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spr1ngpvrinbwunnie · 4 months ago

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🎭 Scene Imagine: Smoke & Seduction (Imagine the gif above is you and William instead- while reading this)

Notes: Actually, this is for my Fnaf AU, just like the original Fnaf but set in the 40s... and the storyline? It might be different, but who knows, I'll post about it later. Credits the lovely idea from: @ kazroze on Twitter/X

The dim glow of a single lamp paints the room in amber hues. A vintage phonograph crackles in the background, the needle gently gliding over the record. A slow waltz—or perhaps, something deeper, sultrier, like a tango—fills the space.

William holds you close, his touch firm yet teasing, like he’s always dancing on the edge of control. His lips curl around the half-burned cigar, silver-gray eyes gleaming with amusement as he watches you.

He's enjoying this—not just the dance, but your reactions, the way you follow his lead, how your breath hitches when he pulls you just a little closer.

And then—the moment.

As the music slows, he dips you effortlessly, his free hand cradling your back. You feel the warmth of his breath as he leans down, close enough for your noses to brush.

Then—surprise.

William's smirk widens and before you can even register what’s happening. His lips part just enough to let the cigar slip from its hold—only for him to steal a kiss as he claims yours instead.

It’s brief, intoxicating, the taste of smoke and something undeniably him lingering against your lips.

And just as fast as it happened, he tilts his head back, the cigar falling right back between his teeth like a magician’s sleight of hand. The ember still burning, as if untouched, the smoke curling lazily around his face.

William exhales—slow, deliberate—blowing a wisp of smoke against your skin, watching with unrestrained amusement as you process what just happened.

William (smirking, voice low): "Magic, darling."

Because, of course. It was always a performance, a trick, a sleight of hand—but one he pulled just for you.

🔹Why This is So ‘William’

Theatrics Above All: Everything he does has an air of flair—he doesn't just kiss, he performs it, turns it into a goddamn show.

Mastery of Control & Devil-may-care energy: He would absolutely kiss you with a lit cigar in his mouth and then carry on as if nothing happened. The way he leads, the way he sets the pace—he’s always just a step ahead.

That Damn Cigar: He makes it a part of his signature, his routine—because why wouldn’t he show off, even in something so small?

His Brand of ‘Romance’: Teasing, smug, confident—he enjoys seeing your reaction as much as he enjoys the kiss itself.

TL;DR: William is a man who doesn’t just steal a kiss—he stages it.

✨ Absolutely, utterly William. Literally✨

Also this entire scene drips with that old Hollywood, dramatic, self-assured charisma—the kind of theatrics he lives for. The man treats everything like an act, a performance meant to mesmerize, and you?

You’re his favorite audience.

BONUS: William Afton & His Ever-Burning Cigar: A Headcanon

William Afton is that kind of man—the one who always has a cigar lazily perched between his teeth, no matter the time or place. It’s like a permanent fixture, a part of his signature presence, just as much as his silver eyes and that damn smug smirk. He doesn’t just smoke a cigar—he owns it, makes it a part of his identity. And no one—not Henry, not his employees, not even death itself—can seem to take it away from him.

And everyone else, like the staff and Henry, always wonders why he never has a "stroke" lol.

The Immortal Cigar: No one has ever seen William light his cigar, nor have they ever seen it fully burn out. It just… exists, forever smoldering, like some supernatural entity bound to him. Does he replace them? Is it the same cigar every time? No one knows.

Henry’s Eternal Concern™: Henry Emily, forever the exhausted voice of reason, has long since given up trying to lecture William on the health risks. At this point, he just mutters things like:

“William, that thing’s gonna kill you.”

“How the hell is it still burning? You’ve had it since this morning.”

“You’ve been talking for an hour straight. How is it still lit?!”

"At this point, I think the nicotine’s preserving your body like an Egyptian mummy."

Employees’ Reactions:

Some of the workers at Fazbear’s place bets on how long the cigar will last before he puts it out. (Spoiler: he never does.)

Others whisper theories—maybe it’s a special kind of cigar, maybe it’s a trick, or maybe William just isn’t human.

The janitor swears he once saw the cigar relight itself when William walked back into the building after a meeting.

Casual Disregard for No-Smoking Signs:

At company meetings? Cigar.

In the break room? Cigar.

Literally standing next to a "NO SMOKING" sign? Cigar.

