You're walking alone at night, the streets are well lit and the air cool enough to make you go at a brisk pace. Nobody is out this time of night, not even a lone taxi to break up the quiet.
You're looking at your phone so you don't look where you're going, and bump into somebody. It feels like walking into a tank, the man doesn't even flinch while you almost fall on your ass. His hand grabs you before he can and your eyes naturally follow the firm muscles of his arm before looking at his handsome face.
He's apologetic about being in your way - "that's alright lovie, wasn't looking where I was going." - he says despite you having walked into him. Turns out he's walking in the same direction as you, and he doesn't look like some mugger, so you chat while you walk. He's a charming devil, dark skin looking ombre under the streetlights that turn his brown eyes a polished amber.
You learn a lot about him; his name is Kyle, he's in the military and coming back to the base from a bar, he used to be a gymnast. He even tells you of how he fell out of a helicopter, soft voice turning into a rumbling little laugh to make it lighthearted and you don't notice when you start laughing along. He's just so easy to talk to.
You don't even notice him leading you off the beaten path; some shortcut he knows. Some part of your mind, that dumb dumb animal, bleats deafly in your ear, but it's his smooth voice that bounces around your skull and pulls on your strings to keep you putting one foot in front of the other.
Next morning you wake up back in your bed (how did you even get back home?) and it's not until you go shower that you notice two puncture marks on your neck.
Trigger warnings: Slight gore, angsty gays, stuff like that.
It’s Scott’s last day of working night shift but unfortunately, he didn’t know what was coming for him.........................Let’s begin.
The alarm went off. 10:30 pm. Scott woke up and groaned, sitting up and stretching, moving Michael’s hand off his waist. He leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on Mike’s temple. That man could sleep through a bomb going off but somehow a kiss from Scott woke him up every time.
Michael was groggy when he woke up. He shifted and opened his eyes, glaring. He hated being woken up. “What...oh work.” He mumbled, sitting up.
Scott reached over and turned the lights on, sliding out of bed, grabbing his work pants and his shirt. “Yeah, it’s my last night shift, ‘member? I’m being transferred to dayshift.” Scott said, sliding his belt through the pant loops.
Mike squinted. “Oh- Oh yeah! We’ll be able to spend the evenings together....Just be safe, okay babe?” He asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
Scott scoffed. “Come on, Mikey. If your dad was going to come after me by now, he would have, don’t you think? It’s been what....four months since ‘the incident’. We have our own house, he doesn’t know where we are. He hasn’t shown up to work, so I don’t think he knows that I still work there...I’m completely safe.” The raven haired male stated with confidence.
Michael sighed nervously, looking at his hands. “Just...call me if something happens. The second something happens. I’ll have my ringer on, so please....” he trailed off, looking at him with puppy eyes.
Scott walked over and kissed him gently, holding it there for a minute, letting it linger. “Of course I will, you oaf. You don’t need to worry.” He said.
He tied his tie and walked to the bathroom to get ready. He then poked his head in through the doorway. “I’m off, babe. Try to get some sleep, I promise that I won’t be late and I promise I won’t be stuffed into a suit.” Scott teased, pressing his lips to rainbow beaded bracelet on his wrist. It was their way of a long distant kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scott pulled into the Freddy Fazbear’s pizzarea at 11:40. That would give him just enough time to make it to the security room and finish recording his messages to the next employee before the bots were booted up on their night timer.
He slid into the swivel chair in the office, looking at the art the kids made for the bots that lined the walls. Had he been looking at the cameras, he’d have seen a pair of purple hands pressing a button on stage.
Scott scooted up to the phone and immediately got nervous. He always got nervous leaving messages. The thoughts of what if was bad, etc....he was a pretty nervous and timid person when he wasn’t around Mike. He smiled softly. Michael....that man had been through so much just to be with him. He ran his fingers over the beaded bracelet, before kissing it softly and exhaling, getting the phone set up.
