#Bill Skarsgard Blurb

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

Beautifully Broken (Eric Draven x Reader)

Ever since you arrived to the rehab facility you were sent to, you can’t keep your eyes off of him… 900wk, Unprotected sex, choking, dirty talk 18+MDNI Part 2

A/N: I just saw this movie an hour ago and I am absolutely possessed. Bill skårsgard is the love of my life and this just did something to my brain. You’ll probably be seeing more of him…

Ever since you arrived here there’s only been one thing on your mind, one thing keeping you going and it was him. He was so beautifully broken that you were immediately taken by him, even if you’ve never spoken to him. But you watched. You watch the way he almost always chooses silence over speaking. He never shared at circle or sat with anyone during meal time. You watched his defiance to the guards and doctors. The way he rebelled against them with a stone expression and a locked jaw, still not saying a word. You watched the way he would draw, scribbling away in his sketchbook like it was the only thing in the world to him. The way his large tattooed hands would grip onto the charcoal pencils made your thighs clench and his face was so beautiful it made your heart ache.

His sea green eyes always held a look of determination, his plush pink lips were always slightly downturned and it made you want to know what he looked like when he smiled. His jet black mullet was always slightly messy and the pink sweatsuit sat taunt against his large frame, you’re surprised they even had a size long enough to accommodate his height. He was an irresistible mystery that you wanted to pick apart and piece back together with pieces of your own broken soul. So you couldn’t watch anymore, you couldn’t wander, you had to know. You square your shoulders and march forward with purposeful steps before plopping yourself down at the table next to him.

“Hi.” You give him a soft smile and tell him your name and he just stares at you, those striking eyes roaming your face intently. That ever neutral expression gave nothing away. His eyes lock with yours and you stare at each other like you’re trying to search each other’s minds. After a moment he releases you from his hypnotizing gaze to glance around the room before looking back at you.

“They don’t really like opposite genders sitting with each other.” He rests his hands on the table, tapping the metal of his rings against the cheap glazed wood.

“Yeah? Well I don’t really give a shit.” You tilt your head to the side, your eyes sparkling with mischief and your lips turned up in the most beautifully sinister smirk he’s ever seen.

“I’m Eric.” His corner of his lips raises slightly and it makes your stomach erupt with butterflies. You can’t help but wonder what his laugh sounds like.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Eric.”

“Shhh, baby, you gotta be quiet for me.” Eric’s inked hand comes up to cover your mouth as he pounds into you deep and rough from behind. He has you pressed up against the wall in the back of the laundry room with your pink sweatpants pooled at your feet. Your back is arched as far as it can go, your hips meeting his own with each brutal thrust. His free hand is shoved up your sweatshirt, groping your braless tits and playing with your sensitive nipples. Eric leans down to place sloppy kisses on your neck and it has your pussy clenching around him. “Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Mhm!” You moan into his palm, your drool starting to drip down his wrist. Eric moves his hand from your mouth so he can grip onto your throat instead and it has your eyes rolling back.

“I want to hear you say my name when you fall apart on my cock.” His voice is like honey when his lips ghost against your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine. “Touch yourself for me.”

“Fuck, oh my god, I’m so close.” You bring your hand between your legs and find your slick clit, the feeling of your fingertips against your sensitive bud sending you over the edge. “Fuck, Eric! I’m coming, I’m fucking coming.”

“Yeah, that’s my girl, fucking cum for me.” His grip on your throat tightens as he fucks into you mercilessly, chasing his own high. “I’m going to fill you up so deep it won’t be leaking out until we are in the yard for gym hour and you start doing jumping jacks.”

“Oh, fuuuuck. That’s- that’s so fucking hot, please please, give it to me. Give me your cum, Eric.” You reach behind you to yank on the hair at the nape of his neck and it has his hips stilling against yours while he spills inside of you.

“Fuck, that’s my good fucking girl.” Eric growls in your ear as his cock continues to twitch inside you, filling you to the brim just like he promised. He pulls out gently, holding onto you with one arm so your legs don’t give out. He runs his fingers along your inner thighs and over your sensitive pussy, gathering the cum that leaked out before pushing it back in. “Wouldn’t want any to go to waste.”

He leans down and pulls up your pants and your panties before flipping you around so your back is against the wall. Eric chuckles before smiling down at you sweetly, those beautiful green eyes twinkling with adoration and it’s everything you could’ve ever dreamed. He’s so beautifully broken, and entirely yours.

Divider is by @thecutestgrotto

[twistedbloodstain]

I have two ideas for the marquis de framing that I think you’d do great writing!

1: where the reader is interrogating the marquis (meaning she kidnapped him) and through there, they start to get feelings for each other

2: reader (who had a relationship of some sort with the marquis) fakes their death because they couldn’t take the assassin world. The marquis is devastated (lots of angst hehehe). They meet again while the reader is trying to help someone (maybe John, lol)

3: reader who is part of the high table meets the marquis for the first time. Sorta like live at first sight.

vincent de gramont x reader: i could never give you peace | what’s meant to be is supposed to be

plot: the one where he finds you again.

warnings: the reader’s a medic/healer in here SORRYYY…, she knew john from before, he rats her out lolz, kidnapping except vincent doesn’t do it this time..(yay! cuz he forced someone else to do it!!!), anon im so sorry i focused too hard on one part, i will do an extra (i swear)

masterlist

“stay still.” you mumble.

mr. wick lets out a small grunt while you sew his wound back together, nothing too fatal (at least in his standards) but without the help of any anesthesia or alcohol to soothe the pain, the assassin had no choice but to follow.

“don’t worry, it's almost done.” you whisper almost finished with patching up the flesh on his back. “and..there..”

he immediately gets off his seat and reaches for his shirt stationed on a random desk scattered with medical supplies. he digs into his suit jacket and fishes out a coin and hands it over to you, you accept it eagerly and begin cleaning up.

“you need any help with transport?” you inquire while you discard your bloodied gloves and utensils.

“yeah.”

“on your way out turn left and find the guy with a gray jacket. he’s one of winston’s men, he’ll help you out. where are you headed?” you inquire while washing your hands. he hesitantly answers before offering a reply.

“paris.”

“oh.” you stop in your movements and look at him. he stands near the door way all dressed up with blood caking his temples, he still looks rugged and in no shape to do what he has to do in pairs but your opinion likely doesn’t matter to him.

“good luck, i guess.” you mutter.

“you’ve been there.” he says.

“i..have.” you hope he doesn’t press any further.

“what’s in paris?” he questions but doesn’t take a step further.

“for you?” you uneasily say, he doesn’t reply.

“a dangerous man. i..think you’ll die trying just to get what you want, mr. wick. but hey, who knows? maybe, it’s now him.” you explain.

“the guy who had the continental demolished, was it him?” he sternly asks.

“..yes, i think it was him.” you confess, avoiding his eyes.

it had been almost three years since you left that country.

three years since you left him.

you can’t even bear to say his name because if you do, all of it will spill out. how he met you, how kept you and how he loved you. 

he nods, “and for you?”

“an even more dangerous man.”

 ever since mr. wick entered and left your clinic. you've been in a constant state of anxiety. the mere thought and mention of him had you nervous, especially when you heard that he was in new york a few days ago. you thought it was all over, that he found you and was going to rip you from your freedom in this city.

the following news shocked you to your core, the new york continental being demolished was not in your bingo card as to why he’d be here. all because of an excommunicated assassin which you had tended to almost a day after the bombing.

although you’re horrified with the state of events, relief flooded you when you realized he wasn’t there for you. you’d still be safe from him.

but you can’t help but think what all of this means for him. at some point, you know that john wick will kill him, and you somehow played a part in it. you feel a tinge of regret for him but it’s quickly overshadowed with the horrors he’s done and you don’t feel as bad.

he did like you though, when you still worked at france for him as his estate medic. whenever he found himself wounded in the line of fire in an ambush attack, you were the one who tended to his wounds and saw him at his weakest. you don’t know why but a strong sense of trust was established between the two of you.

you thought it to be a friendship but fleeting glances of affection would seep through when you talked or when a large bouquet of flowers suddenly appeared in your clinic after patching him up. 

you toyed with a pin he gave you, his insignia. only he wore it proudly on his coat and truly, it warmed you to him. he did make you feel appreciated, small touches on your back and sometimes fiddling with your hands whenever you sewed his wounds, gave you butterflies in your stomach.

with you he was just…vincent.

soft words and touches with soulful eyes looking into yours, just gentleness and affection present in him. it made you indulge into it too, that he isn’t the cruel man people made him out to be. he isn’t heartless, that’s just how the world is.

a naive perspective.

a perspective that was easily shattered when you’d hear a bloodcurdling scream from the barn, and he walks out with blood on his hands and a disgusted look on his face from his clothes being stained. gunshots echoing beneath the servant’s staircases and thudding bodies being dragged into the secluded forests of the estate. you whisper to yourself those very same words even if all his actions sent chills on your spine.

but the truth of it is that, he is heartless. he is the man people made him out to be and you’re a fool thinking he could be better for you but at the end of the day, he is still the marquis.

it made you think. what if this is all a game to him? what if the moment he finds you uninteresting you become another stain on his suit? 

it’s not a secret that men like him love having delicate pretty things only to break them apart. that’s all you are his current delicate and pretty thing.

you decided to leave. you weren’t staying long enough to find out what would happen to you, feelings be damned when you’re easily replacable to him. you knew that the marquis was like a dog to a bone when he didn’t get the things he wanted, which only pooled fears into your stomach should he find you in new york.

he cannot have you.

you stare at the pin before chucking the pin somewhere in the room, you get up from your chair and begin closing the windows from your clinic.

a knock comes from the door, you chuck the remaining medical materials into a random desk and walk up to the door. wounded assassins aren’t a strange occurrence at this time of the evening but something…felt different.

your gut was telling you to ignore the person on the other side and stay still. you thought that maybe if you didn’t answer the person would go away. wanting to play things safe you don’t mutter a word that would alert them of your presence. it usually worked in some cases.

the knocking persists, much harder and louder now. your hands begins to shake and your eyes start looking around for an emergency firearm to help defend yourself, your actions frantically halt when you hear a voice through the door.