Inside the animatronic maintenance room? Henry wants to strangle him.

If a kid asks about it, William will just grin and say something like:

"Oh, don’t worry, dear—‘s just for show.”

(Cue Henry wheezing in the background because NO, IT’S NOT, WILLIAM—)

Does It Ever Affect Him?

Somehow, William never coughs, never wheezes, never even looks remotely affected.

If anything, it only makes him more smug when people point it out.

One time, a security guard sarcastically asked:

“Hey, boss, you ever gonna, y’know, put that thing out?”

William, deadpan: “Why? You worried ‘bout me?” [smirks, puffs cigar in their face]

The guard walked away mentally unwell.

Possible Supernatural Implications??

Maybe the cigar isn’t normal.

Maybe it’s tied to him, like a manifestation of something deeper.

Maybe, even in death, the smoke lingers—like a ghost of him remains, curling through the air long after he’s gone.

🚬 William Afton's Emotions Manifesting in Smoke 💭

William isn't just a man of words—he’s a man of unspoken gestures, of controlled theatrics, of making the smallest things feel like they mean the world. So if his smoke is an extension of himself, then, of course, it would betray his emotions when he isn’t careful.

How His Emotions Influence the Shape of His Smoke

Love / Adoration → Heart-Shaped Smoke

He never means for it to happen. One moment, he's just exhaling, lost in thought, eyes lingering on you, and then— a perfect wisp of smoke curls into the shape of a heart before dissipating.

The moment he notices, he immediately waves his hand through it, dispersing the evidence before you can see.

His ears burn, and he scowls at the cigar like it personally betrayed him. "Bloody hell..." he mutters under his breath, taking another drag, this time ensuring it's just a normal, straight puff of smoke.

Annoyance / Frustration → Jagged, Sharp Smoke Trails

When he's irritated, the smoke becomes erratic—harsh, broken wisps that don't settle into any particular form.

It’s restless, uneven, just like his mood. He might not say he’s pissed off, but his cigar sure as hell does.

If you point it out? He huffs, turning his head slightly. "Tch. You’re imaginin’ things, love."

Amusement → Spirals / Loops

When he’s entertained—whether it’s teasing you or just enjoying himself—his smoke moves in lazy spirals, almost playful in the air.

If he’s feeling particularly smug, he might even blow little rings that stack atop one another like a performance.

Bonus: If he’s challenging someone, the rings get tighter, almost like targets. It’s his way of saying, "Come on, then. Impress me."

Deep Thought / Obsession → Lingering Smoke That Refuses to Disperse

When he’s hyper-focused on something, the smoke doesn’t drift away like normal—it hangs in the air, thicker, denser.

Almost as if his thoughts are so consuming that even the smoke refuses to leave him behind.

You could wave a hand through it, and it would still take its time fading away.

This happens most when he’s thinking about you, and he doesn’t even realize.

Anger / Possessiveness → Dense, Unbroken Smoke

If he’s truly pissed off—or worse, feeling territorial—his smoke becomes something almost alive.

It moves with an unnatural weight, curling around him like a living thing, lingering like a warning.

It doesn’t break apart. It stays solid, looming, unwavering—just like his emotions.

If another man is too close to you, the smoke seems to drift between you and them, a barrier that wasn’t there before.

You notice. He pretends not to.

When He Finally Lets You See It

The first time you catch his smoke forming something—maybe a heart, maybe something softer—you call him out on it.

His silver-gray eyes widen ever so slightly before he immediately exhales another puff to cover it up.

"Hmph. Load o' rubbish, that," he mutters, turning his head away. But you see the corner of his lips twitch.

After that, he’s more careful. But sometimes, just sometimes, you’ll catch him slipping—and that’s when you know exactly what’s on his mind.

"Love in Smoke" — William Afton's Unconventional Love Language

Headcanon & Analysis (ithinkimgoininsanebecausewhatthehellamiwrite)

William Afton is a man who communicates in ways that aren’t always spoken—he thrives in subtleties, teasing touches, sharp gazes, and smirks that speak louder than words ever could. So, of course, it makes perfect sense that in this AU, where his ever-burning cigar is practically an extension of himself, it would become a part of his love language too.