Something made his hair stand on edge. He quickly looked at the cameras. Nobody was on the stage. What? They were supposed to be deactivated right now. He looked into the hallway and pressed the button. Chica was standing there, jerking, twitching. Fuck! He slammed the door button and slid over to Bonnie’s side. Sure enough, the large purple rabbit stood there, jerking and twitching in a broken, unnerving manor. He slammed the door on that as well. He’d be out of power any second now. He should record the message so he could focus on protecting himself.
Scott pulled his phone out of his pocket and slid to the desk, calling Michael. He got the message machine.
‘Heyyoooo Michael here. Leave a message cus I’m not here right now. Probably doing something rad! I’ll call back if you’re not a telemarketer. Haha....anyway, after the beep, you know what to do!’
It almost made him smile, had he not been pulled out of his thoughts by the aggressive banging.
Beep!
He jammed his finger on the record button on the work phone as well. Might as well leave a message for the next employee.
“Hello, hello! Hey! Hey wow, day four...I knew you could do it.” He said, feeling...dirty for saying it. He had no idea if they did it or not.
“Hey, listen....I might not be around to send you a message tomorrow.” That was true to both the next employee and to Michael. His talk was interrupted by the slamming of doors. More aggressive this time.
“It’s-It’s been a bad night here.” More banging. Those doors could only take some more harassment before they’d be swinging up. Damn glitches. “F-for me.”
“Umm...I-I’m kinda glad that I recorded my messages for you...” He thought of all the dumb messages he left Michael in their highschool days. Pain hit him in the heart. He may never get to send messages like that to his love anymore. He cleared his throat.
“Uh, when I did. H-hey, do me a favor.” He was now talking mostly to Michael. “Maybe sometime, eh, you could check inside those suits, in-in the back room?” The thought of his own body mingled into those endoskeletons made the hairs on his arm stand up on end.
“I’m gonna try to hold out...until someone...checks. Maybe it won’t be so bad.” He let out a quick exhale as he leaned over and grabbed his ‘in case of emergency weapon.’ A bat. It wasn’t going to do much, if anything but it made him feel better. There were the final beatings the door could take. He heard the doors slide open. He refused to look. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
“I-I-I always wondered what was in those empty heads...back there-” What the fuck are you talking about now, Scott? He was just rambling, trying to keep himself from turning. He could feel the breathing on the back of his neck. There...that haunting...haunting music box song. Wildly inappropriate.
“You know...” Chica leaned in a groaned her creaky groan in his ear. “Oh no.” He dove out of his chair, just as Foxy lunged forward. The giant animatronic robot landed on the desk, breaking both the work phone and Scotts phone, effectively ending the recordings.
Scott grabbed his bat and dove between Freddy’s legs, making a b-line down the hallway, running as fast as he could.
But so were they.
They caught up to him in a matter of seconds.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Michael pulled into the Pizza joint’s parking lot. He’d been listening to his sweet, sweet boyfriend’s words on repeat on the drive. The longest 30 minute drive. Mike grabbed a rock and ran in, chucking it through the window, shattering it. He jumped through and jogged into the part room.
Mike stepped on something hard and round underneath his foot, which almost caused him to slip. He looked down. A red bead. Then an orange and a yellow...a whole rainbow of beads, leading down to the storage room.
Michael felt his heart drop into his stomach as he shakily walked towards the room. He’d already called the police on the way down. Don’t look Michael. You don’t want to see it.
He pushed the door open and inhaled, peering inside, turning his phone’s flashlight on. Freddy, Chica, Bonnie and Foxy stood idle in one corner of the room, staring at the other. A horribly bloodied Bonnie/Foxy mess was on the table, like something had been haphazardly stuffed into it.
Then the sound of a groan. A human one. “Scott-” Mike was over there in an instant. Scott’s whole scalp was almost removed completely, bone bits everywhere, his eye laying on the floor beneath them. The green one. Mike heard the paramedic sirens as they approached. “T-take it easy Scott, i’m right here- they’re coming, you hear them? They’re on their way. They’ll be here soon!” Michael said, hot tears rushing down his face.