“doc?” a gruff voice asks.

you sight and put a hand on your chest. it’s just john wick. you eagerly open the door to let him in.

“john.” you greet, “come inside.” you invite him as you walk inside.

john doesn’t follow you and a confused expression takes your face, until you take a good look at him. for the first time, john wick doesn’t look wounded to you, his face and hands void of any blood, a new bulletproof suit adorning his body, a french one you notice but it still leaves you questioning things.

“i’m assuming france went successful.” you say.

“…it’s close.” he pauses before replying, seeming as if he’s finding the right words to say.

“what do you need?” you question.

“it’s winston. he’s been shot.” you freeze.

oh dear. you never really approved of the things he did but a soft spot was always present for him and charon. they helped you settle here in new york, but winston took you in even when he knew of your history with vincent. you swore to always help him in ways you could and now the opportunity presented itself.

the car sped down the street with you and john in tow. you hold your medical kit close to your lap, feeling uneasy with the thought of losing the old man. charon had been so recent and you don’t think you bear to lose the friends you’ve made along the way.

you glance at john and he looks calm and composed as usual, eerily so. a week earlier he was calm but you could feel his anger and determination simmering underneath his skin. now it looked like he was taking a walk in a park. you eye him carefully, uneasiness seeping in your stomach.

“did they give it to you?” you ask, he looks at you before clearing his throat.

“just an extension.” he answers, knowing exactly what you were referring to.

“to do what?” you ask again, john doesn’t budge and continues driving, ignoring your question. your eyes stay on him but he doesn’t look at you.

silence settles into the car and you lean back in your seat. you really wish your brought your gun with you right now. you don’t know why but you have a feeling that something is wrong right now, especially with john. he’s not telling you something.

or maybe it really is none of your business. perhaps he wanted to spare the bloody details of how he’s going to win his freedom back. you relax and try to forget the uneasiness, trying to remember that winston is the priority right now, you shut your eyes. all of your fears are gathering together and it’s making you overthink your interaction with john, everything’s okay.

the loud sound of drilling makes you open your eyes, you look at the window and you see a familiar street. 

the new york continental was being rebuilt.

your apprehensiveness returns.

“john?” you look at him once again, “who shot winston?”

“he got hit during the line of fire.” this time he replies.

bullshit. winston would have an emergency plan before the shooting started.

“in new york?” you press.

“yeah.”

another bullshit. you could see through his lies, he’s clearly fresh out of france. what was he trying to do? 

“j-john.” you voice shakes almost as if you’re begging. something happened in france, something that saved both winston and john.

he looks at you with regret in his eyes. not enough to save you for what’s about to come.

“where are you taking me?” you sputter, your heart beating fast in anxiety, “i’ve done nothing but help you, please don’t do this!”

“he took winston with him and he found out.” he quietly defends.

“please help me, i don’t want to go back!” you begin crying, tears rolling down your face, “he’ll kill me!” 

he makes no reply and continues driving. with no hope left with him, you try to open your side of the door. he immediately notices this and grabs your arm trying to stop you from leaving, you begin hitting him with your other arm.

you know that he doesn’t want to do this but it feels so unfair. you’ve saved his life only to throw yours away.

“let go of me!” you scream.

“i’m sorry.” 

you feel a prick in your neck.

you feel a heavy sensation pulling at your leg, your eyes feeling groggy still wanting to keep your lids closed. however the sensation persists and this forces you to open your eyes and sit up.

a dark room welcomes you, only a small lamp helping you take a small look of where you are. specifically, on a plush bed and a decorated room. your body feels heavy  from exhaustion which makes you lean back to the pillow behind you.

pondering what made you feel so tired when you haven’t done much for the night, you’ve sewn back together…a pair of assassins for the night? or was it three? two austrians and…who?a french? no…no..it was winston. 

that’s right.

wait.

only you didn’t treat winston.

you bolt up, your body seemingly sobers from the realization.

john brought you here in exchange for his freedom. 

you look around to see some sort of presence in the room but with the darkness it was hard to tell, nevertheless you hopped off the bed and bolted to the wooden door nearby. no wonder the place looked familiar, only the marquis would have a place as frivolous as this.

you need to leave right now. your hand reaches for the door until you find your body being slammed on the floor. a groan leaves your throat, in pain you massage your forehead and look around.

oh goodness.

a gasp leaves your mouth when you see a chain wrapped around your ankle, you inspect your foot before tracing the lines of chains, which were sourced on the thick foot of the bed you were on.

you tug it to check its strength and to see how long it actually goes. it was long enough to walk around the room but not long enough to reach the door. this is basically your fully furnished torture chamber. 

fuck. fuck. fuck.

a loud creak echoes through the room.

you really hate how things are right now.

he’s going to kill you. kill you for leaving him, how you easily made him look humiliated for being abandoned.

feeling your knees weaken you sit back on the bed and your hands shake in trepidation. the marquis’ simple presence made you scared of him, you felt tears falling down once again and you lowered your head, not wanting to look weak right now.

his footsteps are heard through the room, the door loudly closes shut, a thud echoing. he doesn’t say a word.

you feel everything leave your body. hope,freedom and life mostly.

he walks up to you until you see his shoes on the floor, a blurry sight entering your eyes due to the tears, he touches you, tilting your chin upwards and you do everything not to flinch. was he going to snap your neck?

you look at him and he still looks the same, slightly more mature.

but the same man you met a few years ago, if you jumped back into your rose tinted glasses, you’d probably see the vincent you cherished at some point if you weren’t so frightened right now.

he inspects you, his eyes wandering through your face. searching for something that’s supposed to be there, his lips part almost as if he’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“i-i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” apologies spill out of your lips, wanting to take the chance of saving yourself, “i-i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean to.” you cry. your hand reaches up to his hand that held your chin and you grip it for mercy, his hold on you weakens.

he doesn’t say anything and leans forward to you. you need him to say something, anything, whether it meant he’d simply say he wants yuu dead.

“please forgive me, just please don’t kil-“ he cuts you off.

with a kiss.

not a firm one but a surprisingly soft kiss on your lips.

he takes your hands into his and fiddles with it, trying to find his place in them just like before, he halts the kiss and leans towards your face. the man right in front of you wasn’t the marquis, it was vincent. 

your vincent.

the one with soft eyes looking at you with relief and adoration. the gaze that looked at you as if you were the most precious thing on earth, he wipes the tears on your cheeks and the next thing he says dissolves all sense of worry out of you.

“i could never hurt you.” he whispers.

author’s note: this kinda doesn’t make sense bc im so braindead rn to expand things but basically vincent finds medic!reader through winston and in exchange for the continental and john’s freedom, john brings medic!reader back to vincent. so basically she got ratted out lolz. this would work better if i made a vincent pov would be fun but i have a bunch of prompts to work on…(tempting) + he literally chained her down to him (hshshsh marriage allegory…) i kinda want to be funky dynamic of obsessed man + “ngl what’s wrong with this guy but i vibe with it” woman

[yup-thats-me]

BILL SKARSGÅRD

◇ thats my wife

↳ a man in the club thinks it a fun idea to harass you. What he didn't know was, your husband was right there to remind him his rightful place

[freedomfireflies]

So- my love!! Would you ever just write an Asher blurb- cause I miss him, v much! Of course Harry could or couldn’t be there just watching idk but I MISS MY TALL MANS SO BAD

LISTEN—😗 with all those new edits of Bill Skarsgard I’ve been seeing……..I could be convinced!!

Maybe Harry’s sitting there watching, telling them what to do, how to touch, where to kiss…but eventually Asher just gets really confident cause she’s so into it and he just takes over and Harry’s pissed but turned on and 😩 yeah mhm!!! I COULD BE CONVINCED

[ficthot]

me balancing fics where I'm getting spanked and called a dumb baby with fics where I'm tying men up to edge them mercilessly:

[hecohansen31]

Hello! I don't know if you are taking requests but, if you are, could you maybe do some fluffy stuff about Bill calming someone from a anxiety attack?Just making them feel that everything it's ok and that she's not alone... I'm having a pretty bad day and I didn't started my treatment yet, so everything it's just so... loud and scary, you know? But if you're not it's ok, really. I also wanted to say that I love your work and that these stories really help go through most of my days. Take care

(A/N): Hey sweetie!

I just wanted to say that I am tremendously sad to hear that you had an anxiety attack and I hope that you are feeling slightly better or will soon and that your treatment will work out for you!

Just take a deep breath (although I know that it is difficult to say this) and just enjoy a bit of this reading!

I also wnated to apologize in advance if this sucks, I am not very good at writing for real people, since I am a bit uneasy about it, but I hope that you’ll like what I wrote, I honestly have to say that I tear up when you said that you love my work and that these stories help you go through you days, because if there is something that I want to do with these silly stories is helping you lovelies!

So I hope for the best and have a nice reading!

WARNINGS: Mention of Anxiety, Anxiety Attack, Awkwardness (also the first part is basically something that my therapist taught me to relax which is couting the parts of your body which touch, which is very helpful for me).

One, your lids.

Two, your lips.

Three, your…

A sob escaped your lips making them part immediately as you moved forward.

Your lungs on fire from the long tiring session you had been having, unable to properly breath as you felt the choking sound of your throat gasping for air.

And for a moment, you thought you couldn’t have made it.