He’s the type of man who makes a spectacle out of intimacy, who enjoys control, theatrics, and pushing boundaries—not necessarily in a dominant way, but in a way that says: "I want you to react to me. I want to see what you’ll do."

How He Uses Smoke as a Love Language

Blowing Smoke in Your Face—Teasing or Territorial Gesture

Afton's the kind of bastard who’d exhale a slow, deliberate stream of smoke right in your face just to see you squint, wrinkle your nose, or swat at it.

His eyes glint in amusement as he hums, “What’s the matter, love? That delicate little face of yours too fragile for a bit o’ smoke?”

But if someone else were to do it? No. Absolutely not. That’s his thing.

Trapping You in a Smoke Ring

Imagine him holding you against a wall, one arm bracing beside your head, cigar between his fingers.

He takes a slow drag, his lips curling into a smirk, then—puffs out a perfect ring of smoke around your face, trapping you inside it.

“Go on, then. Breathe me in, doll.”

It’s not just about teasing—it’s about owning the moment, making sure you’re focused on him and only him.

Sharing the Smoke—A Different Kind of Kiss

This is where things get intimate. It starts as a joke, maybe.

He sees you watching him, eyes lingering on the cigar between his lips.

"What, love? You curious?"

Before you can answer, he takes a deep drag, leans in way too close, and breathes the smoke straight into your open mouth.

His eyes never leave yours. The heat of it, the taste of him mixed with tobacco, the deliberate slowness of his exhale—it’s intoxicating in a way that has nothing to do with nicotine.

"Good, innit?" he murmurs, voice like gravel, thumb brushing absently against your jaw. "Just relax. Let me show you how it’s done."

Lighting a Cigar Using a Kiss (Ultimate Power Move)

You’re sitting on his desk, legs draped lazily over his lap. The air between you is thick—charged.

His cigar has gone out, and instead of relighting it normally, he holds it between his teeth and gives you a lazy smirk.

“C’mere, love.”

He tugs you in for a slow, deep kiss—one that leaves you breathless. And as he pulls away, the cigar is relit.

He exhales a thin stream of smoke with a chuckle, watching your reaction. “Magic, huh?”

No one knows how he does it. You don’t ask.

The Look—That One Look

The way William looks at you when he does these things is what truly makes it intimate.

His gaze is never the same for anyone else—sharp, dark, filled with something unspoken.

It’s possessive, but not in a suffocating way—more like he’s memorizing you, branding the image of you into his mind.

That’s what makes it so lethal.

🐇 Scene Imagine (another one cuz WHY NOT) — “Breathe Me In”

You’re seated on his desk, one leg crossed over the other, watching as William leans back in his chair, cigar pinched between two fingers. The office is dimly lit, the scent of old wood and tobacco curling in the air like something nostalgic.

His silver-gray eyes flick toward you, sharp beneath the low glow of his desk lamp, glint like molten mercury, restless and unreadable, a storm trapped behind glass.

"You're staring, love."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Maybe I'm just waiting for you to choke on that thing."

William chuckles, low and indulgent.

He takes a deep drag, the ember at the tip glowing bright—then, without warning, he exhales, a slow, deliberate puff of smoke curling in your direction.

You flinch, waving a hand in front of your face, and William just grins. Smug. Amused. Infuriating.

"Oh, come now. Don’t be shy. You wanna give it a try?"

You raise a brow. "What?"

Before you can react, he shifts forward, cigar slipping between his teeth. His free hand grips your chin, tilting your face up, and he leans in close—so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.

Then, he exhales—slow, steady, intentional—letting the smoke drift past your parted lips.

Your breath stutters. The scent, the warmth—it’s him, invading your senses in a way that’s both dizzying and deliberate. His thumb brushes against your jaw, grounding, teasing.

"That’s it, doll." His voice is all gravel, smooth and rich. "Breathe me in."

For a moment, neither of you move. The space between you is thick—charged. And then, just as quickly, he pulls away, the smug grin still curling at his lips.

The cigar is back between his fingers, like nothing ever happened.

He smirks. "Y'look dazed, love. Want another go?"

You don’t answer. You can’t.

And William? He just laughs.

William makes everything a game, even intimacy. The smoke, the teasing, the touches—they're all deliberate. He wants you to feel it, to be hyper-aware of every single moment with him.

Because that’s what he does.

He leaves traces of himself behind—in smoke, in touches, in the way he looks at you.

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