Scott couldn’t see. Everything was red hot pain. He felt cold at the same time. Was this death? Who’s voice was...oh that smell. That was such a familiar smell. A home smell. A Michael smell. He slid into unconsciousness as the lights turned on.
Sure he may be a soldier, but he doesn't believe in any of the shit single men spout on the internet on how he is meant to act and what he is meant to demand from his partner beyond love and respect. It baffles him how some soldiers in his previous units would bemoan their ended relationships when they'd treated their partners like shit.
So no, Gaz doesn't listen to those people telling him he should be in charge all the time. He's content to do more than half of the housework when he's on leave and you're still working. He's happy to 'play housewife' and make you a nice home cooked meal you two can enjoy when you get back late at night. He's elated getting to be the little spoon when you two snuggle up at night, finally able to sleep peacefully when he has his back turned to someone he trusts.
He's especially happy to let you paint his nails and put makeup on him because he loves the face you make when you concentrate, when your sole focus is on him. It's always so hard for him to try and not kiss you because you asked him to stay still and he doesn't want to smudge the lipstick you had so carefully applied on him.
And it makes it even harder to hide his arousal when you grip his chin and firmly turn his head back to stare right at you because he had moved his head to look at something that had grabbed his attention. The sudden motion never fails to send a delightful shiver down his spine, the hard scowl on your face when you see the streak of eyeliner going across his temple leaving him squirming in his seat and whispering a tense and raspy: "Sorry lovie."
Because if he tried to say just one more word he'd end up moan like a whore.
Nobody can convince me otherwise that Price wouldn't cry if he was proposed to/proposing
He gives off similar vibes to my dad and he cried at his wedding cause he was so happy
Okay, 1) Ur dad sounds super sweet lol. 2) Price so would and have a surprise ficlet.
Would you?
CW: SFW, Price X GN reader fluff, proposals, crying
The thought of marriage strikes him as you two lay in bed one night. It's not a particularly special night; he's not fresh from the battlefield or hardening his heart to go back to it. It's just a regular Tuesday night — your arms around him, your legs a tangle of limbs in the sheets, your head resting over his chest so you can be lulled to sleep by the sound of his heart — when he thinks. . . Wouldn't it be nice to be buried under your name?
That maybe, just maybe, he'll have you to keep him from a pauper's grave. That your and his bones will be able to mix when time erodes flesh, wood, and earth between you two. That the only thing that will remain will be those gold rings.
He starts planning that morning, approaching the proposal like he would a suicide mission; he calculates every variable, scours his brilliantly sharp mind for every little detail he's catalogued about you, making plans upon plans for how it could go both wrong and right. Writing sessions of what he wants to say to you stretch long into sleepless nights, he cracks open that old dusty book of family recipes and scribbles little exclamation marks next to the dishes you enjoy, secretly taking your ring measurement so he can confidently go ring shopping.
His wallet is fat from his work, yet he picks up side jobs in the private security sector on his off time — He's happy to babysit overgrown brats if it means he can buy you a ring without blood money. He wants this to be something pure and free of the violence shrouding his life. He doesn't do it often, but some times he fantasizes of what will come next; he'd hate to wear a stuffy suit like he does his military blues to those posh military dinners, but for you, it wouldn't feel like a labour nor a penance. He's sure it wouldn't take much for Kate to get her officient license, and whenever he starts thinking of that Price finds himself smiling like a loon at the thought of you on your wedding day, bright eyed and with a big smile with his ring on your finger.
A simple question — what if you refuse? — always brings him back down to the ground and drags his heart to the pit of his stomach. He tries not to think about it (he thinks too much about it, the bloody fool)
He decides to propose on your anniversary.