For a moment everything closed around you and your arms moved around you to shield you properly from the reality crashing down onto you.

It had been all too much: the small change in the program, the acid comment of your boss and Bill’s text about how he’d be stuck on set for another week, after he had already been gone for three months to film his newest project.

And you had been left without a slight sniff of your tall boyfriend, with his gentle hands.

He had never witnessed an anxiety attack of yours, because as cheesy as it was you were always calmer with Bill.

It had always been this way, since he had first noticed how uncomfortable you looked in that small party your friend had dragged you to.

Everybody would have been glad that they had been invited to an Hollywoodian party, but you were just worried of dropping your glass of expensive champagne against somebody.

You had stood in your angle and suddenly this handsome man was in front of you, something similar in his eyes and you swore you had seen him somewhere… you just couldn’t remember when or where.

… and then all your knowledge of the net had made you realize that in front of you there was Bill Skarsgard and obviously your first reaction had been.

“… wait you are Bill Skarsgard!” because it was obviously the best thing to shout at a celebrity, even more to one as private as him, but he had simply replied gently.

‘Ah yeah that’s me’ he had seemed at unease and a myriad of thoughts had gone through your head, each one wanting to make you run away, but he had gently offered you an hand ‘… well since you already know my name, why don’t you tell me yours?’.

You had hesitated, more out of surprise than uneasy with the beautiful man, who had simply blushed and shaken his head as he had mumbled.

‘Gosh that was… moronic of me… I shouldn’t… Alex says that they work, but …’.

‘I am (Y/N)… (Y/N) (L/N)…’ you had shot back, breathing out your answer as you stumbled through the world, holding out your hand to grip his, as his face immediately went from nervousness to shock to a sweeter smile ‘… I am just surprised that a god like you wants to speak with a mere mortal like me’.

And then you had just felt awful, but he had just laughed it off embarrassed.

‘I actually think that you are the prettiest girl in the room, so…’.

And then you had blushed softly, biting your lips as Bill led you away from the crowd on the small front porch of the house, as you sat there, talking about how awkward you both felt at this kind of things.

‘… I don’t want to make you feel bad, but I was worried you’d crush the glass in your hands…’ he had joked as you blushed, softly punching him on the shoulder, your glass now empty, helping you with a bit of liquid courage.

‘You literally used the worst pick-up line after “did it hurt when you fell from heaven”?’ you had shot back and his cheeks had also turned a pinkish shade, as you both avoided each other’s eyes, too shy to confront the other.

For a kiss you had needed a bit more of wine, but it had been worth it.

And every moment with him had been worth it.

But three months without him were already too much, although you saw him through the skype calls.

But it wasn’t simply enough.

It wasn’t enough anymore when you had just the shittiest day and everything felt like it was too much to handle for you.

Your mind rushed through the most horrible thoughts as you tried to think what Bill would say to you.

His deep voice always helping you, even more when he did that cute giggle he owned, scrunching his nose in a way that was so so adorable that you had just promised to yourself to kiss it every time it happened.

But then a shocking thought hit you.

He’d think that you were a mess if he saw you like this.

Make-up all ruined form your tears and sweat and each time you had mindlessly touched your eyes to dry the tears and rub them, meanwhile your light lipstick was smashed all over your cheeks, since as soon as you had seen a reflection of yourself you had hated the color and wanted desperately to delete it.

He wouldn’t have stayed if he had seen you like that.

Maybe it was for the better that he wouldn’t be…

“Sweetheart, I am home!”.

For a moment you had thought that your brain had finally moved its endorphins and it was starting to work to distract you from the horrible feeling of tightness in your chest.

And then you heard the door closing.

And understood that Bill was for sure at home.

You shifted closer to yourself almost wanting to hide as you moved closer to the part under the sink, thinking that if you focused enough, you’d match the bathroom floor tiles.

Enough to hide yourself from Bill.

“Sweetheart?” he seemed almost sad that you didn’t answer him, and as a loud breath escaped your mouth, you slapped an hand over your mouth, as you tried to understand if it was all an hallucination or Bill had come home, before.

You didn’t know which one would have been worse.

“… shit maybe I should have told her…she hates surprises” your heart couldn’t help but awake at his serious concern for you “… maybe she is over at Christine’s”.

You hoped desperately that he’d just convince himself of it and maybe go away, because if there was one thing you were sure, hallucination or not, was that you wouldn’t have let him see you like that.

He’d have broken up with you, for sure.

“… I’ll call her” and before you could rush in to switch off your phone, the awful first notes of ‘Daylight’ by Taylor Swift started playing.

This brought you back when Bill had mocked your music tastes and you had pretended to be hurt, but you hadn’t cared in the slightest, singing offkey as he kept on preparing your dinner, and although he wouldn’t admit it, you had heard him sing the first few lines as he was getting ready for bed.

“… babe?” he asked, curiously and again a sob left your mouth, revealing further where you were, and as fast as you could you tried your best to hide yourself turning around a you tried to reach for your phone “…hey, lovely, is anything wrong?”.

Thankfully he hadn’t opened the doors, and gently knocked scaring you as you tried to calm your heavy breathing in order for you to appear as normal as you could with ruined make-up and a face that seemed the same someone would have after their pet died.

“… ahem I was just…” ‘please don’t say anything stupid’ “… pooping”.

“Oh” you could already picture Bill’s blushing face “… sorry sorry, sweetie, I’ll wait for you in the dining room, ok?”.

“Bill, what are you doing here?” you asked as you slowly got up, knowing that confrontation wasn’t avoidable and trying to make up whether hat awful voice that told you that Bill had just come back to you to break up was true or not “… aren’t you supposed to be filming the new movie?”.

“Ahem… yeah and no” his voice always wavered as it always did when he told you an half-truth “… we wrapped up a few days ago, but I wanted to make you a surprise, because today is our anniversary”.

Shit of a fucking shit.

You weren’t worried for the gift.

You had had that ready for a month.

Sometime anxiety had its perks.

But what worried you was the fact that you had literally looked at the day and hadn’t remembered it was your anniversary.

It was also the deadline of your project, which your boss had partially rejected.

The part that you had worked on desperately and almost on your own, which had resulted in the product being a bit imprecise but… it hadn’t seemed so bad.

You couldn’t help but hate the fact that you had been so stressed to have forgotten about it all.

“… sweetie, are you still there?” asked Bill from the other side “…or did the toilet seat swallow you?”

“Ahem no” although you felt that awful feeling of dreadful tightness in your lungs, you still let out a soft laugh “… I just… I don’t think that we should go out, you must be jetlagged…”.

“Actually, I got a bit of sleep on the plain… so… I am ready to dance all night” he mumbled softly, as he shifted closer to the door and you couldn’t help but be almost worried that he’d open it, but he stopped “… but if you aren’t feeling well… we could stay inside, order Greek food and watch whatever awful Netflix comedy you chose”.

He was trying to make you relax, he always used that deep soothing tone and tried his best to make you laugh.

‘You always look prettier when you laugh’ he smirked as he stole a kiss from your cheerful lips ‘…you also taste sweeter’.

“Yeah, I’d like that…” you commented softly “… work has just been crazy hectic and I just… ugh… don’t think that I could celebrate properly, but… we could go out tomorrow I swear that I’ll make it up to you”.

“Of course, sweetie” his tone was so soothing that it only made you feel guilty for having forgotten about it all.

If he broke up with you, you low key deserved it.

“… do you want to talk about work?”.

‘No, I want to set my boss on fire’ you would have wanted to mumble, but simply uttered:

“… wouldn’t want to annoy you, sweetie, you probably already had a hard…”.

“I have had a hard time not having you with me” he gently replied “… I don’t think that anything would be hard enough for me, if you stand by my side”.

A moment of silence made him waver and you felt him pushing himself back, doubting whether he had done the right thing or not.

“… if you feel like talking obviously”.

“The project…” you choked out “… it didn’t go well”.

“Oh sweetie” he almost seemed ready to rush in through the door, but he stopped himself, realizing that you needed this barrier, for a bit more “… you worked so hard for it”.

“Yeah… but Tara said that it had too much imprecisions, and I mean she is right… I should have worked on it a bit more! Gosh I just…”.

And then you were stopped as Bill pushed the door open, revealing your disheveled appearance and you immediately tried to hide yourself, but it was of no use, as Bill went through any resistance you had cradling you in his strong arms, raising you as if you weighted nothing more than a flower.

Touch usually made it all worst for you, but with Bill it felt like some kind of desperately nice sweater, the one that you wore on the rainy days as you cuddled a good book and a cup of hot cocoa.

It soothed you and made you cry even more, as you let all your tension ease through him, and he cuddled you closer gently adjusting you onto the counter of the sink.

He kissed your forehead tenderly releasing your hold onto him, as you instead brought him closer, needing to feel him.

In an almost desperate way.

He was such a grounding force to you right now that you just let yourself reveal to him your deepest side, the one that turned away everyone.

Except him.

He just cooed at you softly, as he kept you in his arms, pushing aside a few strands of drenched hair, as he kissed your neck, softly, a gentle touch.

“… whatever it is, you are not at work anymore, you are in our lovely home, the one that smells of those overpriced shit candles you like so so much” it made you snort a laugh “… you are safe, you don’t have to think about it”.

“The fact is…” and you could already picture his eyes having this shade of ‘what kind of psycho are you’ “… I can’t, I am just too anxious, and it makes me overthink everything”.

But instead Bill’s eyes scanned over your face before understanding settled in them.

“… you had an anxiety attack, didn’t you?”.

“I….” you breathed out all the air in your lungs “… how did you know?”.

“I have lived with you enough to know that you are a little anxious beastie” he commented softly “… you arrive always early, you always act so so stressed with deadlines, you panic badly if I leave you out to a party… I know that some things make you like that…”.

