Work Text:
Walking home from school always filled William Afton with dread, but today it is particularly strong. His head is swarmed with thoughts of that bad, bad thing he did today. Thoughts of what Father might do if he finds out. What if he already knows? No, he can’t. William had only done it a few hours ago, and despite it being small, word does not spread fast in this town; no one quite likes each other enough for small talk.
He hopes that Father won’t be home yet when he gets there. Then, maybe, he’ll be able to sneak into his room and avoid any confrontation. Although, William wishes for this even on days where he hasn’t gotten into huge trouble for stabbing his classmate. The sound of the knife — made with a ruler and broken glass, and functioning as poorly as it sounds — clattering around in his satchel as he walks is a reminder. The teachers hadn’t been able to find it when his classmate came crying to them, and thus weren’t able to confiscate it from him.
As he walks up to his front door, stomach churning, William briefly wonders if he could use the weapon to defend himself against Father. The thought fills him with fear and guilt immediately. He’s far too weak and small to do that, and he shouldn’t be thinking these kinds of thoughts about Father. He punishes himself for it by opening the door and walking into his house without bracing himself like he usually does.
It ends up being a poor decision, because the sight of Father sitting in the kitchen, waiting for him, sets his nerves on edge. Usually at this time of day, he’s in his office. The air in the house is suffocating with how tense it is, and there’s an angry look in Father’s eyes that tells William he knows. His stomach drops. How?
“Would you like to know what your teacher told me this afternoon?”
How, how, how? He’s too afraid to respond, but that doesn’t matter anyway because Father keeps talking. He stands up and stomps over to William, ripping his satchel off of his shoulder. William lets it happen, frozen in fear.
“Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be informed your own son stabbed one of his classmates? Every parent is talking about you, and about me, questioning how I raise you.”
William watches Father dig the knife out of his bag and stare at it in disgust. For a brief moment, he has the obscure fear it may be used against him. Instead, it gets set on the kitchen table. That does nothing to calm William, not with the way Father only looks angrier now.
“I should send you away to a mental institution,” Father spits the words out before slapping him across his face.
The pain is barely felt over the fear those words caused. William can feel his heartbeat skyrocket at the thought of being in one of those places; strapped down, injected with God knows what, having a leucotomy performed on him. He doesn’t know how to respond. Father hates apologies, as well as begging for mercy.
He just stares at the floor submissively, prays the threat is empty, until Father walking away makes him look up. The older man is back to the chair he’d been sitting in and unbuckling his belt. William wishes he could run away from that familiar sound of metal clinking and leather creaking.
“William, come here. Now.”
Instead of running away like every cell in his body longs to, he follows his father’s command. Trying to get away, to stall the punishment, will only make Father make it hurt so much worse.
When he reaches him, Father manhandles his small body until he’s laying across his lap, then roughly pulls down his trousers and underwear. William’s hands squeeze the sleeves of his sweater. There is no room for embarrassment when fear is taking up every corner of his mind.
He knows to hold still, knows all the ways to avoid making Father angrier. Don’t move, don’t cry, don’t complain. It’s difficult to not move, though, when the first smack comes. It lands on his ass, the fleshiest part of his body, but that doesn’t make it easy to bear. Father does not restrain himself when he does this, not like the nuns at school at all. He uses all of the strength in his muscles. The anger behind his hits only make them worse.
William can’t help it; he cries out in shock, and jolts a little. Father has already moved on and is smacking him again, over and over, by the time his little brain processes the first hit. He cannot keep up, there’s no way. Thank God Father doesn’t make him count, even if it’s only because he himself wouldn’t be able to. The hits alternate between his ass and thighs, his thighs being worse. Angry red indent lines form on his skin both from the belt and from his teeth biting into his fist; he has to be quiet, take his punishment quietly.
He can only stay quiet for so long, though, and eventually the pain becomes so horrific that whimpers and cries slip out. Father pauses when he notices the tears sliding down his son’s cheeks. It’s not out of any form of sympathy.
“Look at you, crying over a Goddamn spanking. What happened to my tough son who stabbed another boy in the leg?” William bites back an apology, knowing it’s not what his father wants to hear. “God, you’re crying like a girl. Are you a little girl, William?”
When silence follows, William realizes his father is expecting an answer. It takes him a moment for his mind to catch up, brain so focused on the searing pain on his skin. After sniffling, he takes his hand from his mouth and croaks out a quiet “no, Sir.”
He hears mean laughter behind him, then the sound of the belt hitting the tile floor, Father having let go of it. It makes William flinch. A large hand gropes his thigh, sliding up and finding a home at the curve where his leg meets his ass. He holds perfectly still, confusion slowly replacing terror.
The hand moves up, and William lets out an unhappy whine when thick fingers brush over his hole. He can’t help it. They keep spilling out of him as Father tries to fit a dry finger inside of him. Never has he ever experienced something like this, or had someone do this to him... Father’s actions are confusing and scary, but he supposes it’s better than being spanked.
“Quiet,” Father grunts, grabbing onto the hair at the back of his head and holding it like a rabbit being scruffed. The finger leaves and William thinks maybe he’s given up on getting it in, until he hears the sound of him sucking and licking his fingers.