He wakes up long before you, having barely slept a wink the night before with last minute thoughts running through his head. Breakfast is ready for you by the time you stumble out of bed, his beard scratching your chin as he gives you a goodbye kiss before you set out to work. He spends the rest of the day making sure the house is spotless, getting you flowers, picking out the nicest clothes you two have and then goes to make dinner.
And of course, the things out of his control go wrong on the one day he needs it to be perfect. He only notices the oven is busted when the roast he's making in it starts smoking enough to set off the fire alarm. He scrambles to salvage it but it's too late and he's left scurrying around the kitchen trying to figure out something else.
Price doesn't notice when you get home, the locking of the door and your tired footsteps betting lost in the sound of clattering pots and pans. He nearly tosses the pan he's holding when you sneak up and wrap your arms around him, pulling him back from the roaring fire of the stove to press your chest to his back.
You rest your head on his shoulder, lips brushing his neck. "Relax," You say, both an admonishment and a suggestion.
"Bloody git". Price grumbles to himself under his breath but relaxes into you, nuzzling his head against yours. "M' sorry love, the bloody oven broke and-" he clams up just as he's starting to explain, already rethinking the proposal as a whole because Christ, how can he be a good husband when he can't even make you dinner properly?
"Hey," You begin and kiss his temple, rubbing soothing circles into his side. "How about we dress up and I'll order take out huh?" You say, letting go of him and taking charge by calling both of your favourite takeout place before he even has a chance to refuse.
Price knows this proposal is dead in the water. He's seen far too many proposal videos on that TokTik app — the ones with extravagant locations and massive diamond rings gifted to the brides to be via doves — to know such a simple proposal would fly.
But he still goes along with your plan; At the very least he can enjoy the sight of you done up in nice clothes, in the knowledge you do it for him. And he's sure you love how he looks in his suit too, his beard can't hide how pink his cheeks get when you call him dashing or handsome as you fix his tie. He gets you back though, cupping your cheek when you're done with his tie so he can pull you in for a long and slow kiss. He wants to press further, proposal plans already at the back of his mind, but he's interrupted by the delivery guy. He's especially not pleased when you stick your tongue out at him like a child and scamper away to get your takeout.
After plating the food, you sit down to eat, and Price remembers to light the special candles he'd bought. The food is good even if it's not what he'd wanted, but it's easy to forget about this shortcoming of his when you're laughing and telling him about some thing that happened to you today. He listens intently, remembering why he loves you when you speak so passionately about your hobby.
Price decides this is it.
He had a speech prepared, written and rewritten a dozen times until it was perfect, the one he'd practiced all day until his throat was raw. But the words dissapear like a mirage in his mind, and even if he did remember them, it would feel too out of place. So he simply stands up, cutting your talk short. His back aches as he gets to one knee, hands shaking a bit and fumbling with the box before he presents the golden ring to you. "Do you. . ." He hesitates, takes a deep breath, "Do you want to spend the rest of our lives together?"
Your eyes flicker between him and the ring, staring, bewildered. The pit in his stomach grows with every passing second, only to swallow up his heart when you open your mouth and say "Are you serious?"
This is it, Price thinks, he's mistaken what you two had together for something it was not. He's already thinking of ways to backtrack, fat tears building at the corners of his eyes that he desperately tries to blink away.
He's caught unaware when you kneel down in front of him. There's a sheepish look on your face as you bring out your own little box. Inside is a simple golden ring, your and his initials carved into it.
You give him a wry little smile, "Surprise."
Price stares at the ring. A second passes. Then another. A third one is well on it's way before his mind finally realises what this is and a childish laugh bubbles from his chest. "You-" He reaches out and pulls you into a bear hug. "-bloody Muppet almost made my heart give out." He grouches but absolutely melts into your body as you return the hug. You feel his mighty shoulders shake and chest rumble as his laughter gets out of control, pulling you into laughing with him.