“And it doesn’t bother you?”.

“No” his breath was soft, and it hit your face in a way that warmed your cheeks “… I just… I just want to help you if I can”.

Everybody at this point always left you, no matter how much you promised to keep it under control or to change.

Nobody had ever asked to know how to make you feel better.

“Can… can you get my make-up remover…?” he stood a minute trying to internalize your phrase “… it is making my skin itch…”.

“Of course” and he turned, before sending you a quick look “…wait where is it?”.

And there it was your dorky boyfriend.

You just let out a laugh and told him where he could find it.

A few minutes and a Bill’s shirt later, you were indeed waiting for Greek food as you browsed through Netflix, and Bill joked about you rewatching ‘Hemlock Grove’.

‘… babe you can’t use your celebrity status to impress me, I have seen you in boxers with pigeons’.

‘Pigeons are cute’ he had mumbled as he had set beside you, pushing your head on his chest.

You had told him that his faint heartbeat was the perfect cure for your overworked body ‘… and I know that you are just nervous because you blush so so fucking much when Roman is on’.

‘… just because he is a dork’.

‘A sexy dork’.

‘Didn’t know you were a narcissist’.

And like that you quickly discarded your little banter in a more silent contemplation as you finally felt… at peace, calm, although you were mostly sweeping all your worry under your mug.

But with Bill you felt better, as he softly handled you, kissing you with the gentlest of touches, but not treating you as frail doll or looking at you like he was worried, he just had this natural nurturing way that made him so damnably sexy.

It made you bite your lips.

And it didn’t pass unobserved by him.

“… you, big cutie” he mumbled, a laughter making his chest raise softly “…stop being the most beautiful girl on Earth”.

As much as you loved silly Billy, you felt the need to set a few things straight.

“I am sorry for hiding it… all from you” you lowered your eyes, this time biting your lower lip for nervousness “… it is just…”.

“It’s ok” he spoke as if it was the most natural of things, as if you hadn’t just broken down as a mess in front of him “… I knew it… I mean I had my thoughts, but these are personal things, I wanted to wait for you to feel comfortable”:

“I didn’t want to hide it! It isn’t because I don’t trust you…”.

“I know” again that soothing tone, it made everything better, you swore it could cure world’s hunger “… I know that people didn’t make it easy for you, so I’ll make it as easy as I can”.

And with that he pulled you to look at him in the eyes, something that was difficult for you in that moment, overwhelmed by your senses.

But you pushed through, because you knew that whenever he needed to tell you something important, he needed to have your eyes in his, to make you know that he wasn’t lying to you.

“… when you need me, I don’t care if I am busy with shooting a movie or in the bathroom, pooping…” you smirked lightly “… you come to me and tell me what is happening and when you feel a bit better we can discuss what helps you and what I can do…”.

“Bill… I am sorry but I don’t want to bother you…”.

That was the wrong thing to say, because although Bill didn’t attack you, he stiffened lightly and grabbed your hands gently, turning them and bringing one and then the other to kiss your inner wrists.

“… you, little one, are never ever a bother” he spoke each word dauntingly meaningful “… you are the most precious things I have ever had in my life, anxiety included”.

“We are kind of package deal” you mumbled an awkward smile on your face.

“Then I got lucky, two for one” he joked, and you finally let out a soft laugh, punching him on his shoulder.

“You are a fucking idiot, my friend”.

“Don’t hit me, it’ll cost you, I am a miracle of nature”.

“Whatever you say Pennywise, the dancing clown”.

“Oh, don’t get me started”.

And as the tickling war started, the glimmering ring in Bill’s jacket just waited the right time.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow would have been a better day.

[hoewkeyesblue]

IT will come back

✿ — request: “Pennywise x Reader where the reader sees him in his human form walking down the street getting drenched and she feels bad so she offers him her umbrella. The next day she finds a nice gift on her door in return” by anon

✿ — pairing: pennywise x reader

✿ — summary: the reader sees pennywise walking in his human form and getting drenched and offers him her umbrella.

✿ — word count: 600-ish

✿ — warnings: none

✿ — notes: this was requested a long time ago and i really struggled while writing but i loved the result after all. in this scenario, pennywise is still trying to recover from all the damage the losers did.

✿ — song: it will come back by hozier.

✿ — links: requests rules | masterlists | prompt lists

1959.

You sighed in frustration as you waded through the rain, wanting to get home as soon as possible. Thanks to the storm that was taking over Derry, you were dismissed early from your work as a librarian and now you could rest.

It was when you approached the canal.

It was when you saw him.

A tall, drenched man wearing weird clothes. He was walking fast, looking down and seeming to ignore the thick raindrops falling down his body.

Glancing him, unsure at first, you decided to approach.

You quickened your pace so you could get closer and then, awkwardly, you touched his arm; the man slowly turned to you and, when his eyes caught yours, you felt your legs tremble.

Not in fear, but something different.

Were his eyes... yellow?

No, no. Blue. They were blue.

“Uh... hey, I-”, you interrupted yourself. What did you wanna say, exactly? “Do you wanna use my umbrella?”, you finally completed and looked at him anxiously, biting your bottom lip as you waited for an answer.

The man’s face twisted into something you easily identified: confusion. He seemed genuinely confused and it just made you even more nervous.

“But then you’ll get wet”, he noted in a low but insanely intense voice. Your legs trembled again.

“No, no! We can share it. Are you going home?”, you smiled. He nodded.

“Yeah. Home.”

“Is your house that way?”, you pointed to the direction of were you lived and he nodded again. “Great! Let’s go, then. I won’t get wet and it will protect you from the rain”, you said in a joyful tone and didn’t see it when the man smiled.

You lifted your umbrella and he accepted your gesture, starting to walk by your side under it.

“So... what’s your name?”, you asked, interested.

“Bob Gray”, he answered quickly and glanced you. “Or Pennywise. What’s yours?”

“It’s Y/N”, you smiled, thinking about how different his name, Pennywise, was. “Where do you live? I never saw you in Derry.”

“I live everywhere, miss Y/N”, he said and you laughed like he said the funniest thing ever. He just smiled.

“Well, I live here”, you pointed to the house that now you were in front of. “You can keep the umbrella and give it to me later. I work in the library and, uh, you know where I live now.”

For some reason, you wanted to see him again.

Pennywise stared at you for about ten seconds and kept looking as you walked to your house; you, then, glanced him one last time before closing the door.

The rain stopped a few hours later.

***

In the next morning, when you were leaving for work, you opened the door and squeaked as you saw a big and red balloon.

Looking at it, you saw it was tied in your umbrella.

But... there was more than one.

There were at least five umbrellas on the floor. All of them were old, some of them broken, but you smiled.

Gift accepted.

You put all of them, except for one, inside. Then you grabbed a piece of paper and wrote a note that said “with all those umbrellas, I’m starting to think you got wet on purpose last night”. With a tape, you stuck the paper on the umbrella and hung it on your door before going to work.

***

When you came back home, Pennywise had answered your note. His calligraphy was ugly, blurred, but you just smiled and put the note in your pocket.

You wanted to see him again.

“I don’t mind the rain, never did. Just enjoyed your company.

Thank you,

Pennywise”

[jocelynscloset]

Would you do something with Bill's characters and if the get possessive over their girl..hope this goes well for you hun!!

These are the four who I think would be the most possessive when it came to their girl, so here we go:

Bill: He’s possessive in a very docile way, I think. I believe that if any man were to even hint at the fact that they’re interested in his girl, it would make his blood boil, but I also think he’s very good at controlling his outward reactions to thinks, especially with anger, so I think instead of taking it out on them, he’d take you home and take it out on you in the most delicious possible way. He’d be extra handsy, very vocal, and he’d take his time fucking you hard. He’d want you to feel him between your legs for days, and he’d want the hickies and nail marks on your skin to be there when he sees you next for a little touch up.

Axel: He’s incredibly trusting with you, so he’s not super weird about it when you have close guy friends or even friends who openly say they think you’re attractive. However, if someone, man or woman, lays a hand on you he will personally crush their skull, especially if you’ve politely declined their advances. He already fucks you pretty roughly on a regular basis, but when he feels threatened, he wants to make sure you know that he loves you and cares about you in every way, so sex when he’s jealous is very tender and still hard, but very slow and filled with sweet nothings and long, purposeful kisses. 

Roman: He is really possessive over you in your sexual relationship because of the dynamic you have in the bedroom, but when it comes to the outside world, he rarely feels threatened by anyone else. He’s reminded of how deeply you love and care for him every single morning when he wakes up next to you, and when you curl up in his arms at night. He regularly fucks you like he’s claiming you, but he already knows that to your very core, you belong to him just as he lives in the palm of your hand.

Merkel: He’s more protective than possessive, because he’s seen some very disturbing shit, and he’s seen more horrible things done to women than most. He’s very careful to always keep you in sight when you’re out and about, and he’s always incredibly attentive when you’re speaking to another man who is obviously attracted to you. He doesn’t feel personally threatened because he knows he’s got you for good, but he feels slightly threatened on your behalf sometimes, and it comes off as possessive to other people occasionally. You regularly have to reassure him that as much as you adore the way he is protective of you, that you can take care of yourself and that if any man or woman ever came on too strong, you’d be able to kick in their teeth on your own.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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[mypersonalrambling]

I’m in the mood for Bill with a chubbier girl (bc I myself am not small) and he just wants to have his hands all over rubbing and touching on every inch of you while your face burns with an emotion you’re not super sure of. He’s feeling your thighs and running his massive hands on your boobs, he just can’t get enough of every inch of skin you have and that’s something I need in my life. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

LISTEN Bill would always be touching on you. He would have a hard time ever keeping his hands to himself.