William bites his lip to keep noises at bay when the fingers return. Now Father’s index can slide in, slowly and painfully. It’s still not wet enough, not really. Once it’s inside, Father ignores his son’s pained cries and speeds up his hand, rubbing against William’s walls. It has the boy in his lap writhing and choking on sobs, his small body not meant for this.
A second finger is added much too soon, and new tears spring to William’s eyes. It takes everything in him to not beg Father to stop. The fingers plunge in and out of him in a way that has his legs shaking and he cries out every time they make a scissoring motion. Father seems to have given up on keeping William quiet, and he’s thankful for that. Making noises distracts him from the sensation, and is not easy to control.
Suddenly the fingers are gone and William breathes a sigh of relief, before he’s picked up and bent over the table. He’s unsure what ways Father will torment him next but he wishes this would just end already. William has certainly learned his lesson. It didn’t matter that the boy was bullying him, or that he warned him to stop before he stabbed him. That doesn’t matter. He ruined Father’s image.
The stab of guilt at that realization makes his body relax against the table, giving in. He deserves this punishment, even if he does not understand what it is. Father is trying to help him be a better person… He could just send him away like he threatened, but instead he is taking time out of his day to teach him how to behave.
William turns his head as best he can while lying across the table to watch Father, who’s currently pushing his own pants and briefs down. The sight of his dick makes William’s blood run cold. It feels like something he never ever should have seen. He feels almost like he’s stepped out of his body as he watches Father line his cock up with his hole and, after a few attempts, slowly push in.
The pain brings William back down to Earth, slams him back into his body the same time his father does. He can’t help but scream and writhe against the table. He needs to get away so, so badly. He changes his mind, he doesn’t deserve or want this at all. This isn’t helping him be a better son or student. This is just Hell.
Father moans at the sound of his panicked screams, only scaring him even more. His vision is completely blurred by the tears pooled in his eyes because they just won’t stop coming.
“Please! Please, Father, I’m so sorry, PLEASE stop!”
He forgot. He’s not supposed to say that. He can’t think straight at all, the pain is so blinding. Father grabs his hair again and slams his face into the table to silence him. The pain is bad but nothing compared to the one in between his legs. Blood gushes from his nose. Maybe it’s broken. He’s not sure. His little body is trembling, trapped under Father’s much larger one.
He’s whispering in his ear, telling him to shut up and take his punishment. If he were really sorry, he wouldn’t have done it in the first place. William can’t reply, the only things coming from his red and bitten lips being whimpers and choked sobs. He can stop talking, though. He can do that.
The sensation of Father’s cock sliding in and out of him has his eyes rolling back and his little jaw clenching in pain. He cannot wait for this to be over, he would give anything for it to end. Sometimes Father’s dick will brush against a certain spot in William that makes his body feel like it’s been electrified. It makes his dick twitch, and he can feel it getting hard like Father’s own.
Father’s voice breaks him from his daze, only slightly.
“You are never going to do anything like that ever again, are you?”
William nods his head so hard and so frantically that it hurts his neck.
“No, Father! Never, never again, please, I p-prom-“ he can’t finish his sentence, but Father accepts the apology anyway. Finally, he accepts it.
Father’s angle changes, and now every time he thrusts in, he’s hitting that spot. William’s brain can barely keep up with the onslaught of pain and pleasure. He’s never felt anything like this before, and it’s not exactly good. Just, not painful, yet overwhelming all the same. Loud pleasured moans have replaced his cries of agony somewhere along the way.
The thrusts get more erratic, William melting more and more at each one, until suddenly they stop. The pause gives William a moment to catch his breath. The desperate gasps that fill the kitchen make it sound like he’s been running a marathon. He squeaks at the feeling of his father coming inside, flushes at the deep groan he lets out. William holds perfectly still for him, desperately wanting to know what it is. It feels disgusting and foreign, his insides uncomfortably warm and wet.
When Father reaches a hand around to grab William’s small cock, he sobs brokenly. It’s so sensitive from the lack of stimulation that it’s near painful. He knows better than to ask Father to stop, has already been through pain worse than this today, so he holds still. As still as he can manage, that is; his little body trembles from the way Father is stroking him, and he cries more tears when he finally comes for the first time in his life.
That feeling of not being in his body comes back, and he’s grateful for it. He watches Father pull out of his ruined body, watches Father dress him as he lays limp like a doll. He doesn’t feel much when Father sets his knife on fire over the sink, forcing him to watch. He most certainly doesn’t try to stop him.
Eventually, Father gets irritated at the way he doesn’t respond to anything. He says something angrily but William cannot make out what because his hearing is as if he’s underwater. Some time passes and William finds himself in his bedroom. As he slowly comes back to his body, the pain does as well. His thighs, behind, nose (it is broken, he learns), his privates all ache and burn.
He wraps himself in blankets for comfort and dreads the moment Father will call him down to eat dinner, if he’s allowed to eat today that is.
Despite knowing it will only make time pass faster, he wants to sleep. His body and mind and soul are exhausted, and he just needs to not be conscious right now… He sighs, closing his burning red eyes, and lets sleep take him away from his prison of a home.
He dreams of killing his classmate, and his father, his entire school. Everyone who has wronged him. They all get what they deserve in his dreams.