He buries his face into your neck, trying to say something but his hiccups turn the words into meaningless happy noise. He doesn't even notice when he starts to cry, but it's a good type of crying — the one where you just don't know how to express the light airy feeling gripping your chest. Price feels like his ribcage is stuffed with dandelion fluff, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
"I love you." He says into your skin, low and quiet, voice still raw as he nuzzles his beard into your neck. His hands grip you tightly, afraid to let go.
"I love you too." You say, kissing him with nothing but love and care and tenderness in your actions.
Price is running high on the buzz of getting engaged when you two settle on the couch, back in comfortable pyjamas and wrapped up in blankets and each others arms, your takeout on the table as you settle to watch a movie. Your hand finds his, two golden rings clicking together beneath the sheets, and Price feels fresh tears roll down his cheeks before you kiss them away.
Being buried under your name would be nice, but living under your name is much better.
I was talking with some friends and kinda came up with an original story idea where you're the new groundskeeper for a wealthy Victorian gentleman who is definitely not some kind of eldritch abomination.
Here's some touch and go snippets of what I thought of, lemme know if y'all want to see me turn this into an actual story.
CW: NSFW at the end, gay, homoerotic pining, Victorian gothic, mentions of murder.
Now I'm thinking ab a dark gothic Victorian gent who is *definitely* not some kind of eldritch abomination who marries wives who mysteriously disappear or die soon after and you're the new garden keeper who moves to work there because your old man is ill and the Victorian gent lets you live there and through no fault of your own you catch his interest and the way you smile as you handle the newly born lambs makes his, definitely not dead, heart beat.
----
You'd snuck in a 'friend' from the local brothel after your friends badgered your ears off about being a 'real man'. The night had gone poorly, she was a pretty woman, yes, but you just couldn't bring yourself to have sex no matter how hard you tried. You had to beg her not to tell anyone about your problem before paying her and sending her on her way yet. . . you can't find her anywhere.
It's as if she'd dissapeared in thin air (or was dragged by the carpets down into the maw in the basement) — Don't question the thing in the basement, you don't have to worry about that and it's probably just rats. Besides the door for the basement is never where you last remember it to be.
You could have sworn it was down the hall past the master's study but when you go to look all there is is just another grandiose painting, this time portraying the whore of Babylon riding on the many headed beast. And the master of the house appears before you can recognise the face of the whore, asking if you can fix the old light in his study that keeps flickering
---
You notice the master starts asking for you or going out of the house more often, usually to go horse back riding through the wide hunting woods you maintain behind the house. You're never sure why most of the animals shy away from the master like a devil from a cross, but there is one dove white steed that is the master's favorite. It's the only one who doesn't shy away, the one that you're not sure was in that empty paddock last night but you'd rather not lose your job by telling him you'd probably lost his horse and it came back.
The horse is sweet to you but you've seen it try to bite the other farm hands that get too close. Maybe it's just a temperament thing, animals feel more than you do after all, but. . . Hmm, where's that new farmhand that had slapped your ass gone to? And was the horse's muzzle always dyed red like that? Eh, someone must have just fed it some strawberries.
____
You get bullied by the chamber maid into helping her with cleaning the numerous bedrooms because the other two have come down with the seasonal flu and you were *sure* the nth bedroom you go to clean is empty, you'd checked it twice, but somehow when you pass through the very same door you enter the master's private bedroom and he's there in only his sleep clothes smiling at you and you can only stutter out weak apologies with your face a flame while your eyes stare at the other man in a way that would get the old town's priest rolling in his grave.
Oh yes, your ma and pa were extremely religious, dressing you up in your Sunday's best, taking you to church every Sunday regardless if it's rain or shine. You remember seeing the new master of the house when your parents were allowed to attend the previous master's seventh wedding. The master's family has long since supported the church and the local community, gaining favour from everyone despite the, erm, eccentric decorations and continuous wife deaths.
But death in child birth or from disease can happen to anyone, and what is a peasant like you supposed to understand the gentry?