But one night day he is all over you. You’re standing in front of the mirror after a shower, looking yourself up and down. You were trying to gain better self esteem but some days it was difficult.

However there was never a second when Bill didn’t let it be known how much he worshipped you. He came up behind you, running his hands over any part he could easily reach. You notice his hands stroking your thighs and breasts for moments longer than the rest of your body.

He was grabbing, pinching, massaging each breast. His enormous hands enveloping, always having the talent of making you feel small. He was mesmerized, almost in a trance, enjoying the feeling of your skin against his.

He stops to step back towards the bed, only to lightly push you until you’re lying on your back. Bill constantly has this power of making you feel as a love struck teen; sending tingles through you.

He never wanted you to feel any doubt of his feelings. He also never wanted you to feel insecure so he was trying to help you realize your beauty inside and out. A part of you wanted to say something but the look in his eyes stopped you.

Bill began placing kisses from your feet to head, giving compliments along the way. “Love these legs, they’re strong just like you baby.” He spend an inordinate amount of time touching, kissing, rubbing his cheeks against your thighs. There was nothing more than he wanted than to keep his face resting on them.

“This belly, soft and sweet. Perfect for laying my head on.” His hands wandered to your breasts squeezing with just enough pressure to feel pleasing. Taking a nipple between two fingers, rolling it through them. “And these breasts, perfect. Just the right size and shape,” taking a moment to take a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue, finally letting go with a pop, “So perfect, just like the rest of you.”

“These arms, great cuddling and holding onto people. These arms help my baby complete amazing things.”

When he finally reached your forehead he placed one soft kiss, “Underneath this is my Love’s magnificent mind. Always thinking of new ideas, caring for others, making her the best person I know.”

Tears began to stream down your cheeks. He was the sweetest, most genuine person you’ve ever known. He knew how to care for you or anyone without it feeling like a chore. He did it purely for making others happy.

Lost in your train of thought his breath between your thighs startled you. “Gonna, take care of my Princess.” His assault was slow, meticulous; the swift flick of his tongue against your clit causing goosebumps to form quickly.

When juices flowed freely, he teased your entrance with two fingers, collecting, before sucking them dry, “Could taste you all day Princess. Fuck, you’re so sweet.”

In no time at all he thrust two fingers in, curling them instantly, searching for that sweet spot. His lips were attached to your clit, sucking as if his life depended on it; using his tongue to draw circle eights. You were certain he knew your body better than you.

The moment his fingers touched the soft spot inside of you, you couldn’t help but to buck wanting more. Bill threw a leg over his shoulder, a hand placed on your hip to keep you in place. Your high was fast approaching, however he never slowed down. He licked you through your orgasm, barely giving a moments rest before starting again. “Billlll,” you whine trying to get up wanting to touch him.

“Nope, I told you Princess, I could taste you all day.” A smirk rested upon his face. And that’s exactly what he did.

[oh-roman]

didn’t you love anything?

I.

Bill has the job no man wants. He spends most of time in the hospital waiting room these days.

.                         .                       .                         .                        .                    .

Hospitals are no place for hate, but Bill is a bit fussy at himself this particular morning—nipping at his lip and clenching his fist, all while bobbing his thigh up and down in the waiting room chair. He isn’t going to cry (he promised himself in the car), but the rate the his heart is beating, is making it nearly impossible to swallow the lump in his throat. Especially since the ER isn’t the most peaceful place in the world, surrounded in sob-stories and families saying prayers aloud. For a while, Bill keeps an open eye out for a doctor to rush in and tell him the news, but after the first 2 hours pass, his eyes close completely (partially out of sleepiness and fright that if a doctor actually did rush in like the movies, he might faint in fear that he’d hear something tragic).

Bill doesn’t immediately fall asleep. For a moment, he focuses on the closest idea to peace and somehow ends up recounting a vague memory of the time he stole flowers for her.

It was freshman year at the university and whenever Y/N got a knock on her dorm room door at six AM, she could be certain that it was none other than Bill.

“Surprise,” He motions toward the bouquet in his hands, made out of four dainty lilies tied together with a hair scrunchy at the stems. Lilies are definitely her favorite flower (and it makes her cheeks grow hot that he remembered), but these ones looked a bit worn out. She takes them anyway to be nice, but wonders where she could put them or how she could possible revive them. She mutters a thanks, before sending him a cheeky smile. “Flowers, courtesy of your my mother’s garden and scrunchy from your backpack,” Bill gave a toothy smile and a giggle tickled his throat. She rolls her eyes and thumbs over the softness of the petals. They’re actually quite beautiful (despite obviously being manhandled), she thought.

“I take it you like Care Bears?” He rocked back and forth on his heels, with hands stuffed in pockets.

“Wasn’t exactly expecting company.” Y/N smoothed her hands over the suede of her pajama shorts, decorated in a colorful, childlike pattern. The more she started at the fabric, the faster the wave of insecurity ran up her arms and soon, she was biting at the inside of her lip.

“I like them too,” He said. It came out as more of a whisper—a small token of adoration, in his case, because he did really like the shorts and if he were honest, every other article of clothing he’s ever seen her in. A crush was an understatement for the way his chest welled up and his breathing picked up for her. But then, she hadn’t responded and he felt completely stupid. “Well, I meant—“

“Thank you,” Y/N’s an asthmatic and no, it’s not comfortable, but Bill finds it absolutely adorable when he sees her chest rose and fall faster when she’s nervous. He couldn’t deny that that his breathing was becoming a danger to his body as well and suddenly, he wished he could stand there, feeling out of breath forever.

“Mr. Skarsgård,” Her lips formed around the words, as if they were foreign to her mouth. “Mr. Skarsgård...Mr. Skarsgård,” Soon, she was rambling on and on about his name in a way so eery, he practically shook himself away.

Breathing for Bill is worst when he first wakes up. So much that, Y/N is usually waiting bedside for him with an inhaler (that he’s too manly to use on his own).

The white, hospital lights are blurry for a moment and his head feels murky—like he’s drowning and can’t quite grasp the concept of exhaling, until he’s being lightly shaken awake. Then, he quickly stumbles to his feet. “Y/N,” He mutters, though it came across as more of a whine.

His breathing isn’t where it needs to be, but he settles on an uncomfortable rhythm, good enough to assure him that he’s alive and that the figure who shook him awake is not Y/N— and definitely not a woman, but a man—a doctor (presumed by his clothing)—mouthing something inaudible to Bill’s ears. It’s not until, the doctor reaches out his arm far enough to touch Bill’s shoulder, are his words coherent.

“Mr. Skarsgård?” He tilts his head to the side, hoping to get some sort of response, not necessarily wanting to hospitalize him and his fiancée. Then, Bill nods nervously, though he was moreso afraid than nervous. “I’m here to talk to you about your fiancée,”

There’s this moment when everything changes. You look back and there’s the moment before—when Y/N lifted her shirt a bit and Bill saw her tummy for the first time. The small bump that meant so much and he’d cried that night after she fell asleep, thinking of names that might fit the baby depending on it’s gender and how soft it might feel in his hands one day. He thought of how happy she made him and how much happier he’d feel after the baby’s birth. This only made him sniffle more and in the moment, he realized how long it had been since the last time he cried—the last time he felt so in love.

Then, there’s the present, where he’s hearing all the words he’s never wished of hearing.

“What’s wrong with her? Is it the asthma again? Is it hurting the baby?” He didn’t mean to stutter, but how he sounds is the farthest concern in his mind.

“The blood tests show that Y/N isn’t pregnant,” The doctor waits for a response and Bill swipes his tongue over the chapped skin of his bottom lip, before feeling a bit weak in the knees and plopping back onto the chair he’d fallen asleep in. “I understand you two were under the assumption that she was pregnant, but unfortunately pregnancy tests aren’t always as accurate as they seem.”

Bill’s thigh isn’t bobbing anymore. Instead, he’s looking for some sort of sign in the doctor’s eyes; that good news was coming. “We,” He sighs and rubs his eyes. “We never took a test, she just sorta felt it and the bump,” He sighs again, shaking his head against the swelling in his heart. Blinking keeps the tears at bay. “The bump—I felt it, our baby,”

“Well,” the doctor shiftes in his seat a little and turns toward Bill. “Sometimes a mass this size can mimick pregnancy.”

Then, Bill takes a much needed deep breath and looks away from the doctor, because surely, good news wasn’t much of a factor anymore. His leg was bouncing again and he had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from screaming, or crying, or storming out of the room. As if the swelling feeling in his chest wasn’t enough, the lump in his throat grew, the more the doctor spoke. “Bill,” He said, glancing at the papers in his hands. “It’s ovarian cancer,”

His bite loosened on his lip and suddenly, Bill found it difficult to get a grip on anything—panting with a quiver at his lip and small shakes throughout his entire body. He’s still forcing the lump in his throat down, using every bit of strength to ball his fists up. “My girl,” he mutters, furrowing his brows at the doctor. “She’s my girl,” He chokes, tilting his head to side slightly and losing complete grip of the wall he’d built up in his mind. “Mine—she’s my girl,” Losing the fight against his stubbornness, he fell forward and rested his elbows on his knees, starring ahead, but not focusing on anything in particular.

He wound up sitting in that position for a long while, feeling himself shake with every sob; replaying moments from when Y/N told him things and he didn’t listen. He should’ve known—should’ve taken her to the doctor the first time she complained--shouldn’t have brushed it off. Thought it was just a stomach ache or maybe she had cramps—thought maybe she was about to start her period. God, she was always in so much pain during that time of the month, even had to take off work for a week once a month.

