William Afton was most definitely a bottom. In fact, there was not a doubt in his mind. He knew it ever since he had been thirteen, when he would stay up at night reading smutty Drarry fanfiction on A03, or when he would flip through adult magazines found under his older brother’s bed, or whenever he saw the movie Shrek.
But it was all the more apparent as he gazed upon the beauty that was Voldemort. Gods, this man was hot. With his sexy British accent, alluring red eyes, and his obsession with immortality, he was easily the most attractive man that William had ever laid eyes on. In fact, William could feel his arousal rising like a high tide within him, crashing against the turf that was his conscience, which was begging him to stop thinking these thoughts, to not get attached so soon, to stop fantasizing about someone he had just met. But would William listen? Did he ever listen? His track record wasn’t in his favor; his last relationship had ended disastrously; Henry would never speak to him again, he was sure of it.
But as William stared into those sexy, maraschino-cherry colored irises, he felt himself fall. He saw worlds collide and empires fall, the birth of stars, and a beautiful future. He felt utterly certain that this beautiful bald man was perfect for him; it was as if every inch of him had been chiseled from stardust and sunsets and William’s wildest dreams. He was absolutely certain that Voldemort was The One for him, the light to his darkness, the Orpheus to his Eurydice, the spoon to his fork, the animatronic to his dead child.
“It’s my birthday,” the pale man said, and William felt blush blooming on his cheeks at the sound of his enticing voice, surely mixing with his plum coloring and turning his face an alarming shade of burgundy. He averted his eyes from the other mans’, staring down at the cash register in front of him- anything to avoid looking at him, letting him see the color on his cheeks, what was clearly written across his face. No, he mustn’t fall, not like this-
“Can I get a free cupcake?” Voldemort asks, gesturing to the sign behind the counter. William whips around to see what he’s pointing at, taking any excuse to hide his face. Surely enough, the sign reads, “Is it your birthday? Treat yourself to a cupcake, free of charge!”
“Uh, s-s-ure,” William says, his voice cracking pathetically, and to his horror, Voldemort laughs; the low, gravelly sound echoing through the empty McDonalds building like the croaking of a most charming amphibian. William feels his entire face implode into a pixelated vermillion rectangle. A low buzzing fills his ears. Voldemort’s laugh echoes through the room, the sound cleaving through his eardrums. And then everything starts spinning, William’s world thrown into an endless vertigo.
Unable to take it anymore, he collapses in a heap on the floor, taking the cash register down with him in a blur of purple limbs and clattering keys.
He wakes up on a spaceship.
William stirs in the king-sized bed, noting the clean smell of the acid-green sheets wrapped around him, not at all like his apartment, which smelled like corpses and blood and metallic agony. He rolls out of bed in a heap, sliding his purple feet into the fuzzy bunny slippers laid out at the foot of the bed. And with one last look around the room, he leaves.
William pads down the corridor, approaching the door opposite to his room. He puts his ear to it, hearing muffled Ashnikko music coming from the other side, along with a cacophony of moaning and gagging. “Pookie,” someone whines, “I can’t take it anymore, please-”
And William feels arousal rising in him again like a tsunami, slamming down on him until he feels dizzy and disoriented. Without thinking, he opens the door.
And walks in on Voldemort fucking his cyborg boyfriend.
But the British man only sighs, pulling out of his lover, and walks over to the door. It takes every bit of William’s self control to keep from looking down. “Wanna join us?” asks Voldemort.
William, unable to take it anymore, looks down. Between Voldemort’s legs is a huge, throbbing electric toothbrush, glistening with toothpaste. William releases an audible moan from between his luscious purple lips, imagining that toothbrush in his mouth, rubbing against his tongue, his teeth. The enticing arousal floods his core, and he feels his Nimbus 2000 roar to life inside his tight skinny jeans.
Voldemort smirks, looking down between William’s legs. “Let me help you with that, cutie,” he says, pulling the shorter man inside the room and locking the door.
William blinks, adjusting his eyes to the bright lights of the room. And there, sprawled on the bed, is the most beautiful man that he’s ever seen (apart from Voldemort, that is).
Horde Prime.
He’s tied spread-eagle on the bed, wearing nothing but fishnet stockings and a collar that says “Voldy’s Pookie.” He catches William’s eye and whimpers, enjoying the vulnerability that this position presents. “Like what you see, William?” Voldemort growls from behind him, his voice thick with arousal.
“Y-y-es,” he stammers, taking a step toward the bed. His eyes are fixated on Horde Prime’s long candlestick, which was leaking wax all over the bed. He licks his lips involuntarily, imagining how that delicious wax would taste. Prime moans even louder, turned on by the simple gesture.
Suddenly, William feels Voldemort’s rough, cold hands finesse his bare Munchkins. Had he been so busy fantasizing about Prime’s magical girl wand that he didn’t feel Voldemort pulling his pants down?
“Mmm, what a delectable dump truck you have,” Voldemort purrs, gripping said dump truck in his callused hands. William moans, lust overtaking his ability to create coherent sentences. The bald man runs his hands up and down William’s thighs, enjoying the moans and rough noises escaping from the purple man’s throat. “M-more,” he gasps, his back arching. “Please, Daddy-”
“Daddy?”
William feels his breath catch, his heart beating furiously in his throat. “You want me to be Daddy?”
Voldemort’s cold, muscular hands grasp William’s waist, turning him around so that the man is facing him, cowering under his voracious gaze. “I can do that,” Voldemort says.
He grins hungrily, pulling William closer to him and fingering his bagel twist, flicking it back and forth rhythmically. William moans, relishing the pain weaved in with the pleasure. Voldemort licks his lips at the sound, relishing the noises that his new lover was making.
But then he stops, his hand going still.
William opens his eyes, not realizing he closed them, and turns to face the taller man. “W-what?” he asks tentatively. Did he do something wrong? Was he not a sufficient pookie for his Daddy?
anddddd idk anymore
ill finish this later
wait dont go just yet
i luh you <3