Besides, the current master knows best what the wealthy people invited to his party expect from a man servant that you were commandered to be this evening. And if the young lord decides to tug off your cross necklace in favour of tying his own tie around your throat, slowly tightening it until the knot sits firmly at your Adam's apple and his ungloved fingers brush against your skin, and his smiling face is inches away looking at you like a man should not look at another man while purring how dashing you look tonight, who are you to argue?
----
The dairymaid had asked you to go get some honey from the beehives they keep. The door slowly budges open as you're forced to use more strength than you should, as if the house refuses to let you out this early in the morning, you were certain you'd oiled the hinges but it's an old house, it's bound to happen.
You go to the hives and for some reason the bees are not as violent as you remember your pa telling you about them being. They just buzz around you lazily as you carefully remove the frames with the honey.
You're nearly given a heart attack when you turn and the lord is there, behind you, staring at you with eyes you swear glint like the surface of an oil spill after a rainstorm but that must just be the light.
"Let me try some?" He asks, closing in, as if you have any ability or want to refuse.
He reaches out to grip your hand. Your fingers are still sticky with honey and for a second your blaspheming mind thinks he'll lick the honey off your fingers (god smite you down for that thought, you don't even know how many 'hail Mary's you'll need to recount for that).
He dips his fingers in the honey, rivulets of the golden liquid trickling down his knuckles as he slowly brings them up to his face and sticks them in his mouth. You know enough of the gentry and their weird customs to know this would be seen as unsightly, but you're neither gentry nor do you find yourself caring when he keeps his gaze locked on you even as his lips part, pink tongue swirling around his fingers to lick up all the honey in a way that makes you think it's purposeful. (It can't be, he's the lord for crying out loud, you can already hear your ma reaching for the lord's word to bash those sinful dirty blasphemous thoughts from your skull)
He pulls his fingers from his mouth with a loud sound that goes straight from your ears to your chest and down to where it shouldn't. Your hands itch to grab the cross around your neck and hold it but you only now remember the lord still has it, his tie still loosely wrapped around your neck. His eyes sparkle like stars "You should try some." He says, and he's tugging you by the arm before you can even start spouting your excuses about how it's not your place for such things.
----
Getting down on your knees in prayer, only for him to appear and gently grasp your chin - murmuring lowly how worship can be done later, that he needs you to do one more task before you pray and head to bed
That 'one more task' turns out to be a simple fix that for some reason takes longer than it should. The house does not want another's name to be spoken by your tongue and isn't above petty childish ploys of constantly flickering the one light in the lord's private chambers regardless of how many lightbulbs you change. The lord doesn't mind despite your growing emberassment, he likes the sight of your muscles tensed to stay balanced on that rickety ladder and how, despite your annoyance, you still treat the house - him- with care.
And it's late at night when you finish, so late everyone is asleep and there's no point in waking everyone up by trying to maneuver through the dark house with a candle.
"Stay the night." He says, order clear even without his hands tugging on your shirt. It's improper to sleep in the lord's bed in your work clothes after all, and you swear you see his eyes harden when he noticed that cross you'd managed to find, but it's soon discarded when he pulls the shirt over your head, cross dropping to the floor to be quietly swallowed by the carpets.
----
The only prayer he allows to be uttered in his house is the one you mutter when you fist your cock, squirreled away in your tiny room in the house. The only time he allows you to pray to your god is when his name is right next to Jesus and God the father, asking them for forgiveness for your sinful thoughts while you rut your cock into the sheets and moan his name as quietly as you think you're able to get away with.
He's learned not to 'stumble' on you in such a state, humans and their privacy, you were stone cold like a nun for a month when he'd did that once, and he'd missed the sweet prayers you sing him late at night when you think he's not listening.
Michael ran his fingers gently through Scott’s hair. It felt soft, but also crunchy, like the over usage of hairspray, which wasn’t unusual for the raven haired male who constantly liked to spike his hair up. Perhaps he thought it made him look taller, he wasn’t sure.
The next thing he focused on feeling was Scott’s lips on his own. Scott’s mouth was chapped, that’s for sure, but also there was a cut from the previous day’s bullying bout the man went through.