“Some women just have it harder than others, sweetheart,” Bill whispers, snuggling her close and thumbing soft circles on her hip in his position as the big spoon. Peppering kisses on her ear and shoulder when she whimpers.

Bill hears a soft shuffle next to him, but doesn’t bother to lift his head.

“She needs you,” the doctor muttered, patting Bill on the shoulder assuringly; the sound of his footsteps growing farther away.

Bill doesn’t say it aloud, but he silently agrees with the doctor. She needs him and he hopes there won’t ever be a day where she doesn’t. He’s proper fallen for her so many times that he admits he’d do anything—anything at all—to make sure she’s alright. To make sure she’s always going to need him.

Nearly an hour later, Bill fights just about everything holding him down and stumbles to his feet. He knuckles at his eyes, trying to dry the damp skin underneath his eyes and the bit of liquid running from his nostrils. He speaks softly to the lady at the front desk, asking what room Y/N would be in. So softly, the woman has to stand up and peer her ear toward him to make out his question.

It hasn’t really dawned on Bill yet—cancer’s a tricky subject, but he’s more concerned about how terrible his missus must be feeling, considering she went into the hospital anxious to know the gender of the baby, petting her tummy the whole ride there. “Hello, sweet thing,”

Then, Bill pauses right outside her door. He fell in love with a tumor invading her body—even cried over it and kissed it when she was sleeping. His eyes welled up again and he wanted to fight it—he really did—but he could barely ball his fist anymore. “I’m gonna be a daddy,” He closes his eyes when the tears fall, eventually tasting the saltiness on his lip. The hallway is quiet, minus his sniffling and the faint sound of beeping machines and murmuring nurses. When he feels he’s had his fair share of sadness for the time being, he’s sniffling more calmly and wiping at his eyelids again, before exhaling a shaky breath.

When she he shuts the door behind him and looks up from his boots, Bill finds it hard to breath, or walk, or speak. He’s  practically paralyzed, feeling particularly fragile. There’s a male nurse near the bed, arranging a plate of food, but Bill can’t see much of what’s on it, because the room is so dimly lit. Y/N seems to be asleep, but he really can’t tell and isn’t exactly making an effort to, because he genuinely can’t move. He doesn’t want to mess anything up—doesn’t want to hurt her.

“She said the lights were bothering her,” The nurse explained, finishing up the plate and flicking on a small lamp near her bed. “You’re...Bill, is it?” He asked, reading off a clipboard and walking toward him. Bill nods, sniffling again, before shaking the man’s hand. “She’s just sleeping right now. It’s been,” He peeked at his watch. “Five hours now. She hasn’t been sleeping very well these past few days, but that’s completely normal given the circumstances. However, it’s imperative that you don’t let her sleep too much, because we need to monitor her movements and make sure she’s eating on time. Also, she’s been a bit nauseated, so there’s a tin next to the bed and the bathroom’s right over there.”

The nurse, who introduced himself as Liam briefed Bill on Y/N’s state and Bill tried his best to remember it all, nodding after each sentence and periodically glancing at Y/N. When Liam was finished, he exhaled a little and folded his arms with the clipboard tucked underneath. “There’s a blueberry muffin, glass of water, and pill on the tray. It’s best that you wake her as soon as possible so that she eats.” He explained with a friendly smile and Bill nodded again.

The door closes behind him and Bill sighs, walking toward her. He sits in a chair placed next to her bed, quietly. He’s placed his hand atop her’s and notices the small tube bandaged to her arm. Her breathing is soft, like gentle puffs of air with every take and he silently admits that if he could, he’d settle on only being able to listen to her soft bouts of air and nothing else, for the rest of his life.

He cups her cheek in his hand and stretches over the bed to press a peppered kiss to her forehead. He’s whispering something lightly, urging her to wake up, but she only snuggles her face further onto the warmth of his hand. This makes a small smile dawn at his mouth and if it hadn’t been for the forming sore throat from crying, he would’ve giggled a bit.

She’s whimpering a little when he goes to move his hand and he thinks it’s the sweetest sound. “It’s me, sweetheart,” Bill whispers and Y/N’s lips part lazily. Eventually, her eyes are fluttering open and Bill’s got his hand stretched over her hip, stroking it over the hospital gown. She stares at him for a while when her eyes open, blinking the sleep away and making out his features with help of the small lamp. She notices the cherry blush on his cheeks and tip of his nose and the glossy streaks in his eyes.  

Bill hasn’t got much of anything to say, feeling rather stuck. She speaks instead and her voice is just as soft as he remembers. “Missed you,” She murmurs, voice low. He can tell just how weak she is, by the drain in the color of her irises. His fingertips trace over the side of her face and she’s silent, parting her lips again to speak, but he presses his pointer finger to his lips and shh’es her instead.

“You’re my girl,” He says and goes back to feathering his fingertips along her face. “And you’ll never have to worry about a thing.”

She doesn’t mean to cry; Hell, she’s done enough of that, but it’s the way he speaks to her—like she’s the one he’s ever wanted to spend his energy on, the only one he’s ever wanted to lie eyes on. It was true, what she was thinking. When you’ve found the person that you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

Bill stands up and leans over her a bit, breathing faintly so it fans over her eyelashes. “Sweet creature,” He mutters, running the pad of thumb under one eye, then the other. “My sweet girl.” He stares at her for long while.

“Like honey?” She asks, slowly bringing the palm of her hand up to press against the fabric of his shirt. His heart was pounding in his rib cage and that reassured her for some odd reason. Then, she remembered and it wasn't so odd at all.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Bill explains, standing in the pool--the water just below his chin. He just got this job as lifeguard in a fancy hotel uptown, and surely, it wouldn’t look good if the manager walked in on the two, far after the pool closing time, but Y/N admitted that she couldn’t swim and Bill just couldn’t go to sleep with that kind of atrocity.

She’s sitting poolside, lightly kicking her feet back and forth in the water, slightly nudging Bill in the side every time she kicked forward. He's holding her by the waist and winks up at her. Romantically, it’s been about a month they’ve been dating and it’s her first time seeing him shirtless and on top of that, he’s soaking wet and squeezing her hips, because he’s needy. “You’re not very convincing,” She said, just before sliding forward and squeezing her eyes closed when the dry parts of her body hit the water. Bill is a giggling mess, holding her up by the waist and spinning a bit in the water. “It’s...cold,” She musters, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. When she finally opens her eyes, he’s already starring and she realizes that for the first time, they were eye to eye and she made out the little scar near his eye and ran her thumb over it.

Before she could even fathom the words, he presses his lips to her’s and waited to exhale, until she grew comfortable and kissed back. Then, they were breathing (finally) and Bill furrows his eyebrows in concentration, because she feels so fucking soft. He was her first and she wasn’t sure how long kisses are supposed to last, but she wonders if it’s possible to kiss someone all day, because she’d be willing for Bill. When Y/N pulls back with a wet smack of their lips, it was because her inhaler was all the way in their hotel room and she couldn't risk an accident.

“You’re sweet,” He says, nodding his head, like he knew it already.

She puckers her lips to the side to unsuccessfully hold back a smile and tilts her head to the left. “Like honey?” She mocks.

He begins spinning them around again and a small smirk falls on his lips. “The sweetest.” Surely, Y/N had asthma since she was young, but everyday spent with Bill made her believe that it was him all along--the reason she can’t seem to breath steadily. Still, she shakes her head a little, smiling down between them.

“Here,” He takes her hand and guides it over his heart. “Feel that?” It was thumping against the skin (surely, breaking the rib cage, she thinks) and she raises her eyebrows, because he didn’t look the least anxious. “Pretty girls make me nervous.”

She sighs, feeling defeated and moves her hand back to it’s place on his neck. He narrows his eyes at her. “You don’t believe me,” He blurts and she bites her lip, because it's true, shaking her head no..

“Nonsense,” He says, beginning to twirl them around again--this time, not stopping until she’s in a fit of giggles, resting her head in his neck. She’s panting now, lifting her head with her lips curved. “You have to believe me, sweetheart,” The pet named slipped and she almost lost her grip on his shoulders. “Didn’t you love anything?”

She was too out of breath to muster any response, but she silently admitted it to herself, later on that night. Yes--she loved him; more than the desire to breathe.

“The sweetest.” Once Bill has cocked his head to the side enough, his lips brush against her’s and their breathing grows more labored by the second. Bill was silent, not daring to break his lips away. From the way she has her hands guided on the back of his neck, like her life depended on it, he fears she might beat him bloody if he did.

Kissing is a strange thing. You’re supposed to breathe, but if you’re doing it right, you shouldn’t feel obligated to, because when you’re pressing against the lips of the person you love most in the world, breathing and every other job we take on, becomes more a choice. Just as long as you can feel them--nothing else matters.

“Jesus,” Bill gasps, pulling back at the sound of Y/N’s heart monitor beeping rapidly. “You’ve got to breathe, bunny,” He’s panicking, checking her face to make sure he hasn’t hurt her, but she only smiles, steadying her breathing. ”Why didn’t you breathe?” He asks, more curious than afraid.

“Didn’t you love anything?”

[imaginationlane]

Can you do headcanons with Bill dating someone much smaller than him? (He's 6'4 and me for example I'm 5'3). Like grabbing something for you from a high shelf at the supermarket, thinkimg you're cute when you're angry etc. Thank you my dear x

Bill dating someone shorter than him, would probably be the cutest thing ever though because:

He’s constantly putting an arm on top of your head whenever he sees you, simply because he can’t seem to get over the height difference.

Which makes you playfully whine that he needs to stop it. “Seriously? Again? C’mon babe, we get it… Please stop.”

But he still continues to do it because he says you’re cute when you’re annoyed with him.

Plus you’d know if he were mad because he wouldn’t play with you like that; so you like whenever he does it, even though you act like you hate it.

