still enclosed in your hand. Years of safety training and online courses cross your mind, he’s much bigger than you, you know from experience if he gets the upper hand you’re his to toy with. So you have to strike quick and fast, deadly or at least close to it. The neck would be best. 

Your plan begins to work, when you hear the kitchen door open, banging roughly into the wall. He doesn’t care if you hear- he wants you to, wants you to be scared. 

“Now who’s playing games?” Your chaser calls out, you’d expected that angerfrom before to return, but instead that torturously mocking tone is back. He’s underestimating you. 

He doesn’t disguise his movement, going room to room. Your bathroom, bedroom and then here. You’re so confident in your plan until he opens the door, then child-like terror settles in when you realise how cornered you are. You’ve left yourself no other option than to attack him and if that doesn’t work, you’re fucked.  

You don’t need to see his face to know he’s grinning, there’s nowhere else you could be. He walks to the edge of the bed, his feet casting shadow across the floor. Instinctively you pull your feet up to curl up smaller, the sound of your action crystal clear. 

“I heard that.” He speaks with a sing-song tone. “Under the bed? Really?” He laughs, but you keep your head on straight. His shadows reveal what he’s doing, crouching down silently to pull you out, so you force yourself to take your chance. You shove yourself from hiding quickly, rolling to your feet and swinging the blade as hard as you can towards his neck. You hit. But not as precisely as you meant to. A slash, not a stab, and although the blood from the wound is a lot, his reaction is proof of failure. 

He grunts in pain, catching your arm before you could strike again and slamming your wrist into the corner of the wall, instantly knocking the blade from your grip. It hurts like hell, a sudden electric pain down your entire arm, your fingers tingling. It’s hard to think with the pain but seeing him kick the knife across the floor another idea strikes you. You kick him with force in the balls and this time your assault is successful, as he doubles over with an absolutely wretched sound. He doesn’t let go of your arm though, his grip lethally strong even though you rive against it. You try to think against the amounting futility but the struggling kills your motivation. Regaining himself, he meanly swipes your legs from under you and you go down instantly, hitting your linoleum hard enough for it to show in your expression. 

He pins you there on the floor, using his body to completely immobilise you, your hands now captured in his. And just like that your will to fight is hanging on by a thread. What’s the point in thrashing, you can hardly move and the anger in his eyes is a warning. 

He just watches you for a moment, still beneath him except for your rapid breathing and that disgusted look on your face, not touching you more than ‘necessary’ because he doesn't want to hurt you too much. And you’re making that very fucking difficult.

“Get off me.” You try, the words coming off your tongue sharply. 

“Or what? You’ll fucking stab me again?” Mentioning your attack draws his attention to the pain and the sensation of warm blood on his throat, you had more fight and intelligence than he’d given you credit for. He winces as he touches the wound, the smell of blood instantly hitting you. “You could have killed me.” 

“That was the idea, you psychopath.” You eye his red coated fingers with malice, the insult making spit fly from your mouth. He grinned then, the intensity of you right now amusing him. Fuck, he’d done nothing to you,and yet you stabbed him and he wasn’t creating half as much fuss as you. 

“Not well executed though, huh? You were close, could’ve done it if you wanted to.” He leans close to you, the darkness in his gaze taking your breath. “But you didn’t want to.” 

In spite of fear, a sudden indignation sparks inside you, “You’re not worth it.” 

The metallic scent of blood gets stronger when he grabs your jaw, revelling in the fury that rose in your eyes. “Maybe you’re not as clever as I thought. Is it really such a good idea to try and hurt my feelings right now?”

He’s right. Like this he could do anything to you now and you couldn’t defend yourself, quite literally at his mercy, but would you fuck give up the one power you had left. “You don’t scare me.” You say it firm, your poker face strong. 

“Bullshit. There’s a difference between not being scared and liking to be scared.” You can practically feel his eyes moving down your body and stopping where it meets his, he’s hard on top of you, and your trembling breath makes him twitch. “I’d bet anything you’re wet for me, sweetheart.”

You scoff, hating that he was right. The heat between your legs was intense, the feeling of his hands on you cross-wiring your brain, you shouldn’t like this. Part of you wants to chalk how aroused you are up to memories of last time, but you know it's more than that and that knowledge is a punch in the gut. 

“I wonder if it’s the chase you like more, or the capture?”

“Maybe it’s seeing you bleed.” You counter through your teeth. He shifts his hold then, bringing his blood stained fingers to your lips, wordlessly daring you to prove it. There must be some truth to what you just said because both of you note the involuntary hunger in your gaze. 

You can’t describe what you’re feeling right now, all your senses are overwhelmed, you want to brush up against him and relieve some of that tension in your core, you want him to touch you, your tits, your pussy, anything. Your lip twitches in a snarl when he smears his blood on your lips, before you part them and taste him. Rolling your tongue on his fingers and trying not to think of how wrong this is, how wrong you are. The iron taste is dirty and your back arches slightly against him. 

“That’s fucked up.” He smirks, near-mesmerised by the movement of your tongue on his fingers, how you suck on them so prettily, the look in your eyes something he recognised. You know it is, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, you silently try to free your arms, you need something more, need to pull him down to you and taste more of him. His lips, his throat, the apparent hardness resting on your midsection. All of it. 