Michael slowly broke the kiss and opened his eyes, the area setting in around them. Oh yeah, they were in the gym’s bathroom stall, at their dumb school prom. The music was loud and irritating, which had led him to taking his best friend into the bathroom with him in the first place. Oh yeah, his best friend. He returned his attention to Scott, who was still so...very...close.
Michael’s face instantly turned a dark red, lighting up the freckles that dotted his face. “Oh my god-” He said, eyes darting back from Scott’s blue eye to his green one. “Did we just-”
This was not Scott’s first rodeo with kissing a man, however, it was his first rodeo of kissing his best friend. Scott didn’t regret kissing him.....but he did at the same time. He swallowed dryly. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- to-” Scott cussed under his breath softly. Would Michael hate him? That was the last thing he wanted. The bullies were right.
And then Michael laughed. His strong, purely joy educing laugh, followed up by a snort. “I’ve been waiting for that..” He mumbled, moving his hands to Scott’s cheeks, pulling him closer again, bending down to close the gap between them again.
A short fic about how William met Anna, please enjoy!
-Slightly sexual things, nothing explicit-
Henry was getting married tomorrow. William and him had been long time friends, so of course he was going with his friend to his Bachelor’s party. He’d just moved to America to help Henry kickstart his ‘Million dollar business plan’ Fazbear’s diner.
William raised his eyebrows when the ‘party bus’ AKA, Henry’s van, pulled up to the town’s one and only adult bar, Heaven’s angels. A funny name, William thought to himself when they pulled in. He got out of the car and fixed his party hat. “Henry, I love going to a strip club as much as the next guy, but on the night before your wedding? Really?” He asked, laughing to himself.
Henry grinned at his friend. “Look, William, this is an Emily family custom,” He explained. “And you’re lucky I decided you important enough to join me in this endeavor.”
“I’m your only friend, Henry.”
“Let’s go in!” He said, marching in.
A cute short, red haired waitress showed them to their table. She was wearing a tight purple dress. “Alright boys, My name is Anna, and i’ll be your waitress for this evenin’. I’ll be back to get y’all’s orders soon.” She said, handing them the menus. She had a southern drawl, which caught Will’s attention. He smiled at her. “Of course, darling.” He purred, raising his brows.
She smiled at him before rolling her eyes playfully and walking away.
The men skimmed the menu and decided on what they wanted, before turning their attention to the girls on stage. Henry whistled a few times and William followed up with a few whistles of his own but it wasn’t long until he found his eyes searching the crowd for their waitress. She had red hair, it shouldn’t be that hard to find a girl like that, right?
Henry noticed William spacing out. “Will, who are you looking for?”
William snapped out of it and he jerk his head over to look at him. “Who? What?”
Henry snorted. “come on, someone caught your eye. You don’t look like that often. You’ve been single for what, three years? four?”
“Five.” William answered awkwardly. “I guess our waitress is pretty cute.” He mumbled, scratching his chin. Damn, he should have shaved. He glanced down at his shirt, tucking it into his pants to appear more proper.
“Well, look alive, she’s coming this way.” He said, pointing.
William looked over and saw her, ears growing a bit hot. She smiled warmly, her cherry red lipstick bringing out the green in her eyes. “Hello, boys. Y’all know what you want?” She asked, shifting her weight to one hip, the other jutting out just-so. She flipped open her notepad and took out a pen, tucking the cap behind her ear, looking at them.
“Yeah, I want uhh those breadsticks aaaaaand...” Henry trailed off. “Actually, I only want breadsticks.” He shrugged.
Shit. He’d forgotten what he wanted to order. He pulled his eyes away from her, darting his eyes back to his menu really quickly, reading the first thing he saw. “Sushi.” He said.
She raised her brow. “Alright, sure.” Anna giggled. “Any drinks I can get you?”
They ordered their drinks and she walked away. Henry excused himself to get closer to the stage. He said that, but honestly he just wanted William to be alone with the waitress.