When you’re shopping at the grocery store together and you can’t reach things that are placed on the top shelf, so he just stands back and smirks while watching you try to climb up and get it. 

He knows that regardless of your height, you’re fiercely independent and he loves the absolute shit out of watching you try it your way first.

Plus if it’s summer time and you’re wearing shorts, he likes to step back and admire the view. But he won’t admit that lol.

Finally you huff, give up and give him the puppy eyes. “Please babe? I can’t reach it.” :(

Of course, he’s always more than happy to reach up and get it for you.

He also loves snuggling you.

Literally any time he can hold you close, he does it. 

Those cute moments of him pulling you down so you can sit on his lap.

“You’re small, precious and need to be protected. Don’t argue with me on this.”

And you think it’s cute, but also sometimes you aren’t afraid to remind him that you’re next to fearless as well.

Whenever you two have an argument, you’re as lethal as a stick of dynamite. 

You may be shorter than him, but he knows you don’t tolerate any bullshit from anyone. Not even from him.

He wouldn’t have you any other way either.

However he also likes riling you up too because even though it can be scary sometimes, he also thinks you’re kinda hot that you’re mad.

Especially when you’re all flustered, he really fucking loves that.

You get piggy back rides from him sometimes, which makes you super happy.

Forehead and nose kisses…. Ugh kill me, that is the cutest stuff ever.

Especially when you stand on your tippy toes and he has to lean down. 

His hugs are all encompassing and literally the best.

You’ve never felt more safe and secure than you do inside of his embrace.

Whenever you have to go to an event with him, you get all nervous because he’s as tall as a tree and you’re afraid he can lose you in a crowd somewhere since you blend in more with average sized people.

But he never lets that happen lol.

And most of all, it’s not your height that he cares about… It’s you. You’ve been super supportive of him and care about him as the person. Your shorter height, just happens to be a fun added bonus for him to enjoy and truly admire lol.

I haven’t done these before, but I wanted to! These are cute and fluffy because I think Bill with a shorter girl (doesn’t matter who) is just an adorable idea lol. 

[ghost-proofbaby]

christmas tree (roman godfrey x reader)

pairing: roman godfrey x reader 

word count: 1,105

warnings: cursing, mentions/hints of childhood trauma/neglect, vague sexual innuendo at the end? (nothing too crazy)

request: “roman + christmas traditions” by anon :-) 

a/n: i just wanna say thank you to anyone who enjoyed my last lil blurb with merkel, you’re all too sweet!! this one was originally meant to be more angsty, but i was listening to christmas music while writing it, and well… it’s hard to be angsty while listening to fun jazz. once again, please enjoy and any feedback or requests are not only appreciated but encouraged!!!

---------------------------------------------------------

“I still think this is stupid.” 

You laugh at the umpteenth complaint of the hour from your boyfriend, Roman, as you continue to prick your fingers against the fake branches of the Christmas tree you two had set up in the living room. You’d been working at “fluffing” the tree the entire time while Roman sat on the couch, bitter and pouting like a toddler. 

“I asked you if you’d prefer a real one and you said-” 

“I’m not calling the fact that it’s fake stupid. I think the entire holiday is stupid,” Roman interrupts you as you finally give in and turn to face him. 

“Didn’t you celebrate Christmas as a child?” you muse, walking over to him as he continues to avoid your gaze. 

“Yes. That’s precisely the issue,” he fidgets as he says this, hands clasped uncomfortably in his lap, knuckles growing white. 

You suddenly realize that Roman isn’t just complaining to annoy you like you’d been assuming. His shoulders are tense, even his jokes had been unlike him, flat and delivered in monotone. 

“I know your mom isn’t the comforting type but…” you trail off, taking the seat beside him, “Did she really ruin Christmas for you?”

He doesn’t reply, grunting in return as his glare stays focused on the half done tree. The bottom half is spread out, and can almost pass for a real tree, but the top is still flattened from packaging. You watch Roman’s eyes travel upward, and his scowl only grows. 

“She just had all these ridiculous traditions, that weren’t even truly about the family, just for show most of the time,” he hesitantly explains, turning his head and meeting your eyes finally, “I’m convinced everything that has to do with ‘celebrating’ Christmas is purely selfish.” 

You smile sadly, shaking your head immediately, “No, no it doesn’t have to be, Rome. For your mom it might have been, but not for me,” you stand up, startling him in the slightest. He stares up at you, blank stare, as you reach out your hand, “Let me show you, yeah?” 

You’re shocked when he actually does take your hand, standing up and yet still looking incredibly lost. It hadn’t gone over your head that him opening up like that was out of character, that it probably had been fairly hard for him. In all the years you’d known Roman, he hated speaking of his mother. Finding out what exactly had earned that hate from him had been like pulling teeth, constantly balancing between considering that that had just been who Roman Godfrey was, full of hate and all, and the possibility that his mother had been the one full of hate. 

It hadn’t taken long to figure out it had been the latter. 

Roman follows you over the tree, watching carefully as you mutter out a ‘watch me’, showing him how to unfold the branches. You repeat the action on a second branch, before motioning for him to try. 

“You’re really trying to make me fall in love with a holiday through physical labor?” he complains, hands nonetheless making their way to another smushed branch and beginning to work on it. 

“Hush,” you scold before making your way over to the stereo in the living room. 

You turn it on to the holiday station, immediately hearing Roman groan across the room. 

“Did I mention I hate the music? I hate that shit,” he calls out over his shoulder. You stay frozen in place, however, paying his complaint no mind as he continues to fluff the tree. 

This was who Roman Godfrey was. Stubborn, grumpy, but especially malleable to those he loves. As he finished up the tree with ease, working at double the pace you had been, you can’t help but smile softly at him. His tongue pokes out between his lips in concentration as he reaches the tallest branches, stretching the slightest to guarantee their perfect. 

You knew if he didn’t want to at least try for you, he wouldn’t have. He would still be on the couch, maybe even a beer in hand to quench his bitterness. 

“Now what?” he questions, snapping you out of your daze as he turns to face you, backlit with a finished tree, barren and ready for decorations. 

“Now,” you motion to a box on the floor you’d pulled from your garage, “for the fun part; we decorate.” 

“Fun? That sounds like more physical labor.” 

You roll your eyes, smiling widely and picking up the box of ornaments and garlands to place it on the couch to be more accessible, “Do we want gold or silver garland?” 

Roman’s reply is immediate. “Gold. My mother always favored silver decorations so… definitely gold.” 

“Gold it is,” you nod, pulling out the shiny and gouache garland from the box, handing it to him to start to place on the tree. 

The two of you work quietly for a moment, allowing Christmas music and rustling of decorations fill the silence in the room instead. Roman only breaks it once you’ve started to put ornaments on the tree, looking particularly fondly at one from your childhood. 

“Are there any other traditions your family did that you’d want to… You know, do, I guess?” he’s not as confident as he usually is, coming off a bit shy in a sincere way. 

“Mostly all the sickeningly sweet family classics. Hot chocolate, movie marathons, those scented pinecones…” you pause to think of some more, but Roman interrupts you with sudden excitement. 

“I wouldn’t mind those pinecones. The ones that smell like cinnamon or fucking whatever, right?” 

You’re smiling wide enough that you can see Roman begin to fight his own grin, “Yeah, those.” 

“I always wanted those. We should get some,” he mumbles, focused on looping a hook onto an ornament, the ghost of the smile still evident on his face. 

“You know, we could always make our own traditions, too. They don’t all have to be passed down,” you say slyly, waiting until Roman looks back up at you, fully intrigued. 

“Whaddya mean?” 

“I mean, whipped cream isn’t just good on hot chocolate,” you play it off innocent, grabbing another shiny, red ball to hook on a branch, but Roman’s hand reaches out  and grabs your wrist firmly to stop you in your tracks. 

“Yeah? How would you know?” he’s got a devilish grin now, eyes trailing up and down your body before he licks his lips slowly. 

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” you tease, starting to pull away your wrist. 

However, Roman’s grip only squeezes tighter as he pulls you against him, whispering, “That I would.”  

[billhaders]

Bill Skarsgård at the IT: Chapter Two premiere (8/26/2019)

[eternalbill]

thunderstorm cuddles - the kid

note: so it’s been really rainy and dreary here the last couple of days, and before this boy’s surprise reappearance i was missing my baby. so here’s this soft cuddly little blurb c: 

As thunder boomed outside, the house clicked off around her, minus the battery-powered Christmas lights creating a soft light in her bedroom. 

“Fuck.” she muttered. The hum of the fan and her low-volume tv show were replaced with momentary silence, then she heard the howling wind. Wrapping her cardigan around her, she closed her laptop and got out of bed, walking towards the dark corner and lighting an autumn apple-scented candle. Another crash of thunder made her jump, clutching a hand to her chest. She turned around, padding towards the door. 

Before she had the chance to make it that far, he was already knocking and opening the door. A smile formed on her lips and she met him at the threshold. She grabbed one of his hands as he stepped into her room, closing the squeaky door behind him. With her other hand, she reached up and brushed some light-brown hair off his forehead.

“I’m glad you came to me instead of sitting in the dark by yourself,” she said lightheartedly. He returned her smile with a nod. “Make yourself comfy,” she motioned towards her bed, “the storm probably won’t let up for a while.” He sauntered over to her bed and gently sat down. He adjusted his position so he could lay down, his tall frame only slightly shorter than the length of her bed. Turning on her speaker, she connected her phone and started to play some soft music. His eyes watched her as she came towards him and placed the speaker on the bedside table. 

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, and he followed her eyes towards his bare feet. Without waiting for a response, she reached out and felt one. She looked at him with half-serious disappointment on her face. Crossing her room again she opened her sock drawer and pulled out a pair big enough for him. She threw the socks onto her bed next to him, and while he put them on, she removed her fuzzy cardigan and placed it on its hook.  