He obliges your silent request, not really caring if you try to hurt him again, you can if you want to, especially if you look this good whilst doing it. With your hand free you hook them around the back of his neck, unknowingly digging into his cut in the most deliciously agonising way. He grimaces against your lips when you try to kiss him but doesn’t stop your grip, the dulling agony making pre leak from his tip. He wasn’t planning to fuck you, but fuck, you deserve it. 

He moves on top of you, your hand instantly following his torso down to his now exposed waistband, you need to feel him, you want to be fucking consumed. It’s the only thought in your mind. Your eyebrows raise as you explore him, grabbing his cock through the fabric of his trousers. He’s bigger than anything you’ve had before, so big it's almost frightening. So lost in your realisation you don’t notice his pulling at your shirt until he yanks the fabric, making the buttons pop off onto the floor and cool air hit your chest. Your bra quickly follows as he easily lifts your body from the ground to unhook it and pry it from your skin, he’s rough, letting you drop back down heavily, and immediately biting a kiss into your breast. It hurts in a blaze before dying down as he sucks your flesh, no doubt leaving marks.

He runs his tongue over your nipple and you shiver, your pussy clenching around nothing. You want to stroke his cock, feel him properly but you can’t reach, making you moan pathetically. It sounds nothing like you but you’re so desperate for him that your skin is burning, you need more or nothing, this middle ground driving you insane. 

He looks up at you then, dazed like a starved man. You suppose he is. It’s then you see how his blood has smeared across your chest, catching the light in the most filthy fucking way, you maon again, instinctively spreading your legs for him and he needs no further invitation. His fingers scratch your skin in their rush to get to the zip on your trousers, undoing it and pulling them off quickly, he wants you completely exposed for him, to see every inch of you broken for him. 

Sitting up, you again grab at his manhood, desperate to feel him inside you. Your touch makes him groan and he rips your hands from him, the movement violent. “You want me to fucking split you in half? Fucking wait.” You flinch at the words, the tone so commanding you obey without question. Realising what he means when he pulls your panties down and slides his fingers between your folds, your slick making a mess of him instantly. He wants to stretch you open, make you cum so you’re ready for him, it's an ill-fitting kindness you never would have expected.

He shoves two of his digits inside your heat, instantly making you aware of that god-awful coil in your core, it’s insane how close you are to exploding, from nothing but a vague touch. Fucking his fingers in and out of you, he touches himself, unable to help it with how tight you are on just his fingers, you’re going to fucking strangle his cock. That thought makes his pace mean, fingers curling inside you to angle against that spot that makes tears spring in your eyes. You’re so close, you’re grabbing his wrist begging him to keep going, you need it so bad, you need to come undone. A scream burns in your throat when he rubs your clit, you cum on the instant, writhing like an animal as the almost agonising pleasure floods your senses. You can’t fucking feel anything except your climax, not the ground beneath you or the fury of your grip on his arm. It’s so crazy that your entire body trembles as you start to come down, your walls intermediately squeezing him.

You look so fucking gone, almost absent from your body that he watches you near awe, groaning at the sight of those pretty tears rolling down your face. He grabs your ankle and pulls you towards him, this time letting you take hold of him and free him from his trousers, you hardly realise you are doing it, it comes so instinctually. It’s only the sudden grip on your throat when you begin stroking him that brings you to reality.

Your back arches into it, trying to relieve some of the pressure of his hold, pleasure again sparking in your core. You look at him like you hate him, your eyes brimming with venom, “Fuck me.” You manage despite his grip and he grunts some noise of agreement, not hesitating to line himself up at your entrance, his head just pressing there, finding your wet heat almost hypnotic. 

He just knew you’d be fucking delicious, is the thought that strikes him when he shoves himself inside you, the stretch enough to make you cry out. It sends ripples of ache through your lower body, your legs shaking before he gets to the hilt. He doesn’t hesitate to let you adjust, he probably couldn’t even if he wanted to, the need to feel you flutter around him fucking carnal. He keeps his hold on your neck, his other hand using your hip to force you to take all of him, making a stream of profanity flee your lips at how deep he feels. The pace he sets is selfish, using your hole for his pleasure and just the idea of making him cum has you shivering. You want it, want all of it, no, you fucking need it. 

He pulls out of you to press your body down to the floor, hooking under your legs and pulling them up, folding you in half before slamming back in. The angle is brutal, his cock hitting further inside you than you’d ever thought possible, forcing incoherent babbling noises from you each time he fully sheathed himself in your tight cunt. He’s chasing his end, the eagerness of your walls swallowing him, telling him you’re going to cum again and he’s going to fucking fill you, make you his. You clearly want it. You gasp as he throws you into another orgasm, overstimulation making you go limp in his grip. All you can do it take the increasingly rough and sloppy thrusts as he fucks you through it, hand on your throat tightening considerably when your greedy walls push him over his edge. He cums inside you, each thrust shoving it deep, the warmth delirium of it beyond words. He doesn’t realise how tight his grip is until whiteness tints the edges of your vision, your pussy clamping down on him, reminding him to let go, god, he could’ve fucking-  

He pulls out of your cunt to see you flushed, his cum dripping out your tightness. Still reeling your hand goes to your throat, knowing already how bruised you were going to be, such an unambiguous injury that couldn’t be explained away. 

“You fucking bastard.” You manage, your voice hoarse. You hate how he just laughs at you, careless even though he could have made you pass out, or worse. But you can’t deny the electric feeling of adrenaline in your veins, it was beautiful, an otherworldly feeling, and already you want it again.