She returned with their cups. She set one in front of William and gave him a smile.
“I like your dress.” William said. “It’s my favorite color.”
She smiled. That was pleasant, not someone commenting on her body. “I like yer accent. Where ya from, Sugar?” Anna drawled.
“London.” Will said, sitting a bit more upright. “And you?”
“Texas, born and raised.” She said rather proudly. “What brings you here?” She asked.
“Oh, my friend’s getting married tomorrow, so it’s a bit of a last minute party. Bloody dumb idea to go to a strip club, I think.” He said.
“It’s sweet of you to come, though.” She said, putting Henry’s drink where the guy had been sitting only a few minutes ago. She looked back at him. “What’s your name?” She asked.
“William Afton.” He said, extending his hand.
“You can just call me Anna.” She smirked at him, tucking the tray under her arm, reaching over with her free one, grasping his hand. Her hand was soft and gentle. “Your food should be done soon, Mr. Afton.” She said.
Goosebumps rose along his arms, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He smiled at her. “I count on it.”
She giggled and walked off, putting in a bit of an extra hip sway as she did so.
Henry slid back into the booth and sipped from his cup. “How’s it going, romeo?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows in a ridiculous fashion.
“She touched my hand. I like her, Henry.” He said, leaning back. “She’s much prettier than any other girl here.” William commented.
Henry laughed. “You wish she was up there, eh?” He asked, pointing with his thumb at the stage. William shook his head in response. “If she was, I wouldn’t get to talk to her.”
Food came and they ate, Henry watching as his friend said horrible pick up lines to their waitress and watching as she reciprocated the flirtatious behavior.
William went home that night with a number written on his arm and the thought of a girl on his mind.
It was many months of staying with Scott in his parent’s house when they finally found a house and they purchased it. Scott was still working at Fazbear’s, though it was hard, as William continuously asked where Michael was and Scott always had to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t want to risk getting seperated again. Nothing was as bad as that.
Michael pulled into the driveway of their new home. It was in the next town over so that Scott could stay working with Fazbears because surprisingly, it payed pretty damn well. The house itself was pretty small, 2 bed, 2 bath, a small backyard…but it was in a nice neighborhood. A small cul-de-sac. Scott exhaled slowly and rubbed his hands over his arms, a sort of…self conscious tick that he did when he was nervous. It was better than what he used to do when he was feeling over whelmed, so Michael let him do it. He looked over at his partner and gave a smile. “So…the UShaul will be here later…what about we get familiar with the layout of the house?” Mike suggest. It took Scott a few moments to register what Mike had said to him but when he did, he nodded. “Yeah…that-…that sounds nice.” He said, unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing out, stretching. Mike followed suit and he took Scott’s hand, walking inside the house. It smelled a little like cigarette smoke and mildew. They walked the layout of the house, commenting on things they already talked about on the first viewing of the house, but this time, planning where their furniture will go.“And uh….the bed. Which side do you sleep on?” Mike asked awkwardly when they entered the master bedroom. Scott’s parents never let them sleep in the same room, which was ridiculous, seeing as they were both adult men in their twenties but they didn’t argue on it. Scott rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and shrugged. “Sideways.” He joked. Mike was about the respond with something just as joking when he heard the UShaul pull up. It was a few hours of lifting, moving, deciding that couch absolutely shouldn’t go there and placements of the t.v. The house was slowly beginning to look like a home. They sat in their new living room on their new couch eating some Pizza, watching a movie. Michael leaned back and pulled Scott in, resting his head against the other’s. “You know….after the shitty lives we’ve both had…I wouldn’t change it…because it lead me to you.” Scott mumbled. The blood rushed immediately to Michael’s face and he began to stutter. He always grew weak at the slightest hint of flirting or romance. Scott just decided to silence him with a greasy, pizza flavored kiss. That night, they figured out which side of the bed the other slept on rather quickly.