“You’re welcome to get under the blanket too,” she reminded him while walking over and picking up her laptop. She placed it on the floor under her bed, then got under the covers with him. He was laying flat on his back, but she curled up on her side and faced him. 

“See isn’t this much better?” he turned his head to look at her, and he just gave her a little smile. She reached over and intertwined their fingers, bringing his hand up to her lips, she gently kissed the back of it. 

“Did you want to cuddle?” she asked in between kisses. His cheeks turned pink as a sheepish smile formed on his lips and he nodded, opening his arm to make room for her. His innocence made her heart soar. She shuffled across the bed and curled up into his side, closing her eyes momentarily. The power being out was a bummer, but she couldn’t deny how peaceful she felt. Focusing on the music, he started to rub his thumb across her’s slowly. 

A bright flash of lightning outside caused her to open her eyes, clutching onto his shirt that she had balled into her fist.

“The brighter they are the louder they are,” she murmured, anticipating the loud crash of thunder that was gonna come next. As the thunder boomed loud enough to shake the house, she scooted closer to him, and his arms tightened around her. 

“You’re scared of storms?” he asked, looking down at her. 

“Yeah,” she laughed a little, “scary gory horror movies I’ve got no issue with, but put me in a thunderstorm and I’m a big baby,” she explained. He kissed the top of her head. 

“I have an idea,” he said, sitting up and getting out of bed. Slowly, he picked up the candle she lit and walked out into the hallway, turning towards his room. Staring at the ceiling, she twiddled her thumbs over the comforter, mind wandering as to what he was up to. She also couldn’t tell if the storm was getting worse, or if she was just imagining it since she was now alone. Turning to face the door, another bolt of lightning flashed outside the window behind her. 

He walked into her room again, still using the candle as his guide. While motioning for her to get up, he said, “grab your speaker.” she did, and as she stood in front of him he handed the candle to her. He collected her comforter and a couple of pillows, then pointed at the door. She walked down the hallway as he followed behind her, coming to a stop in front of his ajar door. He shuffled around her and pushed his door open, walking inside. Following him, she watched his lanky figure crouch down in front of his open closet, dropping her things next to him. In the darkness, she could tell the pillows and blanket had been removed from his bed as well. 

He placed her pillows in the bottom of the closet, then reached up and clicked on his string of battery-powered lights. Walking closer, she observed how he had threaded them through a couple of empty hangers, and it seemed to be working pretty well. He turned to look at her, then sat up against the corner of the cushioned space he built. As he motioned for her to come here, she placed the candle and speaker on the floor. She sat down and situated herself next to him amongst the pillows and he reached over her to grab the comforter. He made sure they were both covered by the comforter, and when he stopped moving she leaned her head on his shoulder. 

“Thank you, I appreciate this a lot,” she said, smiling. “It’s harder to hear the storm in here right?” he asked. She closed her eyes and listened for a moment, then nodded. “That’s good,” he muttered before kissing the top of her head. He was warm next to her, and the cozy environment he created for them was incredibly comforting. 

“Do you want to play a board game or something to pass the time?” she asked, tilting her head to look at him. Nodding, he untangled himself from the blankets and got up again. He grabbed something off of his nightstand and as he turned around she saw he was holding a little red book. As he sat back down and settled himself, he handed the book to her. She ran her finger along the cover as she read it, “Prose & Poetry”. Before she started reading, she moved the blankets off of them. Turning her body, she moved so she was seated in his lap instead of on the floor. She wrapped the blankets back around them, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer so she was leaning on him. 

“Where did you even find this?” she asked, opening the book to the first poem. She had her family’s stuff strewn all over this old house.  

“In a box in the attic, there’s a lot of stuff up there,” he said, and her cheeks got hot at the thought of all her embarrassing old crap in the attic. She hid her face in the book slightly and started reading. He moved his arm, repositioning his hand to hold her head against him. 

“I can’t read like this dear,” she said with a giggle. With his other hand, he grabbed the poetry book from her and looked at the page. 

“I think it’s too dark in here anyways, you might hurt your eyes,” he muttered, putting the book down and holding her closer. She hummed along to the music and relaxed against him, the booms of thunder far from their cozy little sanctuary. 

[ficthot]

while this side account is purely self-indulgent, wanted to do a miniature promo just in case others are in need

i reblog fics that i love and want to return back to (my main acc is not associated with fic, it’s a personal acc and i prefer to keep them separate) also to give some of my favorite authors feedback and love in the community!

i’ll try to tag reblogs as i go but i primarily read harry styles, chris evans, seb stan, bill skarsgard, and aus/character realms/etc. dude i’m so stressed this 2020 i’ll prob pick up some new obsessions along the way, but i try to work on tagging for my navigation and anyone elses!

so i suppose feel free to follow if you’d like to maybe see some new works from amazing people!!

[hecohansen31]

Ohhh i love my Mark man so could you please write number 49 from the smut list with him?

WARNINGS: Mention of Stolen Panties, Male Masturbation, Slight Subby! Mark.

"I've been missing these panties for weeks, tell me why I just found them in your drawer”.

You knew it wasn’t right for you to snoop in Mark’s room.

Although you had to admit that you hadn’t done it with any bad thought in your mind.

You had just been feeling cold, after you had come over to Mark’s house and he was asleep on the couch, having come back from a tough shift at work and fallen straight up asleep on the couch, meanwhile a movie ran in the back of the room.

Mark had insisted you tried to watch a movie, although you were sure that he’d be fast asleep a few minutes after it started.

You had thought of going in his room to simply grab a hoodie, meanwhile you let your lover sleep away his tiredness.

As you had taken an hoodie, a deep blue one with a cool logo on it, out of the drawers, you had been immediately comforted by Mark’s smell on it but also you had found something strangely lacey, hidden under it.

And it hadn’t taken you much more time to realize they were a pair of panties.

At first, you had thought the worst.

After your break-up with Mark and getting back together, you had discovered that he was much more than he let on, and he certainly wasn’t a player, although he looked every inch of it.

Hence your heart couldn’t help but break at the thought of somebody else’s panties being in his drawers, but you quickly calmed down and moved to touch with the fingertips of your right hand the panties, revealing much more to you as you suddenly you recognized them.

They were yours.

They were a pair you hadn’t worn much, mostly because they were lightly uncomfortable, so you tended to use them only on special occasion.

But for the rest of the time, they were left in the darkest side of your closet.

And now they were in Mark’s.

You and Mark lived separately, so he must have stolen them the last time he was over at your house.

But you didn’t really care in the slightest about how they had ended up there, but why.

You didn’t judge Mark, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a complete blank space when you thought about why Mark would steal a pair of your panties.

A few ideas did come to your mind, but they just didn’t match up with the idea of Mark you were slowly destroying.

“Babe” you heard from the dining room of Mark’s small apartment, signaling to you that your boyfriend was awake “… is everything alright?”.

“Yeah yeah” you mumbled, almost feeling like you had been caught, and half wanted to hide again the panties.

But hiding your feelings hadn’t helped you or Mark in any way, so you simply moved where the voice came from, after you had worn the hoodie and hid the panties in your hands behind your back.

When you met him back, Mark was on the couch, having moved in a comfortable seated position, as he stretched his legs in front of himself, looking up at you with a sincere look of tenderness, almost as an happy pup, once his human had come back for him.

“… something wrong?” he mumbled, his words slurred by sleep, and you wanted to do nothing more than to come closer to him and hug him, as you cuddled him back to sleep.

But you had a burning question in your literal and not hand.

“Yeah… ahem…” you tried to find the best words, and then thought about straight up taking off the band-aid in one move “… I am not angry with you, babe, but…I've been missing these panties for weeks, tell me why I just found them in your drawer”.

And you exited the panties from behind your back, as Mark gasped loudly, before he turned his eyes down to his shoes, fidgeting with his hands, as he always did when he was nervous.

“… babe, there isn’t anything wrong, I am just…” you tried to calm him down “… I am just surprised”.

Mark seemed also extremely embarrassed and you thought about moving to sat down beside him to look less intimidating.

Mark might act all tough and cool, but he had a rather soft soul, that he felt comfortable enough to show you, stopping the entire ‘fuckboy’/’drunkard’ act, as he moved to enjoy the domestic joys of life with you.

“I just…” he was tomato red “… just missed you. I am sorry, I should have asked you…”:

“No, don’t worry, I don’t really wear them often… so…” you tried to ease him up, not letting any assumption appear in your voice, not wanting to make him feel at unease with you.

“It is a shame” muttered Mark, a glimpse of assholishness appearing in your eyes “… they make your ass looks great”.

You smirked at that, as you gently moved from his side onto his lap.

“Is that why you stole them?” your hands went through his short hair, as you ruffled them, before you grabbed them tightly, making Mark face you, that adorable blush appear on his face “…to remind you how good my ass looks in them”.

“… yes” he admitted tightly, as he gulped down a huge intake of saliva.

You came closer to him and dangled the panties in front of him.

“… did you jerk off with them, in your hands?” you continued on teasing him, feeling him falling down some hole and assuming a new persona, something he had never shown to you.

That you wanted to know more of.

“… did you got them dirty?”.

Now he was definitely shy.

But he got rock hard underneath you.

You didn’t know why this was also slowly getting to you.

Although if you had to give out a few ideas, it was probably for the vulnerability Mark was showing you.

“… c’mon, speak up, sweetie” you teased him, as he finally moved his eyes to yours “…I want to know what those panties were doing in your wardrobe”.

“What if I give you a replica?” although his tone was submissive, it had a strange taste of wickedness.

And you were won over.

“Oh, please do”.