Death Of Me (William Afton X Reader)

̷C̷̷h̷a̷̷p̷̷t̷̷e̷̷r̷ ̷T̷̷w̷̷e̷̷n̷̷t̷̷y̷-̷T̷̷h̷̷r̷̷e̷̷e̷

The drive to the bar was suffocatingly quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your chest and made every breath feel intrusive. William sat beside you, his posture unnaturally stiff, his hands gripping the wheel with more force than necessary. His eyes stayed locked on the road ahead, but the furrow in his brow betrayed his thoughts. Since you’d made that offhand remark about him being a good father, the air between you had shifted, thickening with unspoken tension.

Why would that bother him? you wondered, sneaking a glance at his rigid profile. It’s true, isn’t it?

The thought lingered, gnawed at you. But then, something darker began to crawl into the edges of your mind—What if he didn’t believe it? What if he didn’t think he was a good father?

Your chest tightened as your thoughts spiraled. Evan. It had to have something to do with Evan. You didn’t know much about William’s youngest son, but whatever had happened—whatever tragedy had torn through his life—clung to him like a ghost, silent but ever-present.

You wanted to ask. The curiosity burned in the back of your throat, threatening to spill over. But that wasn’t a line you could cross. You weren’t brave enough to break the fragile silence, not when you weren’t sure what kind of answer you’d get. Or worse, what might happen if you pried too far.

The silence between you stretched endlessly, heavy but strangely safe. Neither of you moved to break it. It gave you time to think, though your thoughts quickly turned uneasy. The knot in your stomach began to twist as the bar came into view, a familiar sense of dread pooling in your chest.

The fear from the other night crept back into the edges of your mind, threatening to consume you again. You clenched your jaw, forcing the memories down into the depths where they couldn’t reach you.

Don’t think about it. Not now.

William pulled up beside your car, his silver eyes flickering to you as you reached for the door handle. For a moment, the world outside the car seemed to fade away, and the weight of his gaze settled over you. You froze, your hand hovering just inches away from the door, not sure why your heart suddenly felt like it was going to burst out of your chest.

Then he spoke, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

“You know,” he began, his tone smooth, almost teasing, “for future reference, there are safer ways to get me to spend time with you.”

You blinked, startled by his words. There was something in the way he said it—something playful, maybe even suggestive, but you couldn’t quite grasp it. Your mind was too busy trying to process the comment, trying to figure out what he meant. Why would he say that? What would give him that idea?

“Safer?” you echoed dumbly, suddenly feeling way too warm. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

The question lingered between you, heavy in the air, but William’s eyes didn’t waver from you. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of amusement mixed with something else you couldn’t quite identify. He was leaning slightly toward you now, his posture relaxed, but there was still that undercurrent of… something.

"Just..." He paused for a moment, his lips curling into the faintest of smirks. "Maybe next time, try asking instead of… well, getting yourself into trouble and making me worry about you."

You blinked again, completely missing the flirtatious edge in his voice. “Asking? What?”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and low, like the heat from a fire that you couldn’t quite get close enough to. “You’ll figure